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teyums · 1 year

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“Everyone knows. Everyone knows. She f*cks you.”

Ao’nung headcanon (no use of yn!)

⚠️ All characters are age 18 or over in this story. I will not write Ao’nung in a suggestive manner unless he is aged up.

Wc: 1.2k

I myself haven’t seen anyone write Ao’nung as submissive so I was happy to. And personally, I think this fits him way more hehe. 🤭

includes: suggestive/strong language.

part two

• Because Ao’nung is such a dickhead and so headstrong all the time, I think its pretty damn obvious that it’s merely a tough front he puts on to throw any one off from finding out he’s submissive as hell, especially you. He’s actually a sucker for the woman he loves. This man literally WORSHIPS the ground you walk on and he lives for that shit. That big and bad act is simply a disguise to hide the fact that he’s actually a bitch boy. He would definitely listen to whatever you say and follow your directions to a T.

•He’s had women pine after him before but they quickly gave up because he’s so damn rude, leaving him with zero potential mates before you came along. No other na’vi woman was willing to put up with his attitude, or better yet, see right through that shit and squash it like you did. Or maybe no other woman had the power to. The mere thought of you was enough to get this man off, he was like putty in your hands; completely infatuated with you.

Something in your bones always told you that bully act was one big bluff. The first time Ao’nung hurt your feelings while you were dating, you denied his want to touch you for two whole days. When he expressed his disapproval of your decision, you made him get on his knees and beg for forgiveness, or he wouldn’t be able to touch you for two weeks. Two weeks without touching you for Ao’nung would feel like two years. It’s not a surprise that he’s incredibly clingy and gets upset when he can’t be near you 24/7, so you knew exactly what to hold against him when he made you mad. Jeez, what a fuckin baby. Talk about mommy issues.

“Baby, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it, will you forgive me?” He spoke softly and looked down at you with doe eyes, hoping to get off the hook and have this be over with. You stood in front of him and let out a dry laugh, arms crossed and expression unamused. Now he knew good and well you wouldn’t go that easy. Him being an entire foot taller than you didn’t phase you and he knew that. Some of the other men laughed when they would see a sight such as this. How is such a small, feeble woman controlling the olo’eyktan’s son like she’s his handler? What kind of spell did you put on him?

You stared up at Ao’nung through your long lashes, hard. Completely unwavered by his attempt at winning you over.

He sighed and reached for you, but before he could even brush a finger against your arm you swatted his hand away.

“You don’t get to touch.” You hissed, earning a whine and almost a frustrated stomp from the boy who seemed sooo tough.

God, you loved to see him squirm.

“Beg for it.” You demanded, your gaze mean and unfaltering. You didn’t feel bad, Ao’nung treated everyone else like this and you were simply giving him a taste of his own medicine. Besides, he liked it anyway. The boy has a thing for dominant women, who would have guessed.

He sighed, looking around at the other na’vi strolling on the beach and cursing under his breath. “Please, please forgive me.” He spoke, sounding so much smaller than before, both in voice and confidence.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Is this what you call begging, Ao’nung? That’s pathetic, you know better. Do not waste my time.”

“Ugh… right now? Like, here? People will see me.” He lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck and spoke in a hushed tone so nobody around would hear what he was saying. He had an image to uphold, the tough son of the olo’eyktan who didn’t take shit from anybody and gave shit to everybody. If anyone saw you controlling him like this, he feared it would damage his “reputation”. Or more so his ego.

You didn’t care though, this shit turned you on. And no matter how much he complained about it, you knew it turned him on too. He would never hide the way he looked at you as if he wanted to pounce, and his body gave him up as if you had offered it a cash reward.

“Fine, three weeks.” You responded plainly and shrugged after upping his timeout, turning on your heels to walk until he grabbed your wrist and sunk down to his knees before your footing could even change in the sand.

“Wait, wait! Please, my love… I’m sorry” He apologized, genuinely this time. You could hear the desperation in his voice and it made your core tingle with need. He held your smaller sized hand in both of his much larger ones and pressed his lips against the back of it, smothering it with kisses incessantly and apologizing between each one.

Ao’nung was aware of what he had just been told, no touching. But he couldn’t help himself, he needed his hands on you every minute of the day, whether it be him kissing the back of your hand as if you were royalty or you playing in his hair while he dozed away on your chest. At this point, you had long forgiven him but seeing this big so called ‘bully’ down on his knees in front of you to earn back something so simple as the right to touch you, made you hot. You raised an eyebrow and lifted your chin at him, taking your hand back and placing your hands on your hips in an attempt to look unimpressed.

His eyes widened slightly and he shook his head, wrapping his muscular arms around your torso he hugged you tightly from below.

“Please princess, I will do anything… whatever you want. I’ll be good from now on, I promise. Just take me off punishment.” He whined desperately, the side of his face pressed just below your navel, his grip on you strong.

Feeling your breath quietly catch in your throat as you watched him, you re-centered yourself to stop your legs from trembling. Many thoughts passed through your mind and you felt your skin heating up with his face pressed up against your body. You hummed, trying to decide on one of many options and gently brushing your fingers back between the lines of scalp next to his braids.

“Anything I want?” You cooed, chewing on your bottom lip slightly and earning an instant nod from the boy who was at your complete disposal.

“Ao’nung, up.” You beckoned and used your hand to raise his chin, seeing him look up at you in admiration from below as he quickly rose back to his feet at your direction. Taking his hand, you eyed him up and down deviously while he became more and more impatient with every second that passed. The shadow on his loincloth looked much different than it did when this conversation had started. The fabric was beginning to stretch, becoming taut and hinting at his arousal. He witnessed hunger and desire cloud your eyes, his tongue peeking out to lick at his bottom lip and his eyes watching you feverishly while he waited on your next move.

“Come.” You giggled, turning around and pulling him along like a lost puppy. A sigh of relief left his lips and the goofiest smile painted its way onto his face. You could damn near see the hearts flying in a halo around this boy’s head, he was so lovestruck. His ears perked up and his stride looked drunken as he allowed you to drag him back to your tent, his eyes falling to your backside and exposing how eager he was to fulfill whatever promise he had made to you.

a/n: Alright I’m back in my groove now yall! This was so fun to write and it came to me so easily. I’m a sucker for obedient men who do as they’re told, what can I say. 🫠 I’m not sure how far in detail i’ll go when it comes to smut with ao’nung or neteyam (aged up ofc). I do know that I’ll probably get requests for multiple parts so If I write more you might see an increase in strong language or suggestive/m🅰️ture themes but I’ll have to see about that. I hope you guys enjoyed! Please like and reblog if you can, it’s much appreciated. 💞

tag list ⬇️

@mcdonalds-playground

#avatar 2 #ao’nung x reader #ao’nung #avatar way of water #ao’nung x you #aonung #ao’nung x y/n #ao’nung smut #ao’nung x female reader #ao’nung fanfic

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 8 months

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At cane’s length

this song owns my heart, and i’ve been thinking about writing something with soft dom vibes for a while sooo. here you go.

cw: viktor x reader, smut, viktor is an unbearable tease, gn reader, gn pronouns for reader

word count: 2k~

art cr: @arcanescribbles. my inspiration for this fic, actually.

*standard ‘eng is not my first language so please don’t be mean to me’ bullshit i put before posting every single one of my fics*

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

Viktor is handsome in a cruel way. In an untouchable, ‘tease all the remaining sanity of you’ one, to be precise.

Cruel.

That short, plain word spins on your tongue, threatening to roll off it any second. You audibly gulp, desperately trying to swallow the harsh adjective, and the longing flows down your throat, leaving you breathless — almost too turned on to think straight whatsoever.

You can’t call him that. Even though he’s not exactly opposed to the idea of being relentlessly cussed out by you. It’s the consequences of your boldness that attract him: after all, he gets to watch you all tied up and needy, doe-eyed as you desperately ask to be touched… And then wide-eyed as you switch to being utterly unfiltered and vulgar, trying anything and everything to make him fuck you tonight. Spending the whatever’s left of your wits on those incoherent mumble-like sentences, pleading mewls mixed with the sounds of your knees scraping on the floor from all the squirming you do. Completely and utterly adorable in this state of raw desire, and it figuratively makes your brain slip out of your ear, replaces it with debauched thoughts, with inability to feel anything except for the lust — so intense, that it’s almost painful.

The ingenious, irritatingly smug man or, as you so kindly dubbed him, ‘kinky bastard’ is seated above you, the corners of his mouth curled into a wicked smile, legs spread in this tauntingly inviting manner — testing your limits, mocking you deliberately. He knows that you crave to be between those legs, struggling to fit the aching swell of his cock into your mouth, to let it stretch your slick, heavenly warm throat — or even to be split in twain, fucked over his desk like the horny mess you are — desperate, sobbing, charming in the tantrums you throw just for him, begging to be taken care of. Well, not only begging, to be frank. It’s a full-fledged demanding now, which, decidedly, did flatter Viktor, but being a brat never works on him. You have to be good to obtain his mercy. Negotiating, perhaps. Even when your sanity is gone, even when the only thing you can think of is choking on his dick. Those are the unspoken rules of earning Viktor’s touch — the sweet in its unattainability treasure. And you’ve learned it the hard way.

Viktor thinks it’s only fair, since he can’t be rough with you physically. His body might be sore, but his mind? God, you wish it was sore at least once in a while. Yes, he might not be able to frantically pound you into the mattress, but he’s perfectly capable of coming up with new ways to edge you. Which you loved, of course, but fuck would you prefer the first option so much more. But he’s an incorrigible inventor to the bone. Even in the sheets. Well, more precisely, now — in his lab.

The ropes on your wrists are rubbing the skin, keeping your hands tied reliably behind your back. They serve as one of the numerous reminders of this embarrassingly unfair position Viktor had put you in: you can’t move unless he’s kind enough to let you — he’s not restricted in his movements at all, you’re kneeling in front of him with a vulnerable expression — he’s leaning in his chair with a shit-eating grin, legs spread, head thrown back as he looks down at you in a way a master looks at his servant. You’re fully naked — he’s fully clothed. Viktor calls it ‘the perfect balance’. You call it ‘please, just take that damn thing off’. The idyll.

“Viktor, why are you doing this to me?” you mutter, glancing at him with a weak sigh. He quirks an eyebrow, unbothered, divine-looking with those rays of sunlight peeking through his dark hair, forming a figurative nimbus. ‘Like a god,’ you think, and for the briefest of moments your gaze changes from desperate to enamoured. But then you remember that your god refuses to be worshipped. That he would rather watch you suffer, disregarding your every prayer. And so you frown again.

“Funny, you should ask,” he purrs, the thickness of his accent matching the thickness of sexual tension between you. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re supposed to keep your enemies at arm’s length.“

You scoff, ignoring the painful tingling in your knees, the once cold floor beneath you warm and sticky in the places your hot skin touched it.

“I’m no enemy of yours,” you mutter, sounding almost genuinely offended. But Viktor only laughs, mouth open in a silent, amused ‘oh?’. Your only response is a frustrated moan.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, dear,” he demonstratively clutches his cane, the sexy bend of his long fingers so tempting it nearly has you cumming on the floor. “Didn’t you mention hating me earlier?”

Of course you did. How couldn’t you, when you wanted so badly to open wide for him, to bite on the calloused thumb, the undefinable salty, with a mixture of something metallic taste of his skin so familiar you could easily make it out. Oh, and with accuracy sharp enough for its savour to become a phantom sensation on the tip of your tongue. However, the same tactic never worked for his cock. Whenever you tried to imagine him abruptly pushing it inside of you — the craving would just become stronger, more unbearable. Fantasies were never enough. You needed the real thing.

“Not that I care what label you’ve decided to put on me tonight,” he continues, obviously hinting at the ‘kinky bastard’ incident. “A lover or an enemy — you’re staying at arm’s length.”

“More like at cane’s length,” you mock, angry eyes swirling that white tie oh his slender neck, but the rope around your wrists stops you from tugging on it to angrily steal a kiss.

“Cane’s length?” curious, Viktor leans over you in his chair, and for a second you’re deceived, rejoicing at the proximity, but he’s quick to remind you what a fool you are, his unhinged expression turning into an entertained one. “You have quite the brilliant mind, darling. We should probably test that out.”

Your teeth instantly sink into your tongue, instinctively scolding yourself for the inability to watch your mouth. Why, just why would you say that?

“Test that out?” you mumble, as your gaze drops to his shoes, unable to handle the intensity of his amber eyes lancing through your face.

“Exactly,” Viktor confirms, slyly biting his lower lip. “You see,” he utters, as his crutch loudly taps on the floor, causing you to shudder, “I don’t think the distance between us is equal to the length of my cane.”

“You can’t be serious,” you snapped at him, sobbing frustratingly. “Viktor, it was just a metaphor.”

“I’m a scientist, my dear. I don’t do metaphors. I do calculations and proven facts,” he utters, placing the crutch into his lap, and you find yourself shamefully jealous of that stupid stick, wishing terribly it was you resting there instead of it.

Viktor gives the cane an evaluating gaze, as if trying to measure it with his eyes, cruel grin never leaving that sharp, currently reachless for you face.

“So, supposedly,” he clears his throat, hoarse voice unbearably seductive as he pensively looks you up and down, taking in the debauched arch of your back, the redness on your aching knees. “I believe that my cane is around… say, thirty five inches long. And you, my dear,” he grabs the cane by its handle again, pointing at your face, left eye closed as if he’s trying to measure something again, torturing you shamelessly, “are still too close.”

The annoyance is impossible to hold in anymore. It’s a pure torment — incredibly hot in a certain perverted way, if you were to be frank, but god did you hate him with every fibre of your being right now, dreaming of fucking this mocking sass out of him, of teaching him a lesson. Viktor deserved to be ruined purely for the way he keeps those skilled hands to himself right now, denying you the oh so craved pleasure.

“Well, I don’t think I’m close enough to you” a protest escapes your pouted lips, but it appeared to have fallen on deaf ears, just like all of your previous, hopelessly useless pleas.

“Eh, debatable,” he utters casually, driving you even more mad with a playful shake of that insufferably smart head. You bite back an angry ‘tsk’, followed by a pissed-off roll of the furious eyes. Viktor is quick to notice the bratty demeanour.

He’s smooth in his roughness. In testing your patience with the insatiability of his own. Something cold quickly brushes your chin, forcibly tilting your head up again, and you huff at the audacity, eyes snapping open as you realise that he’s coaxing you to look him in the eye with his fucking cane.

“The fuck?” you hiss at the cocky jerk, but the way he holds that crutch to your face disarms you, adds even more arousal to the mixture of intense feelings building up inside of you.

“Language, my dear,” he purrs, eyes sparkling with malicious pride, “we‘re in a respectable place.“

He bares the upper row of his teeth, smiling at his own witty remark, and you can swear to god that never in your life have you wanted to wipe a grin off somebody’s face so badly. With a kiss, preferably. But a fist would work just perfectly fine too.

“Oh please,” you hitch in breath when the same hard edge of the cane slips off your chin to fleetingly press into your neck, but something about the uncertainty of Viktor’s movements tells you that he’s not done with you yet, that there’s more ‘foreplay’ to come. “Your lab is not a church.”

“Oh yeah? Why are you kneeling then?” he teases, poking you with that sharp sarcasm. As if a goddamn crutch against your throat is not humiliating enough already.

“I want to slap you.”

Viktor hums, and the tortuous cane traces the curve of your shoulder, causing your breath to hitch in anticipation, the contrast of the cool material with your hot skin stealing a dreamy gasp from you.

“Slap me?” he murmurs, enjoying the way you suffer for him. Because of him. “Well, too bad I’m that good at tying knots.”

“You’re an awful person.”

“Oh, don’t flatter me like that.”

“No, seriously, why don’t you just allow me to make you feel good?” you practically cry out, arching your hips in a desperate attempt to get closer to him. But the cane is still there, gently dipped into your collarbone to keep you in place.

“You’re already making me feel good,” he whispers, pushing you away, and all you can do is groan, squirming like you’re facing grim death. But considering the current intensity of your overstimulation, that death might actually turn into quite the real one. In the guise of this devilishly handsome tease, which would make it the worst and the best way to go at the same time.

“But I can make you feel even better,” you beg, half-lidded, exhausted and so beautiful in this perverted state of such earnest vulnerability. Just precious. Sacred even, if the situation wasn’t so sinful. “Viktor, please. Aren’t you done torturing me? I could do so much better than just grovel here.”

“Perhaps,” he presumes, but you know him and his undying love for the eye-fucking too well. Hell, he might just adore this humbling staring even more than having actual sex with you. “But I would rather enjoy the exhibition for a little longer.”

You roll your eyes again. A rather dangerous choice of a reaction, because the crutch in his hand abruptly taps on your shoulder, drawing your attention back to his glistening eyes.

“Roll your eyes at me again and I’ll make it two cane’s length,” he threatens, and you bite your lip to suppress a pitiful moan so hard, that your teeth leave two crimson marks on it’s tender flesh.

And that sexy, secretly favourite torture of yours starts all over again.

#viktor smut #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x gn reader #viktor fanfic #no beta we die like men #arcane smut #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader smut #Spotify

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willsimpforanyone · 1 year

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Good whatever time it is, if you're currently writing for request, could you write a GN!Monster!reader x percy Jackson where the reader recently got turned into a monster because they failed a quest for their parent?

good afternoon! i can definitely do that for you

this is gonna be more angsty than usual bc i can't imagine this went well

-----------------------------------

The words echoed in my head, chipping away at my resolve.

You've failed me. You're a waste. A disappointment.

I should never have trusted something so important to someone so weak.

I curled in on myself, bones still aching from being reformed and reshaped, muscles screaming from being stretched over this new form.

They didn't even tell me what they were going to do. They just had this... look in their eye, cold and cruel. I had begged, I had been on my knees and it meant nothing.

We were supposed to go out in threes, three of us on a quest, not one. I wasn't supposed to be by myself but they insisted, it was too secret to share with more than one person. They wanted me and me alone.

Maybe they wanted me alone.

My claws scraped against my tough skin, long and thin and alien. I was taller, larger. I tried to see properly, tears obscuring my vision, but the light seemed to pierce my brain and I shrieked, something inhuman and wild.

Everything hurt, everything was wrong, I didn't even know how I was breathing. I didn't know where I was and the confusion almost hurt more.

Something was moving. Familiar sounds, leaves being shuffled out the way of feet, twigs snapping under footsteps. Okay, I'm outside.

It provided the tiniest amount of comfort, along with a wave of fresh anxiety.

"Who's there?"

A voice! I know that voice! I risked opening my eyes again, twisted, clawed hand shading my face.

Brown and green, blue peaking through. A forest. Trees came into focus, then branches, then leaves. The light still felt like pins in my eyes but I had to know who spoke.

"Whoa, what the fuck are you?!"

Oh my gods. That... that was Percy.

He didn't know who I was. I didn't even know who I was. It felt like my organs squeezed painfully, panic and fear and desperation flooding my bloodstream.

I opened what I assumed was my mouth. What came out was some kind of whine, pitiful and pathetic. No words.

A flash of bronze made me freeze. Oh gods, that's Riptide, he's going to kill me.

I skittered back as best I could, pressing against tree bark. The sharpness of the texture didn't hurt and I hated it. I wasn't a threat, I wasn't going to hurt him, I wasn't what he thought I was, oh fuck he's going to kill me.

I had to talk, I had to make him understand. I tried to clear my throat, thick with fear. It made a hacking sound, like a cat throwing up. Slowly, I moved what I assumed was my tongue, poking it out and running it along my teeth. It was long and black and my teeth were thin and sharp.

Pushing aside the mental agony of not knowing what this body looked like, I tried to remember the way to form letters.

"H-eel-pp n-m-ee-"

I was crouched on the ground, making myself as small and unthreatening as possible, clawed hands wrapped around my legs. C'mon Percy, use your brain, a real monster wouldn't ask for help.

"H-hee-lp mmm-ee."

Please, please, Percy, I'm begging you to put the sword away, help me, please!

The bronze flash disappeared and I risked a deep breath. Good start, I can do this, we'll sort this out, he'll help.

"...you want help?" He took a step closer, hand still holding Riptide in pen form. "You're asking for help?"

"Pl-pleeea-eas-e?" I kept my hand shielding my eyes but I looked up at him. I couldn't see any recognition in his face, but I couldn't see much of anything.

"Who are you?" Percy demanded, a harsh tone that felt like a punch to the gut.

My name, he needed my name. How do I say my name?

It took a few attempts, letters getting jumbled up and my tongue contorting in ways I didn't like. Some of my teeth nicked it a little and I physically recoiled at the taste of my own blood as if I could get away from my own mouth.

Percy looked confused, but less aggressive. He seemed to be patient, waiting for an explanation.

Something approaching my name left my thin lips, and his eyes widened.

"How do you know them? What did you do?"

No! No, fuck, that's not what I meant!

I repeated my name, carefully using a claw to tap on my chest. "Mmm-ee."

Percy's jaw dropped. "You're... but they're out... oh gods, what happened to you?"

I burst into tears. Huge, ribcage-wracking sobs from between my needle teeth and I reached out for Percy with a dangerously sharp hand.

He put his hand in mine and I closed my spindly fingers around it. Tears blurred what little I could see, and my throat felt raw and scratchy from panic and holding back.

"Okay, okay, we're gonna fix this, okay?" Percy's voice was wobbly but calm. "We're going to undo this, and you're going to tell me what happened and I swear to Hades I will find who did this to you." His grip tightened on my hand.

"I will find them and I promise you, they will never hurt you again."

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i hope you enjoyed, thank you for requesting!

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy x reader #monster!reader #percy jackson x monster!reader #percy jackson imagine #gn!reader

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mynameismckenziemae · 5 months

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Ain’t No Sunsine When She’s Gone-Chapter IV

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader (no use of y/n)

Tequila makes her clothes fall off

(previous chapter here, next chapter here)

“But I get to put mine on you first.”

You whimper and grind your hips against his; anything for some friction. “Take me inside before we give your neighbors a show”.

Bob nods and kisses you again before pulling away, taking your hand to lead you to the house. He’s got such a cute butt you think and giggle.

“What’s so funny back there?” He asks over his shoulder as he’s trying to unlock the front door

“You’ve got a great ass,” your hands reach out to squeeze it, “I wanna take a bite out of it.” You snort, laughing at yourself.

He laughs too, finally getting the door unlocked. “Thanks, sweetheart,” He turns and pulls you through the doorway, kicking it closed behind you “But it’s nothing compared to yours,” he says as he slides his hands under your dress to grab a cheek in each hand. He squeezes and his eyes widen as he realizes. “Where are your underwear?”

“Must’ve forgotten them at home, my bra too” You bite your lip.

“This whole time—so all night?” He stammers as he’s caressing your ass, he can’t help himself as it’s the first time he’s gotten his hands on your bare skin.

You nod and confirm, “All night”.

“Jesus” he whispers.

You hear a loud thump from Bob’s room and Steve comes flying in, skidding to stop at your legs.

You crouch to greet him. “Hey, buddy. How’s my good boy? Were you good for your daddy this week?” You coo, laughing as he sniffs your ears.

Bob swallows heavily and says, “Come on bud, I’ll let ya out quick”.

You rise and let Bob take him as you head towards his bedroom.

He’s watching Steve through the screen door as you strip your dress off. You’re completely bare as and throw it at his feet. Tequila really does make your clothes fall off. Bob looks down to see what it is and then his gaze turns to you. He almost swallows his tongue.

You smile and turn to slowly walk the rest of the hallway to his room. You can feel his eyes on your ass the whole way.

————————————————————————

You lay back on the pillows as you hear him impatiently call Steve back in, telling him to lay down, “We’ll be out in a little while.”

He slides into the room in his socks, almost falling as he tries to pull his shirt off. His jeans are next but he hesitates at his boxer briefs. “I, I think I’ll leave these on for now, if that’s okay? I want you, God, do I want you l, I just want to wait a bit longer and I just think I’ll be too tempted if I don’t have them on with you being bare and-“

“Bob. It’s okay. Whatever you’re comfortable with is okay. We can stop now if you want. There’s no pressure at all”. You say, sitting up.

He gets onto the bed and moves on hands and knees over you. “No, no. This?” He kisses you hard, pushing his clad erection onto your lower stomach. “This, I am definitely ready for”. He kisses you again, pulling away to trail down your neck. He pays special attention to each nipple with his tongue and teeth until you’re writhing and begging beneath him. “Please Bob” you whine.

He continues lower, sucking a mark right above your pubic bone as your hips arch off the bed. “I’ve read so much about doing this” he murmurs against your thigh, so close to where you want him. “Tell me if I do something you don’t like or something I should do differently”.

You whimper, but nod.

He leans in and licks you slowly from your opening to your clit. You both moan at the contact. “Oh, Sunny girl. You taste so good” he says, licking against your clit. Your hands fly to his hair, weaving your fingers through his strands. He shudders against you when you pull slightly.

You again groan in unison when he licks into you, fucking you with his tongue. You open your eyes that had drifted shut and take him in. Eyes closed, glasses askew, and hips rutting into the bed; he’s enjoying this as much as you. His right hand releases the tight grip he has on the back of your thigh and he works two fingers into you, pumping them in and out slowly. You cry out as he turns them, finding your G-spot.

“Fuck, Bobby. Right there. Just like that baby” you pant. He really must have done his research because he doesn’t change a thing. He keeps the same rhythm, tonguing the same tempo on your bundle of nerves. Your orgasm slams into you, your legs tighten around his ears and your moans increase in pitch as he works you through it, slowing when you shake from overstimulation.

He surprises you when he goes back in, licking you softly. You’re shocked when you feel that familiar pull. “I think, I think I’m gonna cum again” you pant. He nods and keeps up his ministrations, gently coaxing you into another release. You groan as it hits you, riding out the pleasure.

As you’re coming down, Bob gently flicks you with his tongue, once, twice, and again sets you off. “Fuck!” You cry out, tugging his hair.

Your limbs feel like lead as you come down. Your face is wet and you realize you’re crying. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?” You hear Bob as he comes to lay beside you, turning you in his arms to hold you.

“I’m more than okay, that was incredible,” you mumble into his chest before you lean back to look at him. “I’ve never gotten off from oral before. I also, uh…I also didn’t know I could get off more than once. That was a first for me. I’m not sure why I’m crying, I think they’re happy tears. I’m sorry.” you laugh wetly, before tucking your head back into his chest.

“Don’t be sorry. That was incredible for me too. Watching you come undone was beautiful.” Bob replies into your hair.

________________________________________

Once your heart rate returns to normal, you start to trace a line from his nipple down to the band of his briefs. He’s still hot and hard against you, precum staining the front of his boxer briefs. You lean in and flick your tongue on his nipple before pulling it into your mouth. He inhales sharply above you, cock twitching above you. “Do you like that?” You ask, releasing him.

“Yeah, feels good” he confirms. You guide him onto his back and return to his chest. You tease him, biting, sucking, pinching, and pulling; committing each sigh, groan, and whimper to memory.

He’s a mess underneath you, and starting to beg. “Please, Sunny. Please touch me”.

You kiss further south, leaving a matching bruise right below his waistband. You pull his boxer briefs down and encourage him to sit up against the pillows. “I want you to watch me”. His head falls back with a whimper, but nods as he lifts back up.

“You’re so big, I don’t know if I can fit it all in my mouth,” you whisper as you lick him, “but I’m gonna try” and put your lips around the head, licking the fresh precum that leaks out. His hips thrust slightly with a deep groan. You slowly bob your head, taking him a little deeper.

His hips jerk involuntarily and you gag a bit, “Shit, I’m sorry” he pants. “ You pull off him and shake your head, “It’s okay”, you kiss his top before sucking him down, deeper this time. He groans, and his hand goes to your hair, gently weaving through your strands to pull into a makeshift ponytail. You can tell he’s starting to get close, but you’re not ready for him to cum yet. You pull off again and lightly jerk him while kissing down to his balls. You tongue him sloppily, before drawing one gently into your mouth. He groans again “Holy shi-oh God”. You moan around him and he jolts at the vibration.

“Ohhh, feels so good, Sun, so so good,” he babbles. You decide to put him out of his misery and return to his cock, bobbing again at a steady pace. Your hand goes to his balls, softly rolling them. “Fuck, I’m getting close” he breathes, pulling your hair to pull you off.

You shake your head and hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, eyes tearing as you fight the urge to gag. Your nose brushes the trimmed hairs at his base just as you gently tug his balls. You press your fingertips to his perineum, and he’s cumming. A broken groan leaves him as he fills your mouth with his salty spend. You moan, swallowing it down greedily.

You release him and pull his briefs back up, before laying your head on his trembling chest.

“Sunny, I-…that was…amazing. You’re amazing. Jesus Christ that was amazing” he babbles, absentmindedly playing with your hair.

You smile and lift your head for a kiss.

————————————————————————

You lay together in comfortable silence for a few minutes, before Steve bumps the door open, waiting for an invitation.

Bob taps the bed next to you and he’s up in seconds, attacking both your ears, making you laugh before he settles his head on Bob’s chest, next to yours.

“You have the best laugh. It’ll make anyone smile,” he says into your hair. “Sunny’s the perfect name, you just light up the room, radiating joy, making everyone around you warm, comfortable, at ease.”

Tears immediately spring to your eyes as you lift your head. “That’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” You say with a kiss, tears leaking as you lay your head back down.

“It’s the truth. I hate that your ex treated you the way he did, trying to dull your shine. I can see the way you second-guess yourself, I hate that he still has that power over you. I would never, I will never do that to you. I’ll treat you the way you deserve if you’ll let me”.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that’.” You reply not trusting yourself to say more, voice thick with tears.

———————————————————————

“Want some ice cream?” Bob asks as he hands you one of his tee shirts.

“I always want ice cream” you smile, pulling his shirt on and following him to the kitchen.

He directs you to the couch, telling you to pick a movie while he scoops it. As soon as you sit, Steve’s next to you, putting his head in your lap. “I missed you, buddy, did you miss me?” He sighs as if to tell you “Of course I did”. You stroke his ears as Bob hands you a bowl.

“So there’s talk I might be sent out again. Nothing confirmed, but it’s likely.” Bob tells you.

You nod. “Do you know when? For how long?”

“Probably Monday or Tuesday, not next week, the week after. I’m guessing 3-6 weeks, depending on how quickly we can get the job done” he replies.

“The whole squad?” You ask.

“Yeah, makes me a little nervous when they pull us all.” He says as he chooses a movie.

“I believe it. I was pretty little, but I remember my dad being deployed just once. My mom was a wreck through it all—cried a lot, and didn’t want to leave the house so she wouldn’t miss a call. He came home and was pretty shook up, and she told him never again or we wouldn’t be there when he got home. It always bothered here, but got worse after Goose died and I was born.”

“I believe it. Makes a lot of difference when you have someone to come home to” Bob says, looking at you, saying so much with so little.

“I agree” you smile, hoping he knows you feel the same about him.

“I find out more this week, and I’ll let you know. Will uh…will you be here when I get back?” He asks nervously.

“Bob, are you asking me to go steady?” You tease.

He chuckles, a blush rising. “Yeah, I guess I am”.

“I’d love to,” you reply, kissing him on the cheek.

——————————————————————————

Taglist:

@blindedbythelightt

#bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #top gun maverick #aint no sunshine when she’s gone

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skyewritesstuff · 5 months

Text

all too well (stan's version)

my masterlist.

entry 3 in my (taylor’s version) songfic series.

summary: you said if we had been closer in age maybe it would've been fine...and that made me want to die.

pairing: post-covid!stan marsh x younger!reader

fandom: south park

warnings: oh god. toxic relationship. toxic age-gap relationship (20s/50s). domestic violence (throwing things). language. afab reader.

notes: based on all too well (10 minute version), the song and the short film, by taylor swift. this has been beta read, and fun fact, this is the first fic i've written that got a perfect score in grammarly. it has been beta read. :)

word count: 2.9k

“If we had been closer in age maybe it would’ve been fine.”

That was the moment that set you off. It was like a match was lit and dropped into a brush pile doused in kerosene. It simultaneously made you want to rip your skin from your bones and scream in agony, but also retaliate towards the older man standing in front of you…so that’s exactly what you did.

“You burned down your family’s farm. You killed your sister and your mom, and you ruined your own life just like you fucking ruined me! You told me you loved me. You took my virginity. You told me you wanted to marry me and now you’re saying our ages are a problem? That’s bullshit, Stan and you know it.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Get the fuck out of my house. We’re done. Go find you some guy your age that can drink to tolerate your batshit crazy ass, because my body has built too high of a tolerance to even be able to get buzzed enough to be around you. I’d rather go back to using my hand on the nightly basis than listen to you scream and cry at me like a fucking kid.”

You held it together despite internally wanting to crumble. You wanted to fall to your knees and sob and beg him to stay and beg him to love you, because despite everything, you still loved him.

“Fine.” You walked over to the counter and grabbed your belongings and your keys before turning to head out of the door. You then turned around and faced him, “That’s the funny part about all of this, Stan. My age is a problem now? Cool, fine, because you know what? Years will pass and I’ll get older…but your little girlfriends, side pieces, and fuckbuddies? They’ll all stay my age.”

With that, you walked out and slammed the door, heading to your car and exiting his driveway quicker than you’d ever pulled out of a location in your life. You tried to hold your tears in as you drove, but they started quickly pouring out and didn’t stop until you found yourself sitting on the floor of the shower in your apartment hours later

The water falling from the shower head had started running cold a long while ago. You couldn’t tell if you were still shaking from the tears or from the cold drops that fell onto your bare skin, but you pulled your knees in closer to your chest as you sat there overwhelmed by everything. This wasn’t your first fight with Stan. Things were never fully stable. He’d gotten mad at you when you asked him why he dropped your hand and stepped in front of you when a tall woman with black hair and glasses approached him at the class reunion that he’d invited you to.

“You dropped my fucking hand! What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I didn’t even fucking notice. What are you talking about I ‘dropped your hand’?”

You shuddered again at the memory as it kept playing on in your mind as if you couldn’t shut it off even though you desperately wanted to.

“They are all older than me.”

“But like, what are you talking about?”

“I feel so out of place. You’re the only one that makes people comfortable.”

“You’re making this about you.”

“They won’t even look at me!”

You finally mustered up the strength to stand up, get out of the shower, and wrap yourself in a towel. It was removed the moment you dried off enough to put on your pajamas, consisting of one of Stan’s t-shirts and a pair of athletic shorts. Your heart ached as the cotton fabric went over your head and onto your body, hanging loosely on your frame.

You hadn’t even bothered to tell anyone what’d happened. You hadn’t from the start, so why start now. Your friends would be sympathetic and supportive, but you also knew of some friends, but more so family, that would be telling you ‘I told you so’.

Your mother had warned you from the beginning, telling you that he had no business being with someone that was young enough to be his daughter regardless of whether or not you were both consenting adults, which had been your main defense all along. He was able to connect with your dad on sports, alcohol, and music and had even made the connection that they might have played each other in football in high school. That thought made you feel a little uncomfortable, but it wasn’t enough for you to see the concerns that even your dad silently harbored about this relationship.

You shook your head, drying the ends of your hair with a towel before curing up to lay down on your side, feeling ashamed and embarrassed that you’d even let this go on for as long as you had. There were so many signs and you’d missed them all, wearing what you could only describe as rose tinted glasses to see the world through the lens of the hope of true love.

You stayed on your side, curled up, until you glanced at the alarm clock to see the time. It was then that you were brought back to a few months prior, naked and curled up on your side in his bed as he pulled you into his chest. You felt dirty and ashamed. It was one thing for you to use your body to stop an argument and to pose a distraction from harsh words and glass bottles being thrown around, but it was another for him to go along with it. You wanted him to not take you up on your offer, coming to you with the proposition to talk about the problem at hand instead of just fucking to forget. The memory made you feel sick to your stomach…they all did.

The only thing that hurt worse than the bad memories were the ones that radiated any glimmer of hope into the spiral of your relationship. You baked cookies together at one in the morning all because you just wanted to. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you mixed the ingredients and got them prepared and hoisted you onto the counter to kiss you while you waited for the oven timer to go off. He told you all about his childhood…from his friends to the farm…information you’d never think of sharing, let alone weaponizing. You told him about yours and how you’d always dreamed of falling madly in love, getting married, and having children as to drop some kind of hint to him. He told you he loved you not even a week later when he’d come over to spend the evening with you, but the kiss that followed tasted of whiskey, planting the seed of doubt in your heart that you’d work hard to push back down every time you said those three words to him.

The good did not outweigh the bad, but your mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that someone could be that kind only to be so cruel. How could someone love you and then destroy you with such simplicity? Unless, they never loved you at all. You shook your head, trying to shake the thought out of the forefront of your mind. That could never be the case, but what if it was?

You were jarred from your thoughts by the sound of not knocking, but pounding on your door. You jumped, unsettled by the noise. You walked to the door, peering through the peephole only to see Stan standing on your doormat, partially slumped over on the door, using his closed fist to pound on the door. He apologized, begging you to answer the door through slurred words all because he loves you and he made a mistake.

You opened the door and Stan all but fell inside, stumbling and grabbing a hold of a coat rack and your arm. Several items fell off of the coat rack as he picked himself up. You rolled your eyes watching him scramble to pick them up out of the floor, almost falling again.

“Just leave it.” You replied coldly.

“N-No, I did this…I fucked it up like I fuck up everything else.” he handed you a beanie and a hoodie and you took it into your arms with a deep sigh of frustration.

His hand landed on a red knit infinity scarf. He picked it up and took a good look at it. “You had this on when we went to see Shelley and mom. I-It matched the flowers.”

You took a hard swallow, pursing your lips, “Yeah…” Your mind went back to the red carnations Stan placed on his sister and his mother’s graves that day. Regardless of his behavior, you couldn’t help but pity him when it came to his family. It was a tragedy and there wasn’t anyone that could deny that.

Once you hung the articles back on the rack, you turned to Stan, who was leaning on the wall for support. He was more than obviously drunk, per usual. You cursed the availability of self-driving cars, but you doubt deep-down that his drunken state would’ve kept him from getting behind the wheel to try and keep you entrapped considering it was something that would ultimately benefit him. Despite his self-deprecating behaviors, Stan was the love of his own life. He was his own number one and there was no one that could knock him out of that position short of the bottle.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “What do you want, Stanley? You told me to get out of your house and that we were done.”

“I-I know…but…I couldn’t…I couldn’t let you leave. I love you, Y/N. I love you and need you, baby.” he slurred, reaching for you. You took a step back and rolled your eyes as he continued, “Alexa told me I needed to stay away from you, but I just can’t. I can’t do that. She told me to stay away from ‘that little girl’ and to find someone my own age, but I told her that you’re a woman and you’re mature. It’s fine. You know that, right? I’m not…I’m not worried about your age.”

You blinked, perplexed by his statements considering what he’d said earlier, “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“Remember when Kyle said he didn’t know I had a daughter, but it wasn’t my daughter, it was you?”

“Yeah, and I remember your other friend stopping me at the bar telling me I needed to run too.”

The whole reunion felt like a fever dream, but the comments made by Kyle, as well as the man at the bar…a taller man with dark hair and tanned skin who was holding the hand of his husband who also looked at you with deep concern etched onto his features…stuck with you. You knew by their impact that you shouldn’t have let them go, but instead, you forced them to the back of your mind every time they’d reappear. You’d remind yourself that these people no longer knew Stan, because it’d been decades since their school years. The presence of a freshly twenty-something year old on the arm of a fifty-year old was everything an outsider needed to know about Stan Marsh.

“That’s a good idea…let’s run…let’s go to Vegas…let’s get married. I love you and I want you to stay with me.” he begged, this time dropping to his knees.

“Get up, Stan. This is ridiculous.” You said, extending a hand to help him up. He stood back up and walked closer towards you, putting his hands on your waist. Tears were welled up in his eyes and his face was flushed. You couldn’t tell if this was from the heat of the whiskey, emotion, or his history of having a sensitive stomach in times of high stress.

“I'm so sorry.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. His lips lingered near yours and your chest tightened. Your love for the man in front of you was doing its best to fight off the anger and sorrow you were feeling as if you hadn’t been down this road before. This was a normal occurrence even if it wasn’t in the presence of a potential break up. Every fight ended like this. He’d get drunk, apologize, kiss you, fuck you, and then wake up the next day hungover. The fight would be long since forgotten.

“I can’t do this, Stan.” Your voice cracked, “I love you, but I can’t do this.”

“But you love me.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough.” You spoke plainly, gently putting your hands on his chest to slowly push him away. Your stomach turned a little, knowing his past history of violence. He’d never hit you, but any nearby object was fair game to be tossed through the air in your general direction. You didn’t trust him not to hit you, and that should’ve been another red flag, but it also went ignored.

“But…”

“You took my virginity when we were both drunk. You lied about my age at the reunion until someone told you there was no way I was almost thirty. You’re basically unemployed. You drink all day and half-ass your job to the point where you lose clients quicker than you make money.” The more you spoke, the more the anger began to rise as you recalled all of the things you’d been ignoring for so long, “You’ve thrown full glass bottles of whiskey at me. You’ve thrown long neck bottles, shot glasses…basically anything you can drink your sorrows away in has been thrown my way on top of your phone, my fucking water bottle…anything with weight to it. You ruined my twenty-first by not showing up to my party and blacking out drunk in your own fucking bedroom, which made my parents hate you…”

“Your parents love me!” The rest of your points going ignored again.

“You really are oblivious as fuck, aren’t you? I’m dying inside, Stan. I can’t fucking doing this anymore. You have ruined me and I don’t know if I’ll ever be myself again. You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would’ve been fine…but I don’t even think you could hold a relationship with someone your own age. If Wendy wasn’t married, you would’ve left me that night and moved on to ruin her too…but I don’t think she would’ve given you the opportunity…because admittedly, she’s not young and fucking stupid like me.” You pursed your lips, taking a breath, “You couldn’t manipulate her the way you do me…the way you did me…because we’re done, Stanley.”

He looked at you, eyes glazed over, his brain taking longer to process what you’d said due to his state of intoxication.

“I loved you and I tried to be there for you. I tried to create a safe space, because fuck, no one’s done it for you for the last fifty some years and I thought you deserved it…but you just took advantage of it.” You said, shaking your head, “I hope one day you find everything you’re missing. I hope you go to rehab, because you need it. I hope you make peace with your father, because you need that too.”

“Fuck Randy. I fucking hate Randy. He’s…”

“He’s your dad and sure he’s fucked up over the years, but it’s not like you’re some saint either. You both have made mistakes. Go to therapy, get your shit together, and go find happiness…with someone who isn’t me…and is closer to your own age.”

Tears had started to stream down your face rapidly and you hadn’t noticed. He stepped closer and reached up to wipe your tears away. You shook your head, reaching up to wipe them off yourself.

“I’ll go with you out to your car and program it to take you back home, but after that, I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“You don’t mean that.”

You nodded, “I do…and I’d normally say that I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I am.”

“I thought we were made for each other.” he paused, “Maybe another time…in another life?”

You shrugged. The sentiment was nice. It was pleasant to think about, but it was sadly not a reality. It was doubtful that your lives would ever cross again and it was unlikely that he’d change. In another life, maybe, but that wasn’t something you were even sure existed.

“I don’t know, Stan.” You said, wrapping your arms around your midriff.

“I love you.”

You didn’t say anything. You opened the door and motioned for him to follow you. On your way out, the red of the scarf hanging from the coat rack caught your eye. For a brief second, your hand reached up to take it, debating on dropping the knit accessory in the back seat of his car. You knew that this would just enable Stan to try and contact you again and begin this cycle in a never-ending loop like the article of clothing itself.

You wordlessly followed Stan to his car, programming it to drive him back to his home before helping him into his seat and closing the door. You backed up, watching the car start to pull out of the lot and head down the street as he exited your life for good.

It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well…

#south park #south park fanfiction #south park x reader #stan marsh #pc!stan #pc!stan marsh #post-covid #post-covid special #stan marsh x reader #stan marsh x yn #stan marsh x you #south park x yn #south park x you

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ohtobeleah · 2 years

Note

I have a Halloween request for bob:

77. “The legend said it only goes after virgins...so sucks for you I guess.”

Request List / Prompt List

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“It’s just an old wise tale—“ Payback started as you all hung around in the change room. Getting your flight suits on for the day. “Legend has it they went down between the gully and their bodies were never recovered, their souls are trapped and try to take down anyone who flys over the gully—“

“Ah, so that’s why that call it’s dead man’s gully huh?” You rolled your neck, still stiff from last night. Bob couldn’t stop looking at you, picturing what you looked like under your flight suit. The marks you’d left his back littered with stung, but god it got him off. “Kinda sounds like something you’d believe in.” Chuckling Paybacks way you shook your head.

“A sceptic are we sparrow?” Hangman interrupted. “Thought for sure you’d fall for that bullshit, you know—ghosts and ghouls and what not.”

“I’m more of a see it to believe it kinda gal.” You replied. Shutting your locker as you did your flight suit up.

“Makes sense, you and Bobby boy over here would make a great dynamic duo, bonding over numbers and whatever else would get you off.” Hangman teased, winking at Bob who made his way over to where you stood.

“Yeah I’m not into all that stuff either, all kinda seems too unbelievable.” Bob shrugged. “I’d probably need to see a full blown apparition or experience something completely unexplainable to change my mind.”

“Sceptics are just scared of the unexplainable Floyd.” Hangman chewed his gum as he smirked. “Unexplained turbulence flying in a gully with basically no wind would rattle my bones too.”

“Shut up Hangman we get it—“ you sighed. “Seems to me you’re just trying to find an excuse to fall back on for your shitty manoeuvring.” You huffed, Payback couldn’t hold back his laughter. Bob just stood smirking, his chest puffed as you beamed his way.

“Don’t worry Bob, the legend said it only goes after virgins, so sucks for you I guess.” Hangman spat as you tried to hide your disbelief, knowing full well Robert Floyd literally had you begging his name over and over again in the supply closet of your dorm last night before having snuck back to your bunk while Phoenix was out in a night flight.

You and Bob had been pretty flirty with one another since first meeting at the Hard Deck bar. You’d noticed the WOS sitting off to the side of the pool table early on in the night. Ending up between the sheets together more often the not between flight training and practice.

“Shit!” Bobs hands fell to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he bucked his hips against your face. Watching from above as you took his length so well down your throat. “Oh my god, fuck—“ throwing his head back in pure pleasure Bob felt his the all too familiar feeling racing to the base of his shift. Knowing damn well if you kept going with the way you were sucking him off so expertly, he wouldn’t last.

“C’mer—“ Bob mumbled, helping you up off your knees. Kissing you passionately as you sat back on the small bench. Your legs instantly wrapping around Bobs waist as he waisted no time, smashing his length into your cervix as he cupped your mouth to muffle your moans. Watching your eyes roll as he rolled his hips. “Fuck your so wet, all for me huh?” Nodding you bit your bottom lip.

Been thinking about you all day, fucked me so good the other night I just needed more.” You never would have expected Robert Floyd to be a good fuck. But it was always the quiet ones wasn’t it. “God you feel so fucking good—“ the pad of Bobs thumb working to roll over your clit so carefully it worked to turn the coil inside you perfectly, watching as you chased your high in the damn supply closet. “Fuck, keep going, just like that!”

“What was that?” Bob teased as he kissed your neck, smirking against your flushed skin. “Speak up? I couldn’t hear you?” Slowly his motion just to tease you.

“Bob please, please keep going—!” You whisper moaned. “Bob please, faster, faster!”

“God anything to see you cum around me.”

You felt your panties dampening as you remembered last night. Standing beside Bob as you noticed the crimson colour his cheeks had gone at Hangman’s dig.

“Unless Bobby here isn’t such a virgin after all?” Bob didn’t know what was more embarrassing, going along with it or putting himself as a good fuck. He chose to keep you out of it, for your own peace of mind. Bob didn’t want Hangman hanging around.

“Wouldn’t even know where to put it.” Bob smirked, you couldn’t help the laugh you let out at his obvious lie. Following after Bob as he made his way out of the change room.

“Supply closet?” You whispered as Bob stopped in his tracks. Turning to look over his shoulder to see if anyone else had followed before grabbing your waist, shoving you inside the supply closet with a laugh and a needy grin.

“Fuck yes.”

#Halloween 2022 prompt list #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd #top gun maverick fanfiction #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd

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ashtronomyys · 15 days

Text

Our Future Days

Chapter 1 - *Pt.3*

SoapGhost TheLastofUs Au OFD Masterpost (Includes Further Tag Warnings) Chpt1 Masterpost

~1.5k Words

// Original Character

**********

"MacTavish, wake /uuuup/! Last warning before I dunk a bucket of water on you again..."

It takes a minute for the words to reach him through his comatose state, but when the words do finally process in the man's head, the threat of getting murky water from god knows where poured onto him quickly coaxes the Scotsman into moving. He jumps forward off the ground, almost bumping head first into the girl leaning over him.

"Alright, alright, I- /I'm up/," he yawns around his words, stretching his limbs out until an audible pop can be heard. “No need for the water theatrics again, ye little devil,” he mutters.

The teen next to him shakes her head, her eyes rolling as she tosses a wrapped up wad of parchment paper at him. "Here. You need to eat. Alex and my mom left you some scraps from this morning."

Johnny sits up on his knees and unwraps the package. Some sort of cooked game, likely rabbit, sits wrapped inside the paper. Johnny digs into the meat, gnawing at the cooked skin as he makes note of his surroundings.

They're sitting in the middle of a spacious foyer, a half-broken chandelier hanging over them, and their supplies lay strewn about the room. Old tables lined with gilded trimmings and loveseats adorned with lush fabrics are braced against the doors and windows, a film of dust collecting on them. A grand staircase wraps around the left side of the room, and late morning sunlight pours in through the glass doors out back past the kitchen.

"Shit, how late did you guys let me sleep in?" Johnny asks around a mouthful of rabbit.

The girl shrugs. "I dunno. Seemed like a few extra hours or so? Alex tried waking you up earlier, but you were not having it." She smirks at the man before continuing, "My mom offered to just go and scout with Alex instead, said you could use the rest."

Johnny groans fiercely at the news. "Goddammit Madison, you guys should've woken me up! Hell, kick me next time if you have to!" He waves his hand around as he talks, using it to swipe the irritation off of his creased brows. "That should have been my job. If they run into anything out there they can't handle, I'll-"

"Oh relax, Johnny!" she butts in. "For one, we did try kicking you, and it didn't work. And two, they can handle themselves out there just fine! They've done this sorta thing plenty of times before… Hell, they've dealt with just as much shit as you have."

"Ach! Language!" he reprimands, which earns him a very defiant tongue sticking out at him. Johnny responds by swatting at her leg, Madison, in kind, kicks away his hand with the point of her boot.

The two snicker at each other for a moment, their laughter bubbling over into a more solemn tone.

"Seriously though, they'll be fine. You trust them, right?"

"Och! Course I do… It’s just that this is the third time this week I’ve somehow managed to sleep through my patrol.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t work yourself to the bone like you’ve /been/ doing you wouldn’t be so tired.”

“‘M not ov’rworking m’self,” Johnny argues around a large bite of rabbit meat.

“You are!” Madison continues to reprimand him. “You don’t get enough sleep because you insist on keeping watch the whole night, you don’t eat enough because you keep rationing like we don’t have enough food or something-”

They don’t, really, this far into the journey, but that’s a little secret best kept between him and Alex.

“And what /really/ gets me is how you go out of your way to be the first one going through every doorway or around each corner. Seriously, it’s like you practically throw yourself at those things and it’s really starting to-”

“Oh Christ, Maddie, can you at least let me finish my breakfast before we start on this again?” Johnny begs. He knew the girl meant well and all, but after nearly three weeks, it was getting a little more than exhausting having the teenager scrutinize every other action he makes.

“No. I don’t mind, and I’m sure the rabbit doesn’t care either way,” she flips the better half of her auburn hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms.

Johnny had to admit, it honestly did amaze him that in the midst of of their harrowing, borderline-suicidal trek across open territory, she still managed to find the time to bestow upon him the imperious discontentment typical of a moody teenager.

“Look, I appreciate the concern Maddie… ‘Ay don’t give me that scoff, I mean it!” Johnny promptly moves past the jeer. “Now you’re not gonna like it, but I swear by it when I say that everything so far has been /categorically/ manageable in my books. Trust me, if you think this has been bad, you should’ve seen the last patrol our squadron got trapped on before me and Alex ditched the regiment. Did you know your skin turns all dark and purple if you’ve got a case of gangrene? Saw a guy with trench foot in our troop get it pretty bad.”

“Is this supposed to be reassuring somehow?”

“... Right, point being is that Alex and I, we’ve managed through plenty worse situations before. And I know it’s not much,” he reaches over and motions for Madison’s hand, she reluctantly holds it out for him to unwrap her balled up fist, twisting their pinky fingers together, “but what I can give you is a promise. I swear that if I feel that I’m pushing myself too far, I’ll let ye’s know, cross my heart and all. And in turn, you stop worrying that lil’ head of yours, that sounds like a fair deal to you?”

She seems to mull over his words, chewing on the inside of her cheek before eventually landing somewhere between dissatisfaction and despondence.

“I worry because I don’t want you getting hurt too, you know?”

Any lingering indignation Johnny felt at being lectured by the teenager melts away in an instant. He can’t hold any resentment towards the poor girl and her lectures, after all. He could see the lingering mournfulness in the way she fidgeted, the thought of her father surely flashing in her mind.

It’s been nearly a year now since the Kellers lost him. It still doesn’t make it any easier, he knows too well himself how the passage of time alone hardly makes the memories any less painful. Especially in a life like theirs, where no one’s afforded the luxury of a proper grievance, not when the next tragedy is waiting just around the corner.

Johnny gives her his best comforting smile. “Bah, you worry too much,” he says while bumping his fist against her shoulder. “Way too much for your age, I think you should trust that we’re all gonna turn out just fine. You know, I’ve got a good feeling on this one, a gut feeling that we’re gonna find something good at the end of all this, you’ve just gotta wait and see.”

“Mm, you sure that gut feeling isn’t the rabbit meat you just scarfed down?”

Johnny huffs a breath of laughter. “It’s not the fucking rabbit, Maddie.”

Madison’s expression morphs into a scornful, scrunched up expression. “Oh, so /you/ get to curse all you want to, but I can’t,” she scoffs.

“Well I’m not fifteen, Maddie,” he deadpans. “And I don’t have a mother as kind and considerate as yours. who’s only wanting the /best/ for you and who’s wishes you should respect-”

“Oh /brother/, now you sound like Alex,” if her eyes roll any farther back into her head, Johnny swears they might end up staying that way.

Ahh, and there it is again. That characteristically feisty temperament most teens are built with a natural disposition to.

If it’s a choice between the annoyed groans of displeasure, or the mournful sadness unbefitting any child not raised in as unjust a world as theirs, he’ll take the petulance any day of the week.

"I mean it. You’re not gonna lose me, or Alex, Mrs. K, or anybody else. I promise, alright?"

"Yeah… I know." She squeezes back his pinky, a sly grin growing on her face again. "Alright, but I’m not kidding when I say you better watch after yourself, or the next time I have to wake you up with a pail of water, I’m adding mud and worms to it."

Johnny pulls his hand back, putting on a show with his wide-eyed, shocked expression and his hand held tightly to his chest in mock offense. "Oh, you wouldn't /daaare!/ No, you’d never, you like me too much."

"Not as much as the worms will," she barks back, and his face contorts in hurt. He’s about to say another jab, but Madison pushes him over before he gets the chance.

She bounds towards the kitchen, yelling over her shoulder. "Alright, well I’ve had enough of all that, I’ll leave you to finish up your food. Oh, and start packing up your shit up so we can be ready before my mom and Alex get h-/eeere!/"

She narrowly dodges the rolled up parchment paper being launched at her head.

“Language!”

**********

The majority of Simon's body finally feels alive as he weaves his way through the hustle and bustle of the city streets…

*** To be continued in Pt.3***

#soapghost #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ghoap #fanfic #long fic #fic in progress #ofd #ash writings

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ariluvsusm · 2 years

Note

Could you do a azriel x reader were reader was in love with some one That azriel had killed as the Shadowmaster then a few decades go by then azriel see reader at a ball in day Court and the mating bond clicks for him

I do not care how it ends as long as it's a good ending

yes!! thank you so much for the ask :)

warnings: angst?!?!, reader is spiteful ASFFFF, a few sexual implications, reader is female/fem presenting, reader is giving aelin galathynius vibes,

description: you’re an assassin and your partner is killed by azriel. 20 years later, you’re at a ball, and azriel realizes that you are mates.

a/n: PLEAAAASSSEEE PLEASE give me requests!!! i would love to write literally anything your heart desires 😭 i write for other acotar and tog characters, also!! go check my first post for the list of who i write for, there’s shows too :) (girl and boy!!). anyway, this one is shorter but i really enjoyed writing it. please give me feedback and advice- i’d appreciate it!

wordcount- 2.3k :)

———————————————————————

“i am going to kill you,” you snarl at the spymaster, drawing your daggers from their thigh holsters under your dress.

“i’m going to kill you. i’m going to burn you alive; i’m going to take the air from your lungs and turn your heart to ice; i’m going to burn his name into your skin and brand your bones,” you growl savagely, slowly making your way towards him. magic flickers at your fingertips.

the male in front of you was drained from his duel with your boyfriend. even if he wasn’t, you would still take him on. you circle eachother, blades drawn, staring eachother down. your boyfriends body lay on the other side of the dark hewn city alley, a lake of blood around him.

“stop,” the spymaster’s shadows hiss at him, “don’t hurt her. you’ll regret it.”

“i have no issue with you,” the man snarls back, “stop now, or i will have to fight you.”

“oh, but i have an issue with you,” you laugh cruelly, “you killed my boyfriend.”

“i am a spymaster,” he growls, “i must obey my high lord. do you know what activities your boyfriend was partaking in? the crimes he committed?”

you try not to think about what he might have been hiding. you don’t let your shock show on your face, but the shadowsinger can tell that you didn’t know anyway.

“of course i knew. i’m an assassin,” you snap.

“oh yes, i know you. the dragon of the dunes.” he drawls, stating your old nickname. he backs up, cornering himself. you laugh cruelly once more, your magic begging to be released.

“good,” his shadows whisper. “leave.”

and then he disappears. he disappears into the shadows.

fuck. fuck. he’s a shadowsinger. how could i forget? he can travel through shadows. gods, i should’ve attacked while i had the chance.

but he wasn’t gone; he was still watching you, hiding in the shadows. you yell in frustration, throwing your dagger to the ground. you turn around, and your sight falls upon your lifeless boyfriend. making your way to the other side of the room, you wipe your bloody hands on your skirt and then fall to your knees at his side

the mysterious shadowsinger watches while you attempt to revive him. for 20 minutes, you perform various attempts to save his life. and then, he watches as you fall apart, weeping, your entire body shaking. as you kneel over him, sobs wracking your bod. begging, praying, for some deity to resurrect him. before he can feel any guiltier, he leaves.

he doesn’t sleep that night. for some reason, the images of you weeping haunt his very soul and being. a sorrow that doesn’t fade.

——————————————— 20 YEARS LATER

you slip on your silky, white gown and gawk at yourself in the mirror. it’s a long, white, almost bridal dress. although, weddings are a human tradition, so white gowns have no significance to fae. the dress is sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline that shows off your chest. it’s almost iridescent; so shiny and silky. it compliments the body glitters and oils you applied. you do your hair, before putting on a beautiful headpiece. you rim your eyes with kohl, apply a sultry mauve lipstick, slip on your heels, and drape yourself in silver jewelry. finally, you are ready to attend the ball.

you’ve been invited to a winter solstice ball at the moonstone palace, a very formal but fun event. you can’t wait to eat and dance with your friends, to let go for one night. you slip out of your apartment and into the city, walking to the palace.

when you get there, festivities are already starting. you dance with your friends, eat night court delicacies and drink faerie wine. you’re heading to get another drink, and that’s when he spots you.

the spymaster. he’s watching the crowd- looking for enemies of the night court who might try to cause trouble. when he sees you walking towards the drinks, he recognizes you almost immediately, despite the 2 decades of time between your first and last meeting.

but it’s when you see him- make eye contact with him- that it clicks. and he knows that he is fucked.

because when you recognize the inky hair and golden skin, the shadows and tattoos, and you begin to storm towards him with simmering rage and hatred in your eyes, and he doesn’t feel anything towards you except… except a primal kind of… protectiveness.

his senses are going wild- he can smell you. your scent. the scent that he smelled for 5 minutes- 5 minutes- 20 years ago.

you look absolutely livid. but all he can see is beauty. and you draw closer, the same stride in your step, the same look on your face as that fateful night all those years ago. but it’s as if he’s in a trance- just gazing at you. and it makes it all the more enraging, his reaction. or his lack of one, more like.

“spymaster,” you spit. and then you are shoving past him, making sure to hit his shoulder as you storm past him. he doesn’t know what to do. if he tells you he’s your mate, you may not believe him. you may hate him more. it may ruin you. but evsr primal instinct in his body urges him to follow you.

he’s thought of you and the male he killed a surprising amount. his dead haunt his dreams- every one he’s killed. but for some reason, the memory of you weeping and begging over the male’s lifeless body is a recurring one. but- he’s killed so many before. it never made sense why your face appeared in his dreams so often; until now. your promise to him- to kill him- echos in his head. even now.

you stomp out of the giant french doors and into the large garden of the palace, lit by moonlight and surrounded by nature. you sit on a brick ledge, staring at your lap, tears threatening to spill out. it’s been so long since you thought about your promise. for the first two years after his death, you searched for the spymaster. you armed yourself to the teeth, asking anyone who would listen, anyone who would help. you managed to find him a few times, but you never got close enough. after that you decided that you would climb the ranks of the court, and then you would kill him. so that’s what you did. and you got pretty close, but never close enough. the high lord didn’t need an assassin- so you were always stuck a level below, stuck in hewn city, not wherever the high lord and the spymaster spent all of their time. but as the years passed you by, you realized that he would’ve wanted you to be happy- to move on and do what you really wanted to do. so you did that too. you put vengeance on the back burner, and you wrote. you wrote poems of love and loss, grief and the great. you wrote stories of him and you wrote songs of life. and then you returned to become an assassin, and decided that when the opportunity presented itself, you would keep your promise. and kill the spymaster.

however, eternity is a long time to hold a grudge, and over the years your rage flaked off bit by bit. but when you saw him tonight, it awoke. and so you were grateful for the daggers under your dress and in your bodice, for the sharp pins in your hair. you just had to collect yourself enough to kill him now.

when you heard steps behind you, you jumped up. quickly drawing your daggers from your thigh holsters, as you had all those years ago, and turning around.

“old habits die hard, huh?” the shadowsinger chuckled.

“what are you doing here?” you spit.

“this happens to be my court too.” he says.

and then… you just stand there for a few minutes. staring at eachother.

“well?” he says.

“well?” you snap.

“say something.”

you draw closer to him, twirling your daggers. memories of your past lover echo in your mind- including the one of him writhing in pain, falling to the ground, mouth open in a horrible silent scream.

“i’m going to make you regret ever nearing me or my loved one. i’m going to make you die a horrible death. just like him.”

but it was the sight of him- his eyes- that made you stop dead in your tracks. he looked like he was in pain. genuine regret and sorrow danced in his eyes.

“it was quick.” he says quietly. “it was quick- as all of the deaths are of the ones who don’t cause direct harm to the court are. your beloved was killed because he was a threat to the court. but he never directly did anything to hurt me- or hurt the high lord. and he never hurt any young ones, any children. no matter how many he killed.”

faces flash in his eyes. the ones that haunt him. the ones that he’s killed. the ones that he’s hurt. he can feel your pain. down to the depths of his bones. his instincts tell him how hurt you are- how much he’s made you hurt.

“oh.” you just say. “oh.”

“i-“ he takes in a breath, shuddering. “i’m sorry. i really am. i know how dear he was to you.”

“why do you do it? why do you kill if you hate it so?”

“that isn’t my whole job,” he says, looking down at his feet. “i’m a spy. i help people, too. i save people. but this part of my job- the duty i must fulfill- i do because i am most loyal to my high lord. he is my brother. he knows how demanding it is- but i am the only one he trusts for the job. the people i must kill- they are the ones who it is absolutely necessary to. he wouldn’t ask me to unless they were.” he says, still looking down.

and it is when he looks up, when your rage has calmed and simmered down to a spark, when you can see something other than red- that you feels it. a feeling so ancient, so old. older than time itself. but so wonderful, so fulfilling and brilliant, that warmth spreads throughout your body. he is your mate. your daggers clatter to the ground.

your eyes meet his hazel ones, and you can tell he knows too. he opens his mind to you and you drink it in. see his memories, his experiences, his side of the story. his scars. his everything.

it’s all you can do not to fling yourself at him- embrace him. you understand. you understand why he had to do it- you see his childhood, you see his parents, his family, his scars. you see his abuse. you feel his pain, his agony. his childhood. you see his really family- the high lord, the inner circle. you see his job- the good parts and the bad parts. and you see his regret. his guilt. you see him, for years, waking up from terrors greater than you have ever felt.

you step forward. the feeling inside of you- this light- it consumes you, consumes both of you. this joy, this life.

you take another step forward and grasp his hands, tears finally escaping your eyes. his shadows cloak where you connect- swathing your arms in night.

“what about-“ he whispers to you, tears running down his own face.

“he would’ve wanted this for me. for me to be happy.” you whisper back. and you know it’s the truth.

for these last 20 years, through the spite and hurt and need for revenge, you knew deep down that he would’ve wanted you to move on and be happy. but you couldn’t let go- not until you got him justice.

but you let yourself feel it now. you let yourself let go. and those feelings escape; you open your mind to him too. let him in, let him see the good and the bad. let him see your past lover, who he was and what he meant to you. your childhood and your life. everything.

he drops your hands and cups your face with his hands, so you cup his in yours.

“i am so, so sorry. for everything that’s happened to you. for what’s happened to me. but i’m so grateful- that i found you again. that you understand. all of it- i have someone to share it with.” he murmurs

“me too.” you whisper.

you stand like that for another few minutes- all sappy, crying, cupping each others faces.

“i’m so glad i didn’t kill you.” you say through laughter.

“me too.” he laughs back.

and as he looks into your beautiful, moonlight filled eyes, he sees no trace of the hatred, the pure loathing that once drowned them. he sees understanding and love.

#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x female!reader #azriel x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #sjmaas #acosf #acomaf #acofas #sarah j maas #sjm #fanfic #feyre archeron #rhysand #cassian

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melancholymetropolis · 1 year

Text

"Don't forget to breathe, sweetheart," Bakugo said with a slight smirk.

I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until I looked at the mirror before us. My skin was damn near purple and my eyes were teary. But, I didn't know whether that came from the restriction of air or the constant pleasure swirling in my body.

The pro-hero's cock filled every crevice of my slick canal and stirred up everyone emotion possible. Happiness. Excitement. Sadness. Rage.

I was supposed to quit. Leave Bakugo Katsuki's insane hero agency for good and take the first plane to the US. The heroes in Japan were simply too overzealous for my liking. The men, in particular, were praised for doing the bare minimum. Like rerouting a train or taking a cat out of a tree. I have seen women heroes break every bone in their bodies to save everyone from a plane crash. I have seen them lose their limbs in the war, while the males barely got any scratches. The new generation of male heroes was more than questionable. Their treatment of the woman heroes has infuriated me to no end and I had about enough of it.

I was going back home to the United States.

I don't know how it happened. One minute I was giving the spiky-haired bastard my two weeks' notice and then his body was on mine. His mouth was kissing my neck and his hands were lifting my skirt. His member was hard and poking my inner thigh, while he ripped open my top.

I kept murmuring how much I hated him and how he made me sick--- just for me to spread my legs and take me like a bitch in heat.

His strong pelvis collided with the soft flesh of my ass, making my entire lower half jiggle. One of his strong arms was positioned at an angle against my chest and torso, while the other gripped the edge of the couch. My fingers wrapped around the back of the couch and my knees were situated on the cushions. My arms were straight and my back was arched. Since Bakugo was standing, it was easy for him to snap his cock into me with little restriction.

The deep power thrusts had already sent me over the edge three (maybe four) times already and I couldn't get enough.

"Please make me cum again, sir," I whined, squeezing my eyes shut. "I am so close. . ."

"What happened to all that 'girlboss-I-hate-you-so-much' bs?" The blonde snickered. "I thought you weren't gonna touch me with a ten-foot poll?"

I sucked in a breath and felt my legs begin to tremble slightly. My mouth fell open as short, hot pants fell from my lips and my nails into the cool leather. My walls clenched the girthy, long member tightly. They were already so sensitive from previous climaxes, meaning they felt every single inch of the throbbing member.

While my eyes started to roll back, I lifted one of my hands from the back of the couch and placed it on my neglected clit. My legs started to shake even more as I rubbed lazy circles against the bud. My walls squeezed and released his member at a rapid rate. Curses fell from my mouth as I felt the orgasm clawing its way out of me.

One of Bakugo's hands fell to my breast. He massaged the mound gently, adding even more pleasure to my overstimulated body. His nibble fingers pulled and tweaked my nipple for a few moments before I felt my whole body freeze. I, suddenly, became hyper-aware of what was happening. I could feel his hot breath on my neck and hear the slutty moans drip from his lips. I could feel his cock twitch within me, indicating that was just as close as I was.

Finally, I could hear him whimper my name over and over again.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!" I chanted, breathlessly. "I'm cumming. I'm cumming."

My legs trembled against the leather couch as juices sprayed from my center. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I started to throw my ass back to meet his thrusts. I screamed his name like it was the word on Earth. I begged him never to stop that god-like penetration and said cringy things like "I love your cock so much".

To which Bakugo said "I think I'm addicted to your pussy" before filling the condom with his seed.

When it was all said and done, we cuddled on the couch and listened to each other's heartbeats. The moon was bright and painted the office a cool blue color. It was quiet, peaceful even. Until---

"I don't want you to leave."

-----------

Did you miss me???

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cadencejames87 · 1 year

Text

Forever Mine: Part 10

Series Masterlist // Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary: Both men are equally matched as they fight to get to you. It all comes to an end when backup finally arrives. You memories come back to you and truths are revealed.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Bucky and Steve fight (blood and broken bones), allusions to suicide, knife injury and gunshot wounds *Warnings updated with each chapter*

*Not beta’d, thus any and all mistakes are my own*

*Dividers above by @maysdigitalarts *

*Dividers within story by @whimsicalrogers *

A soft smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he watches Lieutenant Rambeau cautiously approach the loft door.

"Keep moving." Steve shoves Bucky forward, aiming the gun steadily as he follows. Lieutenant Rambeau tries the handle, locked. She peers through the window as Steve forces Bucky down onto his knees. "What do you see, Lieutenant?"

You shake your head frantically when your eyes meet, tears rolling down your cheeks and over the tape that covers your mouth. Posted on your side of the door, is a sign with an arrow pointed at a sensor. ‘This sensor is connected to your vest. Do not open.’

"It’s okay, Y/N. I’m a detective." Lieutenant Rambeau holds her badge up against the glass. You look down at your vest and try to motion to the sensor on the door. Finally, she spots it too. "I think the door is connected to what looks like a... Oh my God."

"What? What is it?" Steve looks from Bucky to the stairs leading up to the loft and back.

Bucky Shrugs. "What do we do now?" He looks up at Steve with puppy dog eyes and a feigned pout that borders a smirk.

Lieutenant Rambeau rushes down the stairs. "Put these on." Steve tosses Bucky a set of zip-tie cuffs from his back pocket and follows the Lieutenant.

Bucky tightens the zip-ties around his wrists as Rambeau holds her phone up, desperately searching for a signal. "We have to call in a bomb squad." Steve turns to the loft as she exits in a hurry. Shock, fear, and finally, confusion crosses his face.

"Aren’t you supposed to read me my rights, Lieutenant?" Bucky calls out, watching Rambeau pace the tree line outside the hanger door. "Shut up!" Bucky pouts a little and shrugs.

Steve crosses to the loft stairs, glancing back at Rambeau as his foot rests on the bottom step. "I have a phone if you need one. It’s just upstairs," Bucky laughs to himself. Steve turns and storms to Bucky, grabbing him by the collar. He punches him in the face once, twice, and a third time; before Lieutenant Rambeau tears Steve from Bucky.

Bucky spits blood, smirking at Steve as his tongue swipes across his bottom lip. "I’m trusting you not to kill him." She pushes him up against the wall and exits with exasperation.

Steve glares at Bucky as the sound of dried leaves and snapping branches grow silent. He looks up at the loft, and Bucky follows suit. "What do you think she’s doing up there?" Steve ignores the question. Bucky leans back on his heel to peer outside. "I think LT’s gone. Shall we drop the acts?" He rolls his shoulders as he stands.

Steve pushes off the wall, gun drawn on Bucky. "On your knees, Barnes."

"Come on, we both know what's going to happen. Put the gun down.”

Steve sidesteps to the quad and sets the gun on the back. "One last thing," he rolls up his sleeves, "before I even wiped you from her memory, she was begging me to use her."

Bucky charges Steve, tackling him to the ground. Bucky has him pinned down with a knee in his chest as he slams his fists into his back. Just as the zip-ties snap, Steve gains control, pushing Bucky off of him. Both men scramble to their feet, ready to fight. After a few seconds, Steve rushes forward. Bucky swings at him and is swiftly blocked. He steps back, and Steve follows, throwing a high punch that Bucky ducks beneath, rapidly delivering a jab to his opponent's kidney.

The men are equally matched, with years of special forces training under their belts. They cause damage to the cars and home gym in the process of trying to gain the upper hand. Bucky throws another punch, and this time it connects with Steve's jaw, causing him to stumble back. Before Steve fully recovers, Bucky kicks him in the chest. Steve falls back over a weight bench, he kicks the bench at Bucky and jump kicks up to his feet. He strikes Bucky twice and makes a move to kick him. Bucky is ready for the attack and catches Steve off guard as he grabs hold of his foot and twists. Steve flips with it. Bucky twists it back the other way, and Steve follows. He pulls his foot back hard, and Bucky stumbles forward.

Steve kicks out his other foot and sweeps it toward Bucky. Bucky jumps over Steve's leg but, he is not ready when Steve flips up, kicking his other foot out. The kick slams into his face, knocking him off balance.

Steve makes a move for the stairs rather than continue this tireless fight. Bucky chases after him and sweeps a leg under his feet, tripping Steve backwards and into his arms. Steve elbows Bucky in the side, spins around, throws his hand into Bucky’s throat and knees him in the stomach. Bucky falls back, gasping from both hits. He regains his breath and swings a fist with more anger; he is no longer playing games. Steve blocks his fist, and Bucky continues to throw punches. Right hook, left hook, uppercut, a jab to the ribs; each one landing and causing significant damage. Steve cringes in pain as the last blow cracks a rib.

Bucky pulls out his hidden blade and swings at Steve. Steve blocks the attack and returns an elbow to Bucky’s jaw. He surprises Bucky and quickly has him pinned, reaching for the tactical knife. Bucky wraps his free hand around Steve's throat. "I should have gotten rid of you from the start." Steve grits out through his teeth. Bucky head-butts Steve and pushes him off. He climbs to his feet fast and slams his foot into Steve’s leg with a deafening crack, preventing him from getting up.

Bucky sprints up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He disarms the door and crosses to your side. "Baby, it’s me. You’re okay, it's me. I got you." Bucky removes the tape from your mouth and kisses you fervently.

You watch in confusion as he works to break your restraints, searching the mess on a nearby table for a knife. "We have to move quickly. The man who did this to you is downstairs."

He returns, resting a handgun on your lap as he cuts the plastic from your wrists. "Who are you?" You ask in a shaky shocked whisper.

"Oh, darling." He combs his fingers through her hair. "What did he do to you? It’s me, James, your husband." You knew this but there was something about the kiss, something that you had long forgotten.

"James?"

He pulls out his dog tags, and you promptly take them in your hand as you read them. Your eyes fall to a tattoo on your wrist, just below your thumb. A semi-colon tattoo made out of a heart, with a string of numbers extending towards your elbow. The numbers match his tags. “I never gave up on you, just like you never gave up on me.”

---

FLASHBACK:

Bucky stands behind you as you check the placement of your tattoo. "You deserve so much more than a broken soldier."

You turn around, taking his face in your hands. "You are not broken, James, and I deserve to love who I choose. The man standing in front of me. The man who makes me feel safe and loved, and appreciated. Secure, supported, and happy. You do all that for me, and I am so proud of who you are, especially your strength. I will stand by your side no matter what! Promise me you will never give up, that you will stay and fight not for me but for you! Because you deserve to be happy." You stand on your tip toes and kiss him softly. His hands move to your hips as he leans his forehead against yours, and tears fall from his eyes. "You make me happy, Y/N," he whispers back.

END FLASHBACK.

---

Steve hobbles into the room, lifting his gun to Bucky. "Y/N?!" The gun from your lap is in your hands and pointed right back at Steve. You carefully stand and step in front of Bucky. Steve lowers his gun immediately. "Y/N, please. I love you. Wha-whatever he told you--" He takes a step forward.

"Stop!" You drop the gun to his feet and quickly lift it back to chest height. Bucky places a hand on your shoulder, leading you back to the opposite door. He disarms the sensor with the remote, drawing your attention. "Why do you have that?"

"Why do you think he looks like that?"

"Y/N, I don't have anything to do with you being here."

You step away from Bucky, aiming the gun back and forth between both men, a warning to stay back. You hold the gun steady, with a professional air about you. Steve sets his gun down as a sign of good faith.

"Y/N? Doll, you’re having trouble remembering your life, right? Why don’t you ask Steve how you met," looking past you to Steve, "and maybe start with the drug you dosed her with to accelerate the capture-bonding by wiping her memory."

You turn to Steve, cocking your head in question, as you back into a wall. "Don’t listen; I would never--" You're grip on the gun tightens as he steps forward.

Bucky makes a move towards Steve, ending his approach on you. "Bullshit, Rogers! You stole her life and replaced it with you. You took advantage of her chemically induced amnesia, and you..." Bucky's voice breaks. When you look back, he is blinking away tears and avoiding eye contact.

"Y/N," Steve starts quietly, "I love you."

"Fuck, you're not going to tell her the truth, are you? You don't love her." Bucky stares him down until Steve looks away. "Hell, you were just too much of a coward to grieve the family you lost." Steve's eyes whip back to his. "What does all of this do to the memory of them? Kidnapping her? Forcing her to... to love you?!"

When Steve glances at you, you are crying, the gun in your trembling hands pointed in his direction. He looks away, unable to face you or admit the truth. Did he really love you? After all these years a part of him did, had to, though if Nat lived… If she had just stayed put, no, if he had explained the mission and sent her to Italy with their kids, there would be no chance you could hold a flame to her. And with that thought, he is sorry for all that he has done. But does it mean he has to give up what you’ve built together in the past years? Your family? Your lives?

Bucky turns to comfort you. You point the gun at him before he can step closer. "No, stop, I can’t." You wipe your tears on your shoulder. "I can’t remember you. I'm sorry, none of this changes anything!"

His head falls with a shaky breath. "You like comic books and Disney." He looks up, eyes filled with tears. "Working out to broadway soundtracks, dancing around the kitchen to 90's country while you bake. Singing just about everything in the car, in the shower, while you work." His tears fall, but he gives you his best smile as he remembers all the little things he loves about you. "Your favourite season is Autumn, the leaves, smells, and Halloween."

SIRENS RING OUT as the police approach your location. You glance towards the window as the leaves rain down with the wind.

---

FLASHBACK:

Leaves fall all around, filling the yard you and Bucky finished raking only moments prior. A pile of leaves sits beneath a tree with two white ghost bags stuffed full and an abandoned rake.

The house is all done up with cobwebs and short-circuiting strings of lights. You and Bucky sit cross-legged on the porch carving pumpkins. A mess of guts piled on newspapers and seeds filling a bowl sit between your already finished jack-o-lanterns. Chucky, Venom, and a cannibal pumpkin puking up its own guts with remnants of tiny pumpkins sit on Bucky's side; show off. An owl on a branch, a cat on the moon, and a cute ghost sit on your side. He is currently giggling at his two** newest creations and refuses to let you peek while you carve out your finishing touches on Winnie the Pooh. Seriously, that man with a knife, it's hard to concentrate sometimes.

END FLASHBACK.

---

"You have a scar on your left shoulder and one on your right arm. You call them battle scars, consequences of having an older brother." You lower your gun slightly, struggling to remember, though his words ring no bells.

Bucky laughs to himself, and your turn quickly, the gun on him. He raises his hands. "Y/N, you don’t have a brother. The scar on your shoulder was from a haunted house we went to, you walked into a rusted nail. The one on your arm was from a bad break. We were learning to snowboard and got competitive, as we tend to do." You remember snowboarding, the bite of the cold wind burning your face, and the adrenaline rush of all things Halloween.

"Y/N, the kids, they miss you." Steve interrupts your thoughts as the sirens cease. He knows Lieutenant Rambeau and her backup will be here soon enough. His time to convince you is dwindling "I miss you. Don’t listen to his stories; that’s all they are. We have a family together. I can’t lose you. Not again." You can feel it, he is grasping at straws.

"You can’t lose something that was never yours to begin with, Rogers."

You turn the gun on Steve. "Stop! Both of you, I swear to God." One thing Steve said had sparked something. "What kids? Huh?"

"We have five, you always call them your little bugs." A tear falls from your eyes, and you wipe it away with your sleeve, keeping the gun trained on both men. "We have twins, Brier-Lynn and Bailey, they just turned five."

"Mine!" Bucky nearly growls the word through his teeth. "She was fucking pregnant when you took her from me and drugged her. Drugged my unborn babies." You turn on Steve fast, cocking the gun. "You created this whole God damned world in your messed up head and screwed with my wife." You look back at Bucky. "He got you pregnant after he took you, after the twins. You have a newborn and two toddler girls, he wasn't lying about there being five."

You relax slightly as officers fill the garage below. "Come down with your hands up!" Lieutenant Rambeau calls out.

Steve smirks at Bucky. He reaches for his gun as Bucky grips a hunting knife hidden under the nearby table. "Y/N, get down!" You duck beneath a table without question. In the blink of an eye, Bucky whips the knife across the room, and Steve is already squeezing the trigger; three LOUD SHOTS ring out. All at once, Bucky falls backwards down the stairs, Steve collapses with the impact of the knife in his abdomen, and a barrage of bullets flies through the loft from below. Steve crawls to your side and blocks you without any regard for his own safety.

"Hold your fire!" Lieutenant Rambeau rushes into the garage behind the firing squad, “What about a bomb screams shoot blindly?” She continues past them, giving them all a death glare as she hurries across the room and up the stairs.

You hear more sirens and muffled voices as your vision blurs.

THEN:

A familiar voice, "Y/N?" Steve cups your face. "Y/N! I’m so sorry." He kisses your forehead. "Please, be okay." He kisses your cheek. "I never meant for this to happen." And finally, he kisses your lips.

You lift the gun, still clutched tightly in your hands, and press it into the side of his head. "Get off of me!" He falls back, wincing at the pain in his stomach. You crawl away, one hand on the gun, and the other holding a bullet wound in your side. You give yourself a quick once over as you lean against the wall under the table. Blood seeps from a second wound on your leg.

Steve tries to give you a reassuring smile through his blood-filled COUGHS. Blood pools around his body as OFFICERS fill the room. "We need a medic." Lieutenant Rambeau calls back down to her team below.

She spares Steve a hard look as she kneels next to you, and carefully removes the gun from your grasp. She sets the weapon aside and guides your free hand to the exit wound before grabbing a cloth and pressing it to your injured leg. Lieutenant Rambeau scoots over slightly, blocking your view of Steve.

You look to the open doorway where Bucky stood only moments ago. "I'm just gonna rest my eyes, okay?" You whisper to Monica as a tear rolls down your cheek.

Steve keeps his eyes open and on you for as long as he can. The PARAMEDICS rush to both of your sides with stretchers. Officer Zemo stands by as MEDICS load an intubated Bucky onto a stretcher and carry him out.

You wake with the sun streaming in through the blinds; your face has all but healed at this point. Your head is a lot less foggy and not pounding one bit. You can breathe again, but there is one thing still missing. A quiet KNOCK on the door draws your attention. Maya peeks her head inside and gives you a small wave. "Are you up for visitors?" She signs, smiling back over her shoulder, and then looking to you for an answer. "My babies?" She nods, pushing the door open wider for the twins to come rushing inside.

Breen catches both of them before they reach the bed. "What did we talk about?"

"No running or jumping." Bailey pouts.

"And to be gentle with mommy." Brier steals a sad glance in your direction.

You hold your hand out for her, "I missed my little bugs." The biggest smile spreads across your daughter's face. She slips away from Breen to stand next to you, her small hand resting in yours.

"You want to give your mommy a kiss?" Breen asks Bailey, and your sweet little boy shakes his head eagerly. Breen takes his hand, joining Brier by the bed. He picks up the twins, one at a time, holding them in his arms as they both give you a gentle hug and kisses on both cheeks. He sets them down, and their little hands grip the bed railing.

Lieutenant Rambeau carries in Peyton and Delaney, helping them deliver hugs and kisses to you as well.

Maya squeezes your hand. "Don’t forget this little guy," she signs with a smile and pulls Jonah out of the sling around her chest. Tears of happiness fall from your eyes as Breen helps you sit up. Maya carefully rests Jonah in your arms.

"Y/N?" Breen rests his hand on your shoulder. "We didn’t know. Steve, he never shared that side of his life before and then one day..." He looks to Maya, unsure of how to break it to you gently.

"He brought you to a family event at the base, belly round with the twins." Maya smiles sadly at your two oldest, their eyes glued to you as if you might disappear.

You play with a soft curl in your Brier's hair, then turn to Bailey, squeezing his chin. "Did he... Is he..." You look to Lieutenant Rambeau for answers.

"Med evac was en route to the raft when he--" She shakes her head solemnly.

"And James?" You ask, your voice shaking a little, worried about the answer.

"He has been under surveillance as we work to piece everything together. There is no way you could enlighten me a tad?" She's hopeful in her query.

You brush your fingers through Bailey’s hair and rest your hand on his cheek. "He is the spitting image of him, James. I don’t know how I never saw it before. How could I have forgotten him... us?" You look to Maya, "I remembered Steve while I pushed my husband away."

"How did you finally remember him?"

"It’s not all there, but it was in the way he spoke. I trusted him and felt a sort of calm and safety in his words. With Steve, everything felt off. I can’t explain it." You look at Lieutenant Rambeau. "I’m afraid to remember, and yet, I think I’m more terrified of never regaining the memories I lost or the person I once was before Steve."

Maya places a hand on yours with a soft, reassuring smile. "You’re strong, Y/N, and we’re here for you." You give her a smile in return.

"I can assure that you have the best doctors taking care of you, and hopefully they can help you regain that memory. So far, everything James Barnes’ told us is checking out. There was a missing person case that went by the wayside. They assumed you were just another victim of a highway pileup and animals got to you before a rescue team could."

"He um, he could have used the drug on me, and he didn't. He said no one should have that power over someone else. Told me to trust him, that I would hear the truth." You take a deep breath and smile at your baby girls kneeling by your feet, your untroubled bundle of joy sleeping soundly in your arms, and your twins, both with so much of their dad in them; from Brier's curls and bright blue eyes to just about every inch of your son.

You scroll through pictures on your Ipad. Lieutenant Rambeau saved it from an evidence bag. You had a brief moment to scroll through it before you ruined the evening with Bucky, and at some point between then and the shootout, he must have uploaded more pictures because before it was just you and him, and now all of your memories with your children fill multiple files. Though, no sign of Steve in a single one. A knock on the door interrupts your scrolling. A nurse enters with a wheelchair. "You ready?"

You wheel your way down the hall, the nurse at your side. You pause outside of a door and look up at the nurse. "Thank you." You look at the door with a deep breath. "I would like to do this alone if that's okay?"

You wheel your way inside, it is a bit of a struggle since the nurse left before helping hold the door, yet, you manage. Bucky stares cautiously as you wheel your way over to the side of his bed. You reach out and take his hand in yours. He relaxes, and a loving smile brightens his eyes as a tear falls. "Why did you say we never met until high school?"

"I said we were high school sweethearts. I never said anything about not knowing each other."

"You said I never gave you the time of day." He smiles a sweet half-smile as he seems to reminisce. "I had the biggest crush on you. I remember you pushing me down on the playground after I stole a kiss."

He lets out a light CHUCKLE and quickly grabs his side in pain. "The teachers called home, and I was grounded for a week after that. I was too afraid to admit I liked you from the moment you walked into our split class with the principle."

You stand and reach to caress Bucky’s face, letting your fingers scrape through the scruff along his jawline. You lean in for a kiss, soft and lingering. "You kept saying James, you think if you said Bucky or Bubb, it may have sparked a memory or two."

His smile grows at the nickname, and he pulls you back in, deepening the kiss. His fingers glide into your hair, gently pulling you closer. You perch next to him and pull away, leaning on him, running your fingers back and forth on his chest. You climb onto the bed and lay next to him, taking his hand in yours as you hug his forearm, and kiss the cuts along his knuckles.

Bucky brushes his other thumb across her cheek. You didn't realize you had been crying until he did that. You both smile at each other, "I got you back." He runs his fingers through your hair before letting his hand fall, skimming the curves of your body as he takes you in, "I'm sorry it took so long. And that I wasn’t there to protect you." a moment in time he had been regretting since the day he lost you.

"As you said, you got me back. You never gave up.” You drape your arms over his chest, squeezing gently. “I'm sorry I couldn't remember you," you whisper.

He shakes his head, swallowing a lump in his throat. "You do now, right?" You nod. "That's all that matters." He kisses the top of your head, lips lingering awhile as he basks in the warmth of you back in his arms where you belong.

“You know, we’re going to have to have a long chat about that vest.”

“I told you it was unarmed. You watched me cut the cord.”

“The sign said otherwise, and I was just supposed to trust the guy I thought was holding me captive?”

“You did though,” you lean up to look into his eyes, “didn’t you?” He felt his chest tighten at the thought of terrifying you. Remembering all he had done to keep you with him while he figured out how to get rid of Steve and return your children to you. Instead, the detective wouldn’t give up. She had to come along for the ride. And for that he is grateful, it all worked out better than he had planned. You remember him and trust him, Steve is out of the picture, and you won’t have to live a life hiding from a determined Lieutenant who would inevitably ruin everything. The trust would go out the window and you would wonder about Rogers and the life you shared. You would question the truth and everything about your relationship with Bucky. Yes, this was definitely a whole lot better.

You run your fingers down his face until you are cupping his cheek tenderly. “You did what you had to do, and although I was lost in my own head, I… I felt safe somehow. I keep saying it to everyone, it’s just something I can’t quite explain. You never lied to me, not once.” You kiss him softly. “I want you to meet our babies.”

He inhales a shaky breath and nods. “I would love that, to meet them; all of them.”

Your nose scrunches with a lip-biting smile, “All of them,” you agree quietly.

“I planned to bring them to you.”

“I know.” You kiss him and lay back on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “I love you, Bucky. And I know I missed you.”

He would be lying if he didn’t say he missed you too. “I love you so damn much, Y/N.”

** Bucky’s pumpkins: Chucky, Venom, surprise 1, and surprise 2

** Your pumpkins: Owl, Cat, Ghost, Winnie

Epilogue

Tag List: @buckyalpine @pono-pura-vida @cjand10 @lou-la-lou @liarasstuff @royalwriteroftheuniverse

#Sebastian Stan #Bucky Barnes #Chris Evans #captain america #Steve Rogers #bucky barnes x reader #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #the winter soldier #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #Sergeant Barnes #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #Steve Rogers x female reader #Bucky Barnes x female reader #indigenous writer

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salty-lemon-shark-from-the-sea · 7 months

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Maya and the Three/ Skele-twins (Bone & Skull) x (god/goddess of the forge reader)

(I still can't find any writing for them, so I'm taking matters into my own hands)

“Please Lord Mictlan I beg you!” Acat pleads on her knees hands together asking for a second chance from failing her mission to get Maya.

Gasps go around the room as Lord Mictlan’s face becomes displeased, growing his claw longer. Right before he could pierce her heart and she could attack the door burst open.

“Apologies my Lord for my tardiness, but I bring you the weapons you have asked for!” you call out carrying a heavy golden trunk with a skull lock on it. “Ah, (Reader) your just in time!” Mictlan shouts before getting back to business.

“What's going on? Where’s Maya?” you ask placing the box down not picking up the tension in the air as you wipe your sweat. Looking around you see everyone with worried looks as Mictlan’s nail digs slightly deeper on Acat’s chest.

“Now wait a minute,” you say stepping towards the two. “Why waste a good helper?” you ask looking the girl up and down sizing her up. “She has failed her mission and is now begging for a second chance,” Lord Mictlan explains moving his nail under her chin.

“You any good at fighting girl?” you inquire. “Y-yes?” Acat answers distressed and surprised by what's going on. “Great! Then let me take her and have her test my weapons and armor!” you exclaim smiling. Picking her off the ground and putting her back on her feet dusting off her shoulders.

“Why?” Lord Mictlan growls mad that he doesn't get to kill. “Tragic really, my mortal slave died when I was testing one of your weapons my Lord, and I wish for a new one,” you explain in a sad tone. “Come on, she might die in the testing process anyway, just she’ll have to suffer longer,” you push.

“Hmm, well alright, just for you amigo(a),” Mictlan says. “Exellent, then let me show you your new weapons and I shall go back to the forge to make you more my Lord,” you say walking over and opening the chest with a key revealing three jade swords with jagged edges that could cut rock.

“You never cease to amaze me (Reader),” he exclaims chuckling darkly as he picks one up. “If this pleases you then I shall be on my way,” you say throwing Acat over your shoulder as you head back to your home. A bony hand reaching out for yours but missing.

●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●

“Put me down!” Acat orders once you're both out of earshot and walk on the path to the Forge. “Bossy for someone who just got saved,” you comment placing her down. “Why’d you do it?” she ask keeping pace with you.

“What do you mean?” you question walking through a lava puddle. “Why did you save me and not leave me to die?” Acat clarifies avoiding puddles. “Oh, cause I need a new dummy to test my weapons and armor,” you answer wanting to conversation to end as you open the Forge’s giant stone doors.

The main room had mini ponds with lava pouring from holes in the wall. Small curved windows go around the top of the Forge. Baskets of different minerals, metals, and jewels adorn the wall. A giant anvil in the center with carvings on the sides. A shelf full of different hammers and tools. Chest in any open corner of the room filled with what could only be weapons and jewelry.

To the side laid a red door with a decorative arch over it. “That's my room,” you point. “You may not enter it unless I am in there or it's truly an emergency,” you say walking over to a set of doors on the opposite side. The doors were purple with a less derivative arch as yours. “Here is the guest room since you are a goddess you may stay here; I'm sure the two won't care,” you say opening the door.

The room had two queen beds with a closet and chest for each. One side had slightly messy purple bed covers and canopies with red pillows whereas the other one was the opposite with a more messy red bed and canopies with purple pillows. “Normally my test dummies will sleep on a mat in another room with some food and bedding, so as long you keep the room clean and don't break anything you may stay,” you say breaking the silence.

“Pick a bed and get some rest you must be tired,” you say turning to leave. “Tomorrow I will have you test out some weapons I've been working on,” you finish closing the door and getting to work on some new earrings. Tuning out the sound of Acat throwing a fit and breaking items. “Their not going to like this,” you mumble getting some gold nuggets and dipping your hand in a lava pool before going to a stone table to work.

●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●◦●

The night was creeping into the Underworld. In the Lord Mictlan temple, other gods and goddesses were leaving for their own temples to rest and get ready for tomorrow. Quickly two skeletons dash through the path to the Forge, avoiding puddles and jumping to the side of the building, going through a window into a room with a purple door.

Different blankets and pillows laid on the floor mostly ripped up. The closet was wide open with random items of clothing thrown about. “*gasp* What happened sister?” Bone asks sliding down the wall, her sister joining her on the ground.

“Who’s there?!” Acat calls forming her tattoos into swords. “We could ask you the same!” Skull shouts back both sisters grabbing their swords. Running forward ganging up on Acta and knocking her back into the wall.

“Why are you in our room?” Skull ask pointing her sword under Acat's chin. “What cat got your tongue?” Bone adds causing both of the sisters to laugh. “This isn't your room. (Reader) gave it to me,” Acat answers slashing both of the sisters back. “Psh, yeah, and why would they do that?” Bone ask. “Because I'm a goddess to them,” Acat says pushing their buttons.

Charging forward the sisters jump apart going on both sides of Acat trying to slash her. Try her best to block herself Acat then uses her ink to make wings appear pushing both the twins back.

“How long do you really think you'll last?” Skull inquiries bouncing back up. “What are you asking, skinny?” Acat hisses lunching forward and slicing at the two with her snake swords. “Acat the goddess of tattoos, is not wanted in the underworld unless she's being used for someone’s gain,” Skull says faking sadness as she jumps out of the way. “But not needed in the human world, and the only one who loved her,” Bone adds cutting Acat’s leg.

”Doesn’t even want you over a half breed!” they both shout knocking her snake swords away. “Edmit it Acat, (Reader) is only doing this cause they pity you,” one of the sisters says. “Shut up!” Acat shouts frustrated by all of the down talk. Lunging forward she lunches daggers at both of them tearing a large hole in Bone’s shirt and knocking Skull’s earring off.

“Why you!” Bone shouts rushing forward before getting pick up from the back. “Hey out me down I was about to slash her!” she groans still trying to swing at Acat. “I would prefer you don't kill my helper on the first night,” you say.

“Why is she in our room?” Skull asks venom dripping from her voice. “I couldn't have her sleep on a thin mat like my other helpers,” you explain. “Well we can,” Bone adds. “*sign* Moving on, why is the room such a mess?” you ask placing Bone down and raising a brow at Acat who looks away.

”They attacked your Highness,” Acat answered pointing a finger at the two small goddesses now fighting for the earring behind you. Grabbing the earring yourself you stand back up ignoring the protest. “Why would you destroy your old room?” you ask them. “She destroyed it first!” Skull shouts. “Alright alright, I don't care who did it just have it fixed 'cause you're going to have to stay in the servant's quarters,” you warm Acat heading to the door.

“There's bandages in one of the chests if you didn't already destroy it,” you say jokingly before heading out the door. “Good night Acat!” you call out. “Good night (Reader),” Acat answers smirking at the two sisters jumping onto one of the beds. Grabbing her sword Bone gets ready to ponce on the smug goddess. “Come on,” you say grabbing her and carrying her to your own room Skull at your heel.

“I don't like her,” Bone hisses as you place her on the bed. “Why?” you ask examining her torn shirt for any sigh of harm. “She too smug and spoiled,” Skull adds leaning on your back. “So like you two?” you ask smiling at their brief shocked expressions.

Heading to your closet you grab a random shirt you had left over. “Here, for the night so you're not sleeping in torn clothes,” you offer the shirt to Bone. Taking it she jumps over to the corner with a curtain to change. Kneeling down you reach in your pocket and hand Skull her earring while taking her hat and kissing her forehead.

“Don’t steal from me mi amor,” you say dumping the hat to reveal some rings you made for Lady Miche. Placing the hat on a hook you take off your apron and boots before falling back on the bed. Placing her weapons and sash in a chest, Skull joins you lying down and staring at the ceiling.

“I say we throw her in a lava pool,” she says messing with her hair. “For Mictlan’s sake what is up with you two and hating her,” you groan sitting up, Skull taking the opportunity to occupy your lap. “Despise would be a better word,” Bone corrects placing her weapons, sash, and torn shirt in a chest and hanging her hat before shortly joining your side.

“Fine,” you sigh. “Why do you despise her so much?” you ask rubbing Bone’s back. “I don't know,” they both answer trying to distract themselves. “You aren't jealous of her are you?” you ask jokingly. “No!” They both shout Skull hitting you with a pillow and Bone gabbing your side.

“Ow! Okay okay, if that's what you want me to believe,” you laugh and fall back taking them both down with you, causing all of you to go into a small laughing fit. “Alright if you don't want to tell me fine, but don't kill her,” you order snapping your fingers as the lava starts to cool causing the lights to dim.

“No promises,” Skulls says. “At least let her last a week,” you say thinking back to your last helper. The twins can get easily jealous if someone who has your attention for too long, and let's say humans are weak and need a lot of help. “Fine, for you mi amor,” Skull complies kissing your cheek before curling into your side to go to sleep.

“Bone?” you ask. “Alright, a week, but if she gets too cocky I won't promise anything,” she warns pointing a finger at you. “I can work with that,” you say kissing her forehead. “Goodnight (Reader),” she says kissing you back before curling into your other side.

“Good night you two,” you say starting to booze off yourself hearing a faint good night from Skull. This is going to be a long week.

(Not my best, but there like no Maya and the three x reader works beside Zatz. So here's my tribute to the manipulative Skele-twins)

#Maya and the three #Maya and the three x reader #Maya and the three Bone #Maya and the three Skull #Maya and the 3 #maya y los tres #Bone and Skull #Bone and Skull x reader #Maya and the three Bone x reader #Maya and the three Skull x reader

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gummybugg · 11 months

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"A Ten But..." Tag

Thank you very much to @writernopal for this tag! See what she wrote here!

Did I get too carried away with this tag? You be the judge. (warnings in the tags)

📺

“Lights, camera, action!” Someone yells from behind the fuchsia game show curtain. The words “A Ten, But…” flash on Your television screen in a neon, flower-power font that is reminiscent of one of those dating shows from the 60s. We hear the narrator announce, “Live from Jemmah’s basement…it’s the show A Ten, But…!” accompanied by applause and cheering from the “live studio audience.” As the words fade, we start to see our contestants on center stage. They are chained against their will to podiums graciously adorned with overly-saturated flowers. Surrounding them is a cream-colored set covered in retro flower print. Amidst the catchy music, a narrator announces our host: “…And here’s the star of the show, and our host, Clementine!” Our host makes his way to center stage with a microphone in hand, waving to the “audience.”

Clementine explains the rules of the game to the audience. Each contestant is competing for a chance to win the heart of You, the viewer. How lucky You are!

“Thank you, thank you! We are all so very glad to be here tonight…” Clementine turns to look at the contestants’ irritated faces. “Well, at least one of us is!” A laugh track backs him up. He paces around to each of the podiums to introduce our guests one by one: Jemmah, Silas, Dex, and Bianca. Each of their names flash on the screen next to their faces as we are introduced to each guest.

Jemmah, the goth witch who'd rather not be here. Silas, the cowboy demon, who has a penchant for personality quizzes and pretty witches. Dex, the bleeding skeleton who thinks this entire show is worse than the curse that turned him into a bloody bones. Bianca, the cyclops with a usually bubbly attitude, who is confused by it all yet wants to see how this pans out.

"Any questions, dear contestants?"

Jemmah hits her buzzer, alarming Clementine. “Can you get out of my house?”

Clementine adjusts his blond hair and flashes a Hollywood smile, “Ah-ah! Not yet, my love! First, we must complete the first rou—”

Silas smashes their buzzer with record speed, interrupting his spiel. “Oh, shit, my bad. There was a bug on the buzzer. It was really bugging me.” They giggle at their effortless pun and everyone rolls their eyes. A laugh track plays in the background out of Clementine’s control. He takes a deep breath to steady his growing temper. He’s beginning to question why he installed buzzers in the first place.

“Are there any more questions before we begin?” He asks. Much to his surprise, no one answers. They really don’t seem to be having as much fun as he anticipated. Well, no matter. The show must go on!

Clementine walks up to Jemmah. She tries to take a step back but remembers the chain fixing her to her post.

“Now, Jemmah is a ten…” Clementine draws his words out as if priming an accordion before a solo, “And gods is he a ten! I mean look at his perfectly wavy, purple hair and stunning, turquoise eyes…it’s enough to make any man fall to his knees, begging, pleading—” Jemmah clears his throat, bringing a scowling Clementine back down to Earth.

“Right. So Jemmah is a ten, but he has a stick up his ass.” He swiftly finishes. Jemmah scoffs, speechless. Silas rears their fist back but is caught by their chain. Bianca scolds Clementine for the use of profanity on public television. Dex stands there, bleeding.

“Oh, like you’re any better!” Silas stands up on their podium and points at Clementine, “This guy is a ten, but he doesn’t know what ‘no’ means!” Clementine reels back in disgust at such an accusation.

“Oh, yeah? Silas is a ten, but created a false religion that influenced millions of people in a completely different dimension to worship Jemmah—for who knows why!” He snapped.

“They did what, now?!” Jemmah stares at Silas, who throws their hands up in defense.

Bianca joins in the fun: “Clementine is a ten, but he still crawls back to his ex in hopes she still loves him!” Her bubbly giggles fill the air.

Clementine’s face turns even more sour. “Bianca is a ten, but she can’t tell the difference between romantic and platonic feelings!” Bianca crosses her arms and pouts in response.

Clementine points to the podium behind her: “And Dex is a ten, but he just bleeds! He bleeds everywhere! Seriously, you’re a walking crime scene, man!”

Our host straightens his cyan suit and makes his way back to center stage to announce the (albeit short) ending of the first round. Things aren't going as planned. But there's always next time, right?

You notice our contestants slowly turning to the bloody skeleton hunched behind his podium. He had been minding his business listening to Nirvana on his headset the entire game. At the mention of his name, Dex stands up, all eight feet of his stature towering over everyone.

“Clementine, I wouldn’t say shit if I were you, given you were kicked out of the country club in the sky all because you had a Freddy Krueger power trip.”

The entire studio goes silent. Clementine stands with his back to the contestants, gripping his microphone. The spotlights flicker in irritation. The flowers wrapped around each podium rapidly age and fall into rotten clumps on the stage. Maggots begin crawling out from the floorboards, their lifespans fluctuating wildly. The entire facade of the set wavers before us. But this doesn’t faze our contestants, because they know it’s just an illusion.

“Aw, did that strike a nerve, bitch boy?” Dex delivers the final nail in the coffin and puts his headphones back on.

Jemmah snorts. Bianca covers her mouth. Silas bursts out cackling and points at Clementine, who, despite trying to appear collected, turns several shades of pink. Laughter fills the air and our dear host is the butt of the joke!

Before things can get worse, Clementine quickly decides to wrap things up: “Aaand that’s all the time we have! Thank you, everyone, for tuning in!”

Over chaotic giggles, personal insults, and distorted audio clips of a “live studio audience,” we start to see the curtains draw and our beloved game, A Ten, But… come to an end. The lights fade, and immediately after, an ad for kitty litter plays.

Gently passing the tag to @bilbotargaryen, @helenofsmoke, @randomstuff3856, @junypr-camus, @bekandrew, @lyutenw, @lalalovezfrenchfriez, @murosakiiro, @elshells, @jay-avian, @charlesjosephwrites, @talesfromaurea, and anyone else who wants to hop on in because this is an open tag!

#thank you for the tag!#open tag!#mention of maggots and blood and decay #a ten but tag #my writing #my wip #my ocs #ibt wip #indie's bar and thrills wip #ahhh this was so fun to write #yes I went above and beyond #no I do not regret it

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illateriteral · 6 months

Text

Chapter Two 🁥

omg one year anniversary of this account ive posted like 3 things yippeee!!!

WC: 5,897

Atrociously loud music pounds my eardrums, dazing me in my already distraught form. No, no, no, no, no. My pupils enlarge in realization and I can feel myself beginning to collapse; throwing my arm to anything nearby, my hand slaps around someone’s arm, and yet even so I drop to my knees, nearly pulling them down with me. The figure turns and glances down at me in disgust, swiftly drawing their arm away to return to their party, leaving me alone on the hardwood floor. I’m surrounded by a forest of legs–each rerouting themselves to surround me. I… Oh my god. They’re dead. My friends are dead. No way in hell they’re not, right? My heart pounds just as my eardrums did before. What’s going on? Where am I? I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe? I try to grasp at my chest but my hands move separately from my mind–they shake so violently they’ve grown a mind of their own. Breathe. Breathe. I try to calm myself, but as I inhale a barricade fills my lungs and I can feel myself choke on nothing. My vision starts to blur and a red vignette covers the shifting trees and towers, and all that exists seems to swirl and swivel. Falling from my knees to my side my panic only worsens. I see him–Tiger–lay motionless beside me, the environment shifting around the both of us, with pain visible in his eyes. “GOD NO PLEASE” I scream in hopes of forgiveness, tears draining from my face as I throw myself away from his corpse across the hardfloor. It was a mistake, I try to exclaim. It was a mistake. Though as I pull myself away I bump into another individual: James. My stomach churns and aches as realization sets in once more. NONONONO. IT WASN’T MY FAULT, my head screams at me, though it doesn’t matter. He’s abandoned once again, and he’ll surely be found soon. Snot builds up in my nose and my entire face is covered in tears and sweat. “I’m sorry” I mourn, but James just looks at me in disappointment before he turns and his face disappears into the crowd. Raising my wobbly hands to my face I wipe off what I can, and somehow find the strength to pull my wobbly legs from the floor. Hard electronic slams against my eardrums, pushing me off balance with every step, until eventually I fall onto a wall to carry my weight. Slamming against the surface makes tears of relief mix with my prior tears of dread, and I finally stumble to the door that I pray leads me outside. My heart slams against my chest as I fidget with the handle, my hands too unpredictable to switch the lock open. Please I murmur to myself–as if begging an unknown force to open the door for me–and alas I finally release a click. Pushing the door open I finally reach a cold breeze.

Stumbling outside, the intruding wooden floor is replaced with a pristine sidewalk, illuminated ever-so-slightly by the midnight moon. I take a few steps out into the lawn, my body crumbling and aching at every step of the way, until finally my bones creak and collapse, leaving me in a pile of grass. My body slowly reconstructs itself–I can feel myself breath automatically once more–and while my hands remain shaky, my body temperature slowly falls to below ninety. I release a weak, stuttered breath, and my vision slowly clears. I begin to think my torment is finally over, though soon I feel my stomach turn, and I pull myself up to vomit atop this poor bastard’s lawn. The taste of regurgitated junk food and alcohol spreads across my tastebuds, forcing me to gag as I release my insides, and if I hadn’t used all my tears before, they would most definitely begin to fall as I finish my routine and roll beside my puddle, staring at the clouds above. Fuck. Visions of James and Jas and Tiger continue to engulf me, and I can feel my soul become weighted as if I’m being pulled into the soil, but at least I have a moment of silence. It’s over, and you fucked up, and you can never undo that mistake. But it’s over. I slowly try to pull myself back up, though I struggle to raise myself even an inch from the ground. I try to crawl back to the sidewalk as well, before collapsing into the grass yet again. What the fuck is wrong with you? I robbed them of their lives. I robbed them of what–twenty, thirty years? Fifty? Seventy? I robbed them of any future relationships or friendships. I robbed them of anything and everything. I scoff to myself and my eyelids fall slightly. I dig into my pocket for some form of distraction, and luckily I feel a phone and a wallet; the phone I grab and fumble around until it ignites, blinding me as the lock screen glares across my face. One, two, maybe a dozen missed notifications occupy my vision. My vision hasn’t entirely recovered, and as such the text remains blobs of black, though I recognize a green box as a missed call. I sit myself up as I press on the icon and sit in darkness as the ringing encompasses me. It takes a few seconds, though soon enough an unfamiliar voice emerges.

“Heather!?” yells a loud, masculine, voice. I stay silent, hoping he’ll do the talking for me as I drop back to my green paradise.

“Heather? You’re a fucking idiot. I told you it was a stupid idea.” The man sounds angry, and from the haziness of my vision I can probably piece together why. I attempt to apologize, though as the word “sorry” escapes my mouth I can hear the slur and intoxication behind my words, and the voice goes silent. A sigh is barely audible from the other side.

“Tell me where you are and I’ll pick you up, take you home,” he says defeatedly. I hold the phone next to my ear and rub my eyes before eventually looking around the neighborhood–it's not bottom of the barrel, but sure as hell not a typical suburb.

“I… I dunno” I spat into the microphone, the alcohol slowly assuming control over my brain. I hear him groan before speaking once more.

“You’re still near Micheal’s, right? You couldn’t have made it far. Stay put, I’ll do a few loops around the block.” The voice disappears and the call ends, leaving me alone to my thoughts once more. I rub my forehead and cope, letting myself be encased by the lawn. It’s cold. Not the kind of cold that makes you jump, though–or the cold that makes you stick your toe in the water first to see if you can handle it. No. It’s the peaceful kind of cold. Like, when you’re standing on a fifth story hotel balcony before anyone else is awake, or when you just got off work after pulling a double and you’re immediately hit by the brisk air. I try to close my eyes and rest before my savior arrives, though all I see is them. I don’t deserve to be free of consequence; I don’t deserve the peace the world’s allowing me to cherish. My eyelids lift and I stare at the clouds once more, the moon slowly falling to the darkness. My head begins to pound as the wait for my caller to arrive continues, and by the time I see a pair of headlights flow by my vision, they disappear into the neighboring block. Growing impatient, I sit up once more and pull out my wallet hoping to pass the time, a lone streetlamp a ways down the road now being my lightsource. I squint, and while my vision is still hazy, I can make out some words; Heather Mads, born in 2018. God, not too far from reality, actually–at least in the grand scheme of things. My eyes water again at memories of my past, though I shake them off before I break. This alcohol’s messing with me, I swear. God, I hope it's the alcohol. The rest of the wallet has about twenty bucks in cash, a debit card, her license, and that’s about it. I pull out the phone once again, though the glare against my eyelids cause my headache to act up again, and so the phone and wallet slip back into my skinny jean pockets. I absolutely hate skinny jeans. Why can’t our hate for skinny jeans be consistent?

I begrudgingly wait as more cars leave the house’s driveway and the clouds continue to merge and darken. My hope feels more and more misplaced. I check my phone, my headache now slightly more bearable–no notifications for about an hour, and we’re about to hit twelve. God, I’m an idiot. The phone’s locked. I don’t know who to call, I can’t go anywhere, and I sure as hell can’t think. I don’t know why I even bothered to check.

“Fuck it.”

I trip and fall as I pull myself to my feet, and while a little wobbly at first, I manage to stand. The change in my gravity forces the bloodrush to drain from my head, and finally my thoughts are clearer–more lucid. I can finally make some progress. I turn and look around the street–most of the cars drove behind me, so in hopes of finding a main road I pull myself to begin a stride, and as if blessed by the Gods themselves, the clouds finally begin to drop their own tears atop the city, being a harbinger of bliss. It houses the same, peaceful, cold as the grass did before. Maybe walking is a distraction. Maybe it’s symbolic. Either way, as I walk from my bed of grass into the night, the thoughts of my current life escape me, and I slip into memories of what I yearn for.

I quickly wipe the sadness away as the leaves rustle and the tiny rodents scurry across the underbrush. Glancing around the porch, I hear a light scream, followed by a distant howling of laughter. My visibility is still obstructed, but the thought of my friends nearby forces a smile to overtake me. Still, their muffled voices fall to white noise and my subconscious seeps across my brain once more. I remember how every day after school my friends and I would gather and chat whilst we watched the parking lot empty. Some days we would go to an after school club instead, or would go out to get tea afterwards, and if not that then we’d stop by the family-owned burger joint across the street that was way too high quality. I remember how if we were tired or just wanted to go home then we wouldn’t do anything–we would just sit. This reality is full of so much pain yet so much beauty. This reality is home. I clench my fist in defeat, placing my bowl on the floor beside me and stop to stare into the distance. The door behind me creaks open and slams into the house, just as it did for me, and beyond the door lay Khloe.

“Hey” they exclaim quietly, a bowl of their own in their hands. I do that awkward, tilt-up nod as a greeting, and we make uncomfortable eye contact for a second before she takes a seat on a neighboring rocking chair. I can feel my cheeks get hot from embarrassment as I look back out into the distance.

“Didn’t know you were still here,” I quickly disclose. “I would’ve been more quiet,” I followingly utter silently. Khloe takes a bite out of her cereal and waves her hand as a sign of, “don’t worry about it.”

“I had to get out of bed eventually, right? Just so happens… this time was from your terrible singing” she says with a sly smile. I wince in discomfort and let out a chuckle.

“I already apologized, man. Don’t even give me that.”

“Ohh, no. That doesn’t count. Get me earplugs as an apology.” I glance at her with pure astonishment on my face–the balls on you I swear to god–yet a smile emerges.

“Oh, you asshole” I snort and we both laugh.

“Seriously though. I’ll take it as my new alarm” she teases and chuckles to herself. My face turns flustered and I look away.

“How’d you sleep?” I probe, hoping to drive the conversation in a different direction. She glances back at me and her face returns to normal.

“Alright, I guess.” The conversation goes quiet as she inhales her cereal and I return to minding my own business. You never know what kind of conversation you’re going to get with Khloe. After a moment I hear the clink of her bowl dropping to the porch.

“Let’s go find the others, yeah?” Before I can even form a response she falls to her feet and grabs my arm.

“Come on” she says in that cold yet welcoming tone, and I feel my heart flutter.

“Yeah. Let’s.”

My dreams of the past are cut short as the swooping of passing cars knocks me backwards. I turn a corner and see a truck, and then a semi, and then a muscle car zoom down the endless stretch of road–and as each continues on their voyage a wave of cold air slams against my mass. In other news, over the past hour the rain has intensified. My clothes are drenched, my hair stringy, and my skin shivering as the once comfort the chilly air and rain droplets brought previously has passed. Now I’m as miserable as I am soaked. I stare at the highway and halt my step. Tip tap tip tap. The sound of droplets slapping against the road accompanies me as I trot through the slowly flooding greenery, and though the midnight frost is hurting my psyche I know I must push forward–though I gotta admit that I’m exhausted. Every bone in my body hurts; I’m on the brink of collapse. My face and hands begin to fall to numbness and every thought attempting to push me forward is being lost to sleep deprivation. I check my phone one last time, the little battery icon transitioning from yellow to red, and a single message lights up the screen: Missed Call from Mom. As soon as the message enters my brain I frantically cover the screen with my sleeve, wiping the rain off as I tap the notification, throwing it to my ear as the ringing echoes.

“Heather?” The voice is alien to me.

“Hey mom. What’s up?” my voice croaks, the sound of pouring rain and cars speeding past pounding in the background. As she speaks most of her words get lost to the unknown.

“Sweetie… I know… partied. Charles told… father… I.” The combination of the fifteen background sounds between the two of us, as well as my terrible signal, makes her voice inaudible at points, though I think I can put the story together. Charles? The asshole who said he was going to pick me up, I assume. Or it could’ve been someone else. I don’t know. I can’t remember, but the thought of the possibility ticks me off.

“What? You’re kidding me” I remark, “you’re listening to that asshole now?”

“Excuse you?” she responds in a snarky, impatient tone.

“He left me.” I emphasize.

“Hell, he’s the one who pressured me to drink in the first place” I exclaim. Although this situation is most definitely this me’s fault, and nearly everything I state is probably a lie, I don’t care–at least this girl’s parents are worried.

“That dimwit promised he would…” a spike lands in my head, and the headache I thought had abandoned me returns twice as worse. The grip on my phone tightens, though I pull my hands to my head and rub the sides of my temples. Fuck, man. I think I can barely hear my mother speaking from the other end of the line as the phone returns to the side of my ear, but it's too late. Nothing but silence.

“Can… Can you say that again?” The response I get is the humming and beeping of the call ending, and while no more words are spoken, that’s the only response I need. I’m alone again, and my headache, alongside every other side effect, hits me with all they have. I drop myself to the side of the highway and sit crisscrossed on the neighboring grass, my head pounding and thumping, and my body creaking and collapsing.

“I can’t, man. I fucking can’t,” I tell myself aloud and stare at the headlight-lit grass, its blades moving in sync with the cars speeding by, a huge gust of wind following each time. I think we put some kind of limit on drinking next time, because this shit is unbearable. A car swerves by as I try to regain my cognitive abilities, and a giant puddle launches into the air, swooping over me entirely, drenching me in mud and water alike. Fuck. This is payment, right? This is karma. I failed those kids. God, that’s funny. I deserve worse than a pile of mud. Fuck. I let my eyelids drop and darkness overtake me before sighing and returning to reality. No. I’ll die before I collapse into my sins–before I let my sorrow devour me. I just… need a minute to recuperate. I’ve been part of this stupid shithole loop for too long to be put down by a pile of rain and dirt and the ninety strains of bacteria and viruses that’ve concocted in it. And yet, this pile of shit over my body weighs me down like an anchor. I rub my face with the only part of my shirt naked of dirt and push forward. I don’t need mom. I don’t need Charles. I need me. I need “me” to pull up my big girl pants and put myself together. My shoes sludge through the muck as I wander down the road, my hair completely falling over my face, and the dampness of my clothes makes me contemplate taking it all off, though despite this my hands swiftly enter my pockets for any sign of warmth. My disparity continues endlessly and my body heaves slowly forward when a light shimmer shines its way into my vision–into my heart. A small, most likely forgotten porch lamp brightens my soul as the distance between us decreases. The glow only beams brighter as I approach, and as the shimmer alas falls atop my face I let out a sigh of relief and collapse onto the wooden planks. Finally out of the rain; finally out of the darkness. The awareness that overtakes me nearly ruins my victory–how I’ll look like a typical drunk in the morning–but I reject the thought. This porch, accompanied by the patter on the roof leaves peace in me. I made it. One last strike of guilt hits me before I pass, though I feel myself leave the mortal plane with the slight warmth of the overhead light seeping into me.

“Wake up, kid,” says an unknown, weak voice, with a surprising amount of power behind it. Ah, here’s the thing I dreaded thinking of. My eyes shoot open to survey my new environment, though to my surprise the sky is still sable and my limbs still attached. I turn, and in an instant I can tell the voice’s owner is an older fellow–a small asian man.

“I- oh shit” I stutter, “I’m so sorry, I planned to be gone by morning” I muster out as an obvious white lie. The man simply stares as I regain my composure and rise to my feet.

“How did you know I was here…” I begin to ask, before my eyes are drawn to a motion-sensor camera peeking off the wall. “Oh,” I express with an awkward chuckle. The old man sighs and releases what I presume to be a curse in a language I can’t understand.

“You look terrible” he says bluntly and with a grimace across his face, though this expression doesn’t last long; over time a slight, pained, smile forces itself to his face, and his brows curve with sympathy. “Come in, I’ll make you some coffee” he states in a defeated tone, as if he was arguing with himself about what to do, and before I can react he’s already halfway down the hallway. While a brief sense of hesitation hits me, this is the closest to “human” I’ve been treated since the last ten loops; I want this moment to last. Stepping inside, the remnants of a once bustling home strike me immediately. Dozens of family photos line the walls, a variety of failed art pieces scintillate a once dull wallpaper, and placed next to the door lays a rug full of mismatched shoes from ages all across the board. Eager to free my feet from their damp hell, I welcomingly place my shoes alongside and wipe my soaked socks across the floor mat before placing them down. Moving further into the house my soles and toes dig into carpet that couldn’t have been cleaned anywhere in the past decade, and yet the disarray of the environment seems to invite me further in. Continuing down the hall I glance into each neighboring room: a living room on the right, a bathroom and a kitchen on the left, then a closed door on the right and at the end of the hallway. Finally I reach the kitchen, being the final door in this arrangement, and inside I see my new acquaintance.

“My… daughter,” he begins as I enter the room, “you should recognize her, right?” he asks as he grudges across the room, boiling water and throwing beans into a grinder. “A soccer legend,” he announces as he turns and gestures towards the shelf full of a mixture of awards and medals.

“Sorry,” I say with an awkward titter, “I don’t. But yeah, I’m sure she is. She still in the game?” I ask innocently enough as I take a seat at the dining table, keeping my back to the wall. The man goes motionless before turning and giving me a warm smile.

“She passed, quite a while ago actually.” Hearing this, my eyelids lock open and a deep breath fills my lungs until he speaks again.

“No worries. It’s been a long time.” he confesses, then tacks on “coffee’s nearly done” at the end in an attempt to fix the situation, and all I can help to do is hopelessly smile, discomfort taking shape in my eyebrows.

“Bit much to bring up to a stranger, don’t you think?” I ask rhetorically, though to my dismay his situation becomes worse, and my commiseration expands great bounds.

“Sorry, I… I don’t speak to much of anyone these days” he replies, and my soul aches for his family. I eventually spit out a “well shit” to ease the moment, though all I can think to do is ask for him to continue.

“It gets hard some days,” the man replies, “especially for my wife. She… barely even gets up anymore” he confesses as he pours two jet black cups of coffee.

“Sugar? Cream?”

“A little bit of both cool?” I ask, and at a moment’s notice the seat across from me is taken, and a mug filled with cheap dollar store shit and the most love you’ve ever seen in a cup of coffee slides before me. Observing his face an accompanying cordial look shifts alongside his pain, and the pieces start to put themselves together.

“You can’t bear to get rid of those hall photos, and she… your wife, can’t bear to look at them” I conclude, and I then realize how long it may have truly been since this man last, truly, spoke. He gives a slight nod and glances back towards the trophies; “she wants to move on to forget. I want to move on to move on” he explains, and soon his shell cracks even more.

“I’m, uh, not qualified for advice on that kinda stuff,” I reply, “but hell, let’s live to live then.”

The man releases a slight chuckle and takes a sip of his own coffee–it’s not quite black, though you could fool me about it. I release a slight shudder at the dampness of my clothes, and he immediately bounces into action.

“Oh, my apologies. Allow me to get you a spare of clothes–I’m sure my wife won’t mind!” he says surprisingly energetically before exiting the room and presumably entering one of the closed doors. While I want to trust him, every bell is ticking off in my brain, and yet I still remain seated. I want to see the best in people.

Over the next few hours I came to know this dead girl better than I’ve ever known myself–her feats and her dreams, her friends and her convictions, how she carried herself throughout the days as they passed, the whole lot.

“And so one day,” the father whose name I’d come to know as “David” continues, “one day she and her ‘friend that was a boy–” he always made that part very clear, “they went to this laundromat and absolutely filled a machine with everything you can think of–such as detergent, those pod things, everything–and I swear as that machine opened all you could see were bubbles” he howls in laughter as I roar alongside.

“I mean, the owner was so pissed” he trumpets between breaths.

“This other time I was driving home and–well she insisted she walked home from school to ‘get the exercise,’ and I saw her, trash bag in hand, picking up whatever litter is tossed into those ditches along the highway” he chimes and puffs his chest, clearly proud of who she was, “and the next day I told everyone that my daughter was munificest and altruistic.” Both words flew right over my head, so I’ll save some time and say they mean generous and selfless respectively.

Anyways, as the night continued we two ventured across the house, reliving memories and reliving heartbreak, exchanging facts about our pasts.

“While not my best, the day I met my wife is the highlight of my life” he reckons as he places their wedding photo back upon the mantle. “It was as messy as a first date could be,” he begins, “though by the time the day ended we’d both been in love for hours anyway.”

“This bathroom is where the both of us first learned how to care for a baby,” David giggles reliving the memories. “This bathroom has also been through the most torturous of experiences,” he cackles, “from trying to change diapers to potty training, and then cleaning the dog in the tub and unclogging the toilet from some mishaps.”

Though when the night came and went, bags appeared beneath both our eyes and we two collapse, plopping side by side on the couch, our sugar rush from the coffee finally coming to a close. After all was said and done, however… Well, we both knew what had to happen next. I clear my throat and rub my brow before glancing David’s way with sympathy.

“How did it… happen?” I ask in a hushed tone, almost so I myself didn’t have to hear it.

Five seconds pass.

Then ten.

Fifteen.

On the twentieth he responded.

“Cancer. Suicide. One of the two” he agonizes as his voice goes cold, maintaining long pauses between each statement.

“The diagnosis barely affected her at first. Life just continued, but…” He waits a moment and gazes across the living room, his eyes empty.

“No soccer on her was rough. Later on she became agitated. Impatient. Got in a rush to experience life” David clasps his hands and stares at his feet. “I guess I figured she’d been overreacting about the whole thing. We’d get her whatever meds she’d need, we’d make sure she saw tomorrow–’what was there to worry about’ I asked myself. Although, it appears she’d been preparing for something else entirely.”

He closes his eyes and practically sucks his tears back inside before they can seep down his skin.

“The future of medicine and finances and being bed-ridden wasn’t something she wanted.”

A long stifle overcomes David and I before he finishes his reciting.

“I miss her” he states, tearing up.

“I miss my wife. I miss my family.”

“I… I used to ask myself what we did wrong,” he wails as he attempts to speak.

“That–that maybe if I-”

“Maybe if you said something different, or were more supportive, or hell were more restrictive, things would’ve changed” I interrupt, preventing him from blubbering over his words any further until he recovers. Placing my hand on my forehead I cover my eyes, almost scared to see his reaction to what I’m about to say, but finally I gain the balls to speak.

“If it gives you peace… Everything always turns out the same. No matter what you say or do, no matter how determined or deadset you are, no matter how many lives and universes you venture through…” my voice cracks before I turn to see David’s hurt face and to stop myself from exposing any more.

“Some people’s minds are already made.”

David’s quiet nature proves to me that he knows I’m hiding something, though none of that matters anymore. The sound of crickets begin seeping into the room through the windows, each following chirp gaining volume until David silences them with his voice.

“Yeah. I know it wasn’t my fault–I know we did all we could. But… the fact that it wasn’t our fault doesn’t change that it happened.”

A shiver breaches my body.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

The sunrise finally begins peeking itself through the blinds, bringing an unwelcome end to our night of tales, though just as I’m about to stand David strikes me with a question: “who have you lost?” My mind enters shock before I can respond; I have so much to say, yet nothing comes out.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Fifteen.

On the twentieth I finally find my voice and respond with an ache.

“Everyone.”

My eyebrows drop and I shuffle in my seat, resisting the urge to crawl into a ball and disappear.

“And it was all my fault.”

David continues to stare, curiosity and pain in his eyes as he scoots towards me, placing his hand on my shoulder to help find some sense of comfort. I jump slightly out of instinct, though he takes no offense and places his arm on the back of the couch as I begin to find the words I’m looking for.

“I ran away” I announce, almost as if I had to admit it to finally accept it.

“College was rough. My relationship was rough. I didn’t have a mom, and my dad, well… he was struggling too.” I take a peek at David, his eyes wide, and I glance back down as I continue.

“I had some friends, but you know how that goes, I… I just had to get away from it all,” I gulp.

“And so I did.”

I release an awkward, self-pity chuckle to fill the silence.

“I went on this… road trip, across the states. You ever hear of Chris McCandless?” I ask, unaware if he even exists in this universe. David shakes his head.

“A real nomad–died biting off more than he could chew. I guess I was hoping for something similar.”

David is clearly reminded of his daughter by this–though I think my mere existence has had a similar effect on him, and I’m not done venting yet.

“But, against all odds, I survived.” I grind my teeth and my eyelids shut.

“And every day that passes, I wish I didn’t.”

“By the time I’d gotten back, my relationship was done–no figure–and shit, my dad practically disowned me. He was already hurt, and I, well… he couldn’t handle my bullshit anymore.” I kick back and stare at the ceiling, a deadpan stare across my face.

“And so there went my old life. So I just got back in my car and kept driving.”

My head stays motionless in suspense; David’s eyes grow in sympathy.

“My parents and I were immigrants. I won’t pretend to understand what you went through, but… losing everything and having to restart seems to just be a part of life, don’t you think?”

I slowly nod in reluctant agreement, knowing what he says may be true but not being able to accept it.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

David slowly pulls himself up from the cushions we’d both buried ourselves into, beckoning me to follow. Exiting the living room he makes his way down the hall, leading me to a closed door where we wait for a moment. His hand approaches the handle but rests atop it in suspense. He’s waiting for something. Waiting for the courage to hit him. Moments pass before he finally pushes it down, the door swinging open with a light push, and a cold wave slams into the two of us. The room is freezing and dark, hosting closed curtains and light bulbs that died a long time ago. It’s clear what the room was. Neither of us need to say a word as we enter, shivers moving across the both of us. David makes his way across the room, a clear objective in mind, though as he closes his mind to avoid the memories I fully give in, and visions of what the room once was flood my mind. The walls were covered in posters of boy bands and sports, the bed that's now neatly tucked was a complete mess, blankets and sheets tossed across its area, and dozens of deliberately printed polaroids are plastered across a bulletin board, years after polaroids stopped being common use. I take a few steps through the room to view the photos closer. While I’d seen and viewed her trophies and portraits as the night continued, these were the ones that intrigued me–those that she valued the most. Unsolicited photos of her and those she loved, some of them doing something without a care in the world, others probably containing the last time she ever saw them. Turning around, David extends his hand.

“She always had this… weird obsession with keychains. I think she’d want you to have this.” In his hand is a small figurine of a dragonfly.

“I want you to have this.”

I’m not normally one to accept gifts or favors, but just this once, I think to myself, and without a second thought the dragonfly enters a hand of my own. The keychain is beautifully simple in design but contains a wonderful variety of blues and purples along the body and wings.

“If rebirth really is a part of life, and none of this will matter in the long run, I want you to remember that what happened here today mattered to me.”

Taking another look at the dragonfly, I release my breath and pull David in for a hug, where even though I tower over him an unrivaled comfort surrounds me.

“Thank you” I murmur, and we both knew I wasn’t talking about the keychain.

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writemekpop · 2 years

Text

Shut Out | Nakamoto Yuta

Pairing: Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Summary: After a massive fight, Yuta kicks you out of the house. Only, it's a cold, snowy night, and you have nowhere to go....

Genre: Boyfriend!Yuta, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Mentions of adultery, alcohol, swearing

Gif: @elfyuta

“Y/n, I’m gonna give you one last chance to tell me the truth. I’m done being lied to,” your boyfriend Yuta snaps at you.

You’re swaying slightly outside the front door of your shared house. Your eyes - that once looked at him like he was the centre of your universe - are dull and drunken.

“Where… were… you… today?” Yuta has to force the question out of his mouth. He doesn’t want to know your answer. Either, you’ll lie to his face, or you’ll admit what you’ve done, shattering your relationship into a million pieces.

For the last few weeks, you’ve grown distant. Your habit of absentmindedly tracing shapes into Yuta’s hand has stopped, you shrink away from his hugs, you come home from work late and stinking of alcohol…

He imagines you saying it: Yuta, I’m sleeping with someone else.

Something flashes over your face - pain? regret? - but then it disappears, and you say, “Work.”

Except, the thing is, Yuta called the dentist’s office where you work at 3PM today. The receptionist said you weren’t there.

Your lie hits Yuta in the chest like a punch. Frustration bubbling up inside him, he slams the door shut in your face.

You gasp.

“I’m not letting you in until you tell me the truth!” He shouts, his voice breaking. “Where the fuck were you?”

---

Yuta’s eyes snap open. The back of his neck aches, and his muscles are stiff from shivering.

He’s confused… till he realises he fell asleep, back pressed against the inside of the front door. He’s been so drained lately that he must have passed right out.

It’s been hours since he kicked you out. He looks through the frosted glass window next to the door… and see thick white.

His heart falls. Where the hell were you? Did he leave you outside in the cold?

Scrambling to his feet, he yanks open the front door, and an Arctic wind blasts in his face. The whole of your street is blanketed with snow - it must have fallen in the night!

His heart thumping against his ribs, he looks down, and sees you. You’re sitting on the floor, knees pulled in like a baby, eyes shut. A later of snow dusts your entire body.

Oh no. Oh God no. He crouches down and brushes off the snow. Your lips are tinged blue, and your body is vibrating with shivers. His heart clenches.

“Oh my god, baby. Why didn’t you say anything?” Yuta murmurs, but you’re too weak to answer.

Yuta puts his fingers to your neck, trying to find a pulse, but it’s as faint as a tiny bird’s. He picks you up and carries you inside, guilty tears already hot on his cheeks.

He can’t imagine losing you. You’re like a part of his own body, like his own heart. He can feel your pain, feel the bone-cracking cold as clearly as if it was his own body under all that snow.

He curses himself, his idiotic, arrogant self – for letting you get hurt like this over a stupid argument! He realises that he doesn’t care if you’re cheating on him, heck, he doesn’t even care if you love the other guy more than him.

You can break Yuta’s heart a thousand times over, as long you’re still with him, making terrible ‘that’s what she said’ jokes, high-fiving kids, scrunching your nose up when you laugh.

Yuta’s mind is racing. What do they say about treating hypothermia? Skin to skin contact.

Yuta strips off your cold, damp jacket, T shirt, and jeans, then quickly removes his own pyjamas. He throws a blanket on top of you, then climbs in with you.

Yuta clings to your freezing, shivering skin like you’re a life raft in a raging storm. Yuta presses kisses all over your cold cheeks, lips, chest, the beautiful dips in your collarbones. With each kiss, he mentally whispers please, please, please.

He doesn’t know what he’s begging for - life, love, forgiveness - but he begs anyway.

---

Finally, he hears a mumbled, “Yuta?”

He shifts to look into your eyes… and find them bright and clear. You’re not just looking in his direction, you’re actually seeing him. Yuta can’t remember the last time you looked at him like that. His heart flutters, despite everything.

Your body is warm now, but Yuta’s still worried. Frantic, he presses his fingers to your neck, checks your pulse again, showers you with questions.

He stops, surprised, when you pull his fingers to your lips and kiss them. “Thank you,” you say, your voice hoarse but calm. “You saved my life.”

He shakes his head, tears welling up again. “I didn’t, I- I- almost killed you.”

You say, “I know I’ve been distant lately, and I’m sorry-“

Yuta blurts out, “If you want to be with him, I won’t stop you. I’m just happy you’re okay.”

You frown. And to Yuta’s utter, utter surprise… you chuckle. Your teeth flash in that sexy grin he hasn’t haven’t seen in so long. “You think… I’m cheating on you?” You say.

He nods, looking at the frayed blue blanket.

You cup Yuta’s jaw with your hand, tilting his chin so he’s facing you. “Yuta,” you blaze, “I would never do that. I’ve been acting weird because… I… lost my job.”

He knows he should feel sorry for you, but relief rushes through his veins like honey. “How long?” he asks.

“Three weeks. It was so embarrassing. I- I- couldn’t bear to let you down... so I’ve been hanging out in the pub during work hours.” Your head hangs low, and tear trembles on your cheek.

Yuta shakes his head. “Darling, you could never let me down. Just having you by my side is enough. Always.”

You exhale. “You’re everything I need, too. I love you. And I’m sorry.”

Yuta pulls you into a fierce bear hug, his strong arms wrapping over your chest. He nuzzles into your neck, loving the heat of your body. He didn’t know how much he loved that heat until it was gone.

“Yuta-a… I can’t… breathe,” you tease, but he just hugs you tighter.

A while later, Yuta feels you absentmindedly tracing little shapes into the back of his hand. You started doing it again… after stopping for so long.

You don’t see it, but a smile spreads over Yuta’s face. He thinks:

I’m never gonna shut you out again.

—

MASTERLIST

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