#cause that’s really all it boils down to I suppose even though it feels worse to me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dottores · 2 years

Text

friends | haitani r.

haitani ran x fem!reader

summary: he shouldn’t have been so damn cocky when he told you not to go catching feelings for him.

genre: fwb to lovers, best friends to lovers

warnings: fem!reader, fwb tropes, semi-public sex, angry/jealous sex, degradation, car sex, UNEDITED

word count: 3.9k

notes: for @kshira‘s FWB collab! :D

“Keep fucking around and you’re gonna lose her. She’s gonna find someone else eventually.”

His brother’s words rang in his head as Haitani Ran waited for you in his car outside of the restaurant you were meeting some guy--one of the restaurants that he owned. His jaw clenched as he remembered the bright look in your eyes as he watched you get ready for the date, as he remembered the stupid knowing look in Rindou’s eyes as his brother purposefully asked you about the guy you were meeting to rile Ran up.

“Hm? His name is Hiro, I met him while out shopping at Mori Tower. Really hot, ten out of ten, not gonna lie. Seemed nice too, and rich.”

He couldn’t fucking get over the way you winked at him when you said that, as if he would find it funny or agree with you and, even worse, the cocky fucking look Rindou shot his way when his brother saw the irritation in his eyes. His blood was fucking boiling and he let out a frustrated breath. He ran his hand through his hair and turned up the air conditioner in his car, desperately trying to calm himself down before you finished up with your date.

How was he supposed to take his brother’s advice and make a move when you treated him like that? Like he was just one of your little girlfriends.

“You’re my best friend, you know? I dunno what I’d do without you.”

Best friend, he thought spitefully, you fuck all of your best friends the way you do him?

He exhaled sharply, mind racing as he tried to figure out what the fuck he was supposed to do--genuinely considering going in there and shutting down the restaurant for the night just so you couldn’t get any more time with this fucker.

Fuck, he thought to himself, rubbing at his eyes. He can’t do that, you’d only get pissed at him and it would start an argument between the two of you.

Hate fuck though, he considered but promptly rolled his eyes because no, no hate fuck because you refused to do anything with him whenever you were considering starting a relationship with someone.

Still would let him fuck your brains out the night before the first date though, he thought bitterly, remembering how he had you bent over the desk in his office at the Bonten base when you had stopped by with takeout the night before.

His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled and he couldn’t even hear the radio over the blood rushing through his ears as he finally glanced at the clock. You were late. Was it a good thing? A bad thing? He supposed, either way, it would be a bad thing for him--if the date went well, he would be losing you; if the date didn’t go well, you could be in trouble and that meant he was about to have to go in there and kill someone.

He took in a deep breath as another thought crossed his mind.

Were you fucking him?

He knew better than fucking anyone that you had no shame when it came to fucking around; you’d do it absolutely anywhere and if you found someone attractive, you’d make advances onto them without hesitation and you had clearly found this Hiro guy attractive, you had made that abundantly clear earlier that day.

Fuck, he thought, teeth grit tight and a sick, ugly feeling sweeping over him as he wondered if you were in the bathroom of his restaurant fucking this Hiro son of a bitch, wondering if you were on your knees sucking him off or worse, letting that unworthy piece of shit get a taste of his pussy.

Ran swallowed thickly as the thought crossed his mind. His, huh? If you knew something like that was running through his head, it would undoubtedly cause a huge fight.

“Oi, y/n, you better not go catching feelings for me if we fuck a couple times, this doesn’t change anything.”

And he had been so fucking arrogant about it too, not even once considering that he could be the one to catch feelings and now what was he supposed to do? Tell you ‘hey, remember how I said not to catch feelings? Well, I take that back, I definitely caught feelings, wanna be my girlfriend?’

No, he couldn’t fucking do that, especially because he was sure you had stuck to what he told you and didn’t care for him any more than you would a good friend, why else would you be going around trying to find a boyfriend if you didn’t?

Fuck.

Should he call the restaurant? Ask one of the hostesses what was going on? What if it had gone poorly and you needed him to come in? It had happened before.

Just as he was about to dial the number of the restaurant, he caught movement from his car mirror. His eyes snapped toward the entrance of the restaurant as you exited. Your expression was blank at first glance but he knew you well enough by now to catch the small crease in your forehead that told him all he needed to know: the date had not gone well.

Ran let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

He unlocked the car as you approached the passenger seat, watching you slip into the seat and shut the door behind you, “Well, that was a trainwreck,” you said, shooting him a small grin, and just as he was about to question what happened, his eyes narrowed in on the lipstick smudged beneath your lips.

He leaned forward, rubbing his thumb over it to wipe it off. His thumb caught on your bottom lip slightly and he watched raptly as your tongue darted out to wet your lips right where he had touched.

“Hm,” he said, that ugly feeling returning with a vengeance, “I bet.”

Your eyes sharpened on to him and he knew he had fucked up, “What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, voice low.

“Nothing,” Ran said, looking back toward the parking lot in front of him, “Want to head back to me and Rin’s place?”

“Nah,” you said and Ran’s eyes shot back toward you, not appreciating the tone, “I wanna know what you meant by that.”

Ran turned to look at you, lips twisting into a frown as he shot you a dark look, “Drop it,” he warned because he did not want to get into this because that meant he was gonna have to get into what he had an attitude about, which would undoubtedly lead to you questioning why he had an attitude about it, which would inevitably lead to him having to confess that he fucked up and started caring about you more than just a fuck buddy, more than just a best friend.

Which would, of course, end in you rejecting him and tearing his heart in half.

“No,” you said, “What the fuck is your attitude about? I’m not one of your girls who you can just get nasty with and expect me to take it.”

What the-

“One of my what?” Ran spit out, eyes flaring at the accusation, “Unlike you, I’m not fuckin’ sleeping around with every bitch that looks my way.”

“Bullshit,” you snapped right back, unrelenting, and Ran’s fingers twitched around the steering wheel, having half a mind to wrap his hand in your hair and shove his cock down your throat to shut you the fuck up before he said something he regretted. “Stop fucking around and-”

Ran’s hand shot out and curled around your throat, reveling briefly in the wide-eyed look that crossed your face before he dragged you forward and pressed his lips against yours, swallowing any and all protests you might’ve had into a careless, messy kiss that nearly had his teeth clashing against yours.

Your hand shot up to wind itself in his hair and you yanked back hard, pulling him away from you, and he groaned at the feeling. You glared at him darkly, “You fuckin’ serious?” you demanded, “You’re horny, that’s why you’ve gotta fuckin’ attitude?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he lied, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, a little bit embarrassed by how breathless he sounded but fuck you looked so hot like this. It wasn’t often that you wanted to take control from him and he savored in it every time you did, even if it didn’t last long.

“You’re so fuckin’ embarrassing, you know that?” you spat, “I’m in there on a date and you’re out here catching an attitude ‘cause what? You want to get your dick wet? Call one of your fuckin’ whores.”

Ran was snapped right out of his daze at the reminder of your fucking date and the hand he had around your throat tightened, tugging you back toward him, “The only whore allowed to wet my dick is you.”

He watched as you inhaled sharply at his words and Ran leaned over slightly, wrapping his other hand around your thigh, pulling you over the console into his lap, you let out a hiss as your other knee hit the side of the console and Ran murmured out an apology. He groaned as you tumbled into his lap, putting pressure onto his already hard cock and falling forward onto his chest.

His hands slipped down your body to close around your waist, grinding you down hard on his cock, hips bucking up into you. He let out a shamelessly loud moan as your hands steadied yourself on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through the cotton of his button-up. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against your neck, tracing a brief pattern against your skin before biting down hard, laughing lightly against you when he heard you choke on your own breath

He pressed his hand hard against your stomach, pushing you backward until you were leaning against the wheel, you flinched as you pressed too hard against the horn and he shot you a smirk, “Careful,” he mocked.

“Here?” you demanded, voice little more than a hiss, “Are you kidding me? I just got done with a date.”

“Since when the fuck do you care about shit like that?” Ran challenged, hand drifting between your thighs to run along your clothed cunt and he would have appreciated the way your entire body shuddered at his touch but couldn’t for two reasons.

One, you were wearing his favorite pair of panties, those black lace ones that made him hard just thinking about, and he was sure you were also wearing the matching bra, the ones that he bought you to wear for him while going out on a date with another guy.

Two, your panties were fucking drenched and he knew damn well that he hadn’t done enough to get you this wet yet which would only mean…

Gonna fucking lose it, he thought, breathing heavily as he tried to get his temper under control, gonna fuckin’ lose it.

“He get to see these?” Ran spit out, remembering how your lipstick had been smudged when you got into his car. You didn’t answer, only staring at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest, “Hm? Answer me.”

“No,” you finally responded, swallowing thickly, and Ran desperately tried not to let it show how much better that single word had made him feel.

“No?” Ran cooed, “Then why you so fuckin’ wet? You come back ‘cause he wouldn’t fuck you, is that it? You wanted to whore yourself out and he said no?”

Your face twisted into one of annoyance but just as you opened your mouth to undoubtedly make another jab toward him, he pushed your panties over and pressed two of his fingers deep into you, mouth dry as he watched you gasp loudly at the sudden intrusion, back arching.

Ran’s eyes traced down your neck to the swell of your breasts, you were fucking beautiful, he knew that, but he couldn’t find the words to say it aloud. He let the hand that he had circled around your throat slip down your body, fingers running along your collarbone before lightly cupping your breasts through the thin material of the satin dress you had on, flicking lightly over your nipple.

He swallowed thickly at the feeling of your cunt surrounding his fingers. Fuck, you really were fucking drenched. He could feel you dripping down fingers, staining his wrist and you were so fucking tight, you always fit around him perfectly, whether it was around his fingers, his tongue or his cock--like you were made for him. His perfect fucking pussy and he swore to fucking god he would find and kill every other undeserving bastard that got to feel it, taste it.

“Doubt you even need to be prepped,” Ran bit, eyes dark as he pulled his fingers out of you slowly, watching your juices slip down his fingers before pushing them back inside you, captivated by the sight of his fingers disappearing into you, “sloppy fuckin’ cunt.”

“Ran,” your voice came out as little more than a whimper and Ran exhaled shakily, forcing his lavender eyes off of your cunt and back up to your face, watching the way your mouth hung ajar as he curled his fingers deep inside of you, pumping them in and out of you in a hard, steady pace.

His fucking pretty girl, you were his fucking pretty girl, no one else should ever get to see you like this except him.

The thought only set him off further because how many fucking guys got to see you like this?

“Ran,” you half-sobbed, nails dragging against the cloth covering his thighs as you rocked your hips against his fingers. His lips twisted down into a frown, not even having realized he had stopped in his movements after the thought had crossed his mind.

“That desperate for me that you’re gonna try to fuck yourself onto my fingers?” Ran sneered, “Funny.”

Funny, considering you’re the one always lookin’ to warm some other fucker’s dick.

He slipped his fingers out of you, enjoying the way you let out a nearly incomprehensible string of protests at the loss, enjoying the hazed look of betrayal you shot his way as he brought you so close to cumming but ripped you away from your high just as you were about to reach it.

“Ran,” you said, voice breathless as you rocked your hips over his thigh, “Ran, please.”

And as much as he would’ve liked to keep you begging him until the blow his ego had taken from you always looking for other guys had been healed, Ran’s cock was straining painfully against his pants and all he wanted to do was fuck himself into you so deep and hard that your cunt molded around him, leaving his cock the only one that could properly satisfy you.

Ran took his free hand off of your breast to unbutton and unzip his slacks, pulling his cock out and letting it slap up against his button-up. He pulled you forward by the thighs, lining his cock up against your entrance. Your hands clutched tightly at his shoulders, wrinkling his shirt as you let out a quiet moan.

Ran threw his head back as he finally sunk into you, a loud pornographic moan escaping his lips once he was buried into you to the hilt.

His perfect fucking pussy.

It took all of his self-control not to thrust up into immediately, especially as you clawed at his back, his hands on your hips the only thing stopping you from rolling your hips and fucking yourself onto his cock.

“Ran,” you pleaded, “Move, c’mon.”

“Mm, want you to answer somethin’ for me first, alright?” Ran murmured, ghosting his lips down your neck until you let out a soft noise of agreement, “Why you keep tryna fuck around with other guys, hm?”

You didn’t answer, your breath was hot--dizzying, even--against his ear, soft whimpers escaping your lips as his cock filled you up entirely and Ran internally praised himself for his discipline because the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock was making him fucking light-headed.

He waited another moment for your response, and when he realized you had no intentions of giving him one, he yanked your face away from the side of his head by the hair, grabbing your jaw harshly with his other hand.

“Asked you a fucking question,” he spit out and you blinked up at him so prettily that it almost made his anger melt away but then he remembered how you got all dolled up for that fucker in the restaurant and had probably been trying to fuck him and the anger returned with a vengeance, He dropped his hand from your throat and hair, grabbing you by the waist to lift you up off of his cock and slam you back down, reveling in the loud moan that escaped your lips, biting back one of his own as he continued his string of demands, “Why the fuck you always go lookin’ for other guys? I’m not good enough for you? I don’t do enough for you? Bringin’ you shoppin’ and buyin’ you everything you want, stayin’ up to watch all your dumb chick flicks with you, takin’ care of you whenever you get your fuckin’ heartbroken by these assholes. Is it ‘cause I don’t fuck you good enough, is that it?”

“Ran-“ you gasped out and Ran seethed because that wasn’t a fucking answer. He jerked his hips up, driving himself harder into you, watching your eyes roll back in your head as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix over and over and over again, the cries leaving your lips getting louder with each thrust.

“Nobody can fuck you like me, yeah?” Ran panted against your neck, fucking himself deeper into you when you didn’t respond right away, “Tell me.”

He hated how his voice edged on pleading.

“O-only you,” you finally sobbed, voice shaking.

“Yeah?” Ran breathed, hoping he didn’t sound as relieved as he felt, “Yeah? Only me?”

“Only you,” you agreed, voice slurred, “Yeah, Ran--oh--only fuckin’ you, no one else makes me feel good, only you.”

Ran bit down hard on his lip, swallowing the moan that bubbled in his lips, “Yeah, pretty girl,” he groaned, “‘m the only one that knows how to fuck you right.”

One of his hands slid up your body to fist your hair again, pulling you back by the hair so he could see your fucked out face--skin flushed and hair matted to your forehead, lips parted and eyes dazed and hazy as he continued to bounce you on his cock, pulling your hips down harder and harder with each rut of his hips.

So fucking beautiful.

“Should be the only one seein’ you like this,” Ran spat, anger returning as he wondered just how many assholes got to see you fucked out on their cock, “Should be the only one fuckin’ you dumb like this. Should take a picture ‘nd send it to all your little bitch boys, show ‘em that I’m the only one that can get you like this.”

“The only one,” you slurred, nails scratching at his chest, dragging deep, red lines into his skin--he hadn’t even noticed you had popped the buttons of his top. “Only one, Ran.”

“Better fuckin’ be,” Ran murmured, sucking deep bruises into the skin of your neck, teeth carelessly knicking your skin as one of his hands slipped from your waist to press his thumb to your clit, rubbing it in sync with his thrusts.

He watched with an expression near reverent as your back arched, body pressing against him tight, a loud cry of his name escaping your lips as you came around his cock. Ran’s eyes rolled back at the feeling of cunt clenching hard around his cock, thrusts becoming erratic and body shuddering as he came inside of you, shooting his seed deep inside your cunt as you laid limp against him, arms draped around his shoulders, reeling from your high.

Ran’s heart was pounding and his blood felt hot as he littered soft kisses against your neck and the top of your shoulders, head still fuzzy as he took in the dark bruises marring your neck and hips.

“What was that all about?” you said after a few moments, voice tired and fingers running through his short hair in a way that nearly had him melting against you. Ran hesitated, remembering all that he had said in the heat of the moment.

“Stop lookin’ for a boyfriend,” he finally said, deciding to just come out with it and pray to whatever god that would listen that it didn’t go horribly wrong, “I’ll be your fuckin’ boyfriend.”

Your shoulders shook against him and it took a moment for him to realize you were laughing at him.

He was gonna kill you.

“Why did it take you so long to tell me? Coulda saved me a lot of trouble and failed relationships, you know?” you finally asked, leaning back, amusement clear in your eyes as you looked at him.

Ran exhaled sharply, slowly realizing that you were not, in fact, rejecting him, “Didn’t wanna ruin what we had,” he shrugged, “and assumed you didn’t feel the same way ‘cause you kept lookin’ for a boyfriend.”

“You’re silly,” you murmured so fondly that it nearly made Ran flush, you leaned forward, pressing your lips against his softly--a way you had never kissed him before and a way he hadn’t realized he craved from you until he found his hands cupping your cheeks, keeping your lips pressed to his without trying to deepen the kiss.

“Miss your long hair,” you sighed, pulling back for a moment to toy with his hair

And Ran was embarrassed because his mouth was moving before his mind caught up when he blurted out immediately, “I can grow it back out.”

Before he could settle in his humiliation, a sharp knock came from the window of his car and Ran looked up, irritated, and he felt you stiffen against him.

“Are you fucking serious?” he heard a male voice shout from outside the car, “Come out here to apologize and ask for a second chance and you’re out here fucking another dude, stupid fucking whore. Go to hell!”

Ran moved you off of his lap and into the passenger seat immediately, tucking himself back into his pants as he reached into his console. His blood was roaring in his ears and his blood was running hot for all of the wrong reasons because how fucking dare he say that shit about you?

He would fucking kill him.

He pulled his baton out of the console, slamming the front door of his car open before pausing, leaning back toward you to press another brief kiss against your lips.

He winked at you as he pulled back, “Be right back, pretty girl. Got some trash to take care of.”

***

taglist: @spookydraken @rozcdust @crybaby-mv @crybabylisa @kennyb0y @portfolio-of-dreams @iamerica13 @chaoticyuna @mizumellon @sugusshi @lagrimasdeglitter

#ran x reader #ran smut #ran x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #haitani ran x reader #haitani ran smut

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novasdarling · 2 years

Note

Chrollo taking his darling in front of the troupe to show who owns her....

Could also be non-con

Love it. I decided to also add some Stockholm syndrome maybe setting in. Enjoy!

My Little Treasure

TW: Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome Mentioned, Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Fingering, Female Reader.

It was hard to get used to your new life. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to get kidnapped by your boyfriend. Get dragged from location to location by him and his gang. Be threatened if you even attempt to leave. Chrollo made it clear, if you ran he would let Feitan have his fun with you. You had heard his victims screams, them begging for mercy that was not there. That Feitan would never grant. You couldn’t end up in his hands, even if Chrollo was bluffing, you wouldn’t take that chance.

You had been good, never ran, never caused too much of a fuss. Just was always there for him, there where he left you when he returned. There to welcome him back after a long day. To praise him and show him how much you loved him. Chrollo was simple in that way, as long as you obeyed him to a point and loved on him. He spoiled you. It wasn’t that bad in the sense he never harmed you besides the initial kidnapping. But what made it worse was how he acted like nothing had changed, as if you two were the couple you used to be. It seemed in his twisted mind, kidnapping you was just another step in the relationship. Which showed when he used to yell and isolate you after you had an outburst about how he was twisted and fucked up. Eventually, you learned, being good got you rewarded. Chrollo would even take you out for walks, taking you to cafes if there was any near. It was almost normal if you could forget about the locks on the door when he left. It was almost as if you were back to the old ways. A fantasy you lived in.

The troupe were like his friends, and you should get to know your partner's friends. Yes, that’s it. They were his friends, it was easier to see them like that rather than what they really were. His accomplices in murder and theft. You decided to seek out Pakunoda and Shizuku as they seemed the least threatening. Though you weren’t stupid enough to not realize every member posed a threat. They were all murderers with no remorse. But they seemed kinder, giving you smiles when you passed by. Even bringing you food or offering short times of company when Chrollo was out. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who you don’t have to necessarily tiptoe around if they angered or upset you. You would guess Chrollo wouldn’t be pleased.

As time went on, you’d ask the girls to stay with you when they were free. Talking about everything, what was going on outside, holidays, relationship advice. You were careful with what you said and you knew so were they. Though it was easier being more open with Shizuku, she would commonly forget the conversations shortly after they occurred. Meaning there was no harm in stating your opinions or feelings of Chrollo.

You thought this was safe, that there was no harm having some friends. Yet, Chrollo seemed to take offence to it. Letting his anger slowly build up every time he couldn’t find you only to find you with them. When you weren’t waiting for him anymore by the door to your room. No more “welcome home” from you, after a long day that was all he wanted. But no, you were off with others. You couldn’t see the anger boiling in him. Missing how he glared at others now, at any of the members when they talked or even looked at you. Being oblivious to his temper coming to an edge. Until it, all poured out. You were walking back from spending some time with a few of the members, hearing that Chrollo was back with the others. You made your way to see him. Walking the dark halls of the newest hideout that Chrollo had picked. Only to feel a sudden pull on you. Being taken into a dark room watching as the door slammed shut. Pushed down onto the floor deep into the room. It was pitch black, you weren’t even able to see anything in the room. You weren’t sure what was happening, but once you heard his voice it all made sense. Who else could it of been besides Chrollo? The rest of the troupe knew not to mess with you like this. But Chrollo had given himself permission to scare you. “Well, well my love. So nice of you to finally come back.” You tried to explain, that you were on your way back to him. “I’m aware you were on your way back, but why weren’t you there when I arrived? I had been back for well over 10 minutes. I know Phinks arrived in the room you were at almost right as we arrived. You should of left right then.” He was angry at you. He was right Phinks had come into the room you and the girls were in. But instead of leaving, you finished the conversation with them. Take your time to leave. You assumed Chrollo would show some disdain to you arriving so late. But not like this. Not like how he was, somewhere in the darkroom. Having his questions bounce around, unable to pin down where he was. His interrogation of you reminded you of the first few weeks after he had taken you. He enjoyed scaring you, pulling you into rooms to worry you. To have you alone if he thought the troupe were too likely to walk into his room and bother him. Or when he wanted to scare and punish you. This was just like before. You had hoped he was over the power trip he gained from scaring you. You had been so good for him all of this time. Not even trying to run when you had a clean getaway.

Suddenly his voice was right by your ear. He was behind you, his body now pressed against yours. Arms curling themselves around your waist. Holding you in place as he pressed kisses against the back of your neck. It was wrong that he was making you feel good, that his kisses were making you want him. “Chrollo, please I-” A pain surged through your neck, Chrollo had bitten down on you. It felt like he had broken skin. Your pleas didn’t work, and trying to push him away did nothing. He had you pressed so tightly against him as he went between kisses and bites. Chrollo was being aggressive, pulling at you. Pulling you into him as his mouth worked its way down your neck and shoulder. It felt nice, the kisses did. But his bites reminded you this wasn’t him going at you because he wants you. Rather this was something different.

All your attempts to stop Chrollo, to get him to explain yourself, even to apologize for being late. Nothing seemed to distract him away from his assault on you. Giving in was the best solution you come up with. You were at his mercy, you always were.

Chrollo lips continued to attack your body. Murmurs of how you were his escaped his lips, his possessiveness was coming out further than it had since the first night he had taken you. It was clear that your time wasn’t really yours, not even your time belonged to him. Unless he was gone your time was to be spent with him, even then he designated where you would stay.

“So what made you stay so long with them?” Chrollo’s kisses had slowed down. “Were you avoiding me? Letting them take so much of your precious time. Your time that belongs to me.” His hand came up to your face to brush a strand of hair away from your face. While his other hand snaked its way down into your pants. Pulling a moan from you as he ghosted over your clit. “Hmm, I love to hear your moans my love, but I need an answer.” You tried to explain why you were seeing them, how you felt. But your moans kept breaking apart your answer. “I-I just, fuck, just wanted someone. A friend, please Chrollo not now anyone could walk by.” “That’s fine, let them hear who you belong to my dear. Now as you were saying, a friend?” You tried to explain between moans. When you were taking too to respond to his liking, he suddenly turned you around. You were now facing him, he quickly moved his hand back down your pants. Letting two of his fingers slowly dig into you. Inch by inch his long and slender fingers crept in. He was going so slow. Your attempts to grind yourself on his fingers were halted by his other hand gripping your hips. You were staged in such a vulnerable position on his lap. Legs now spread while he was between them.

Moans escaped your lips instead of the answer he was looking for. “As I said, I love your moans, but I need an answer.” Your explanation all came pouring out. Only if that meant he would stop teasing you and just give you what you wanted. How you were lonely, desperate, you just wanted attention. Wanted to make everything seem more normal. Have friends like normal people do. His face was unreadable by your answer. It was impossible to tell if your answer was enough. If it angered him or not. If he was angry you wished he would just say so, let you know he was disappointed. Instead of staring at you while his fingers still worked on you. It was frustrating, but he always did this to you. Letting his answers and true intentions linger in the air. Only coming out in bits and pieces. Letting you know only what he wished. This was no different. You were met with his eyes staring at you with a blank look. “I see. You were lonely. That still doesn’t excuse your behaviour.” Chrollo’s fingers pushed fully into you. Quickly finding your sweet spot. His fingers curled against it, causing you to lean against him. Your head laying on his shoulder, moaning into his neck. Enjoying how his fingers always so easily worked you up. It was wrong, he was mad at you for no real reason. Simply because your attention was going elsewhere. He had kidnapped you, taken you away from everything yet it was wrong to try to have a somewhat normal life in this mayhem. “Stop, no. Not now. I-I don’t want to.” It wasn’t fair that he always expected you to act the way he wanted. Chrollo ignored your words, continuing to use his finger to bring out those pretty sounds. He always made you weak when he toyed with you. It was so difficult to try to stop him. He was so determined, using his silver tongue to calm you. To ease your actions and make you give in. His words had commonly relaxed you, granting him what he wanted. You were so worked up you hadn’t noticed how Chrollo reached in his coat pocket to pull his phone. Texting something you didn’t catch, nor care about.

The feeling in your lower abdomen was building. Growing more and more as his fingers continued their assault. Drool had pooled from your mouth, landing on his shoulder. You wanted to cum so badly. To make a mess on his fingers. You needed it so badly. “Please Chrollo. I’m so close.” He gave you a hum to acknowledge he heard you. Moving his fingers faster. The feeling finally felt like it exploded. The orgasm was so intense. Coursing through your body. You couldn’t help the lewd sounds ripping through your throat. Mixtures of sounds and his name came through. You couldn’t help how loud you were. It was all too much.

Once you calmed down. You looked up at him with tired eyes. Chrollo looked down with a smile plastered on his face. He was happy with himself. Getting you to be so loud with just his fingers. “Chrollo. I’m so, tired.” You wanted to shut your eyes and sleep. “I know.” Chrollo placed a kiss on the top of your head. “Rest.” And you were. You were about to fall asleep in his arms. Only jolting up when you remembered where you were. In some random room in the hideout, not your bedroom. A room off of a hallway every member used. Oh no, had people heard you. Chrollo must of seen your worry as you glanced at the door. He laughed and removed his hands from you. Moving you to sit on your own on the floor. “It’s alright my love.” He got up and walked to the door. Opening it to reveal many of the troupe members standing awkwardly outside. “Now that they heard how you’re all mind. How I am only permitted to take your time. Now, why don’t we show them how you prefer to spend your free time?” The embarrassment coursed through you. They had heard all of it. Heard your moans and pleas to Chrollo. As Chrollo walked towards you, you realized he wasn’t lying. He really wanted to show them what you should be doing in your free time. Entertaining him, rather than any of them.

Ko-fi (tip if you wanna)

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wkemeup · 3 years

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The Only Kindness

summary: In the early days of Bucky’s captivity in Hydra, the only comfort he knows is the kindhearted doctor assigned to mend his wounds. At least when he's with her, he knows he isn’t alone. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 9.7k warnings: torture, canon level violence, unwanted sexual advances, hydra's attempts to brainwash bucky, hella angst, a/n: this is meant to sit in the world of canon and what we know eventually happens to Bucky at Hydra sooo do with that what you will. I am genuinely really proud of this one so I hope you can forgive me for the pain I cause

The first thing Bucky remembered every morning when the sting of florescent lights woke him in a cold sweat was that the arm attached to his shoulder was not his own. The realization of it hurt worse than the day before; with unforgiving metal seared into his skin, leaving behind bubbled scars and a revolting, oozing smell.

It weighed him down, slumped on his spine, pulled at his neck, and he struggled to even push himself upright. Sitting upon the thin mattress laid amongst an otherwise baron room, Bucky supposed he might have preferred the floor if not for the dark red stain at the center of the concrete.

Then, the familiar clicking of locks echoed against the walls and Bucky gritted his teeth as a stout man with rounded features and an arrogant grin strolled into the room – no, the cell – alongside two men strapped with rifles.

He clutched to the solid metal of his arm as if holding it might take the pressure off his shoulder, might subside the pain as it spread through his veins, or stop the twitching in his cheek as he tried to stifle the pain, but it was no use. He held on anyway in favor of wrapping a hand around the scientist’s throat.

“Ah, good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted, though there was something unpleasant in his tone. A threat, perhaps. A taunt. It was always something of the sort.

Bucky could barely muster the energy to look the man in the eye, but as he did, it was hidden under a dark, loathing glare. He spat on the floor by Zola’s feet.

“Go to hell.”

Zola jumped back and brushed at the toe of his shoe. It was amusing, at least, to see the rage boil in the man’s chest; all red faced and round and steaming from the ears. Though Bucky’s triumph was shorted lived as Zola waved a single hand at the armed guards beside him.

They lunged forward and with heavy hands, clawed Bucky into their grip by his biceps. He met concrete within seconds; the red stain laid beneath him. His knees barely had time to heal from the day before and they stung as he struggled under the guards’ grasp, raw skin and blistering burns shielded by paper thin fabric.

His face was pushed down into the stone and for a strange moment there was relief; it was cool to the touch, a break from the feverish heat on his brow.

But then, while a guard pinched at the nape of Bucky’s neck, nearly choking the air straight out of him and the other jabbed a knee to his spine, he remembered there was no relief within Hydra.

“You have a long day ahead of you,” Zola announced, a smirk growing upon his face as Bucky let out a hollowed whine. It slipped past his lips before he could smother it down. He knew then that he had lost whatever game they were playing; the win-lose of a man in chains to his captors with scalpels in their hands and venom on their tongues.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the fall; since icy waters and plummeting down to a ravine he wished most nights had swallowed him whole. He didn’t know how many times he was cut open in an unsterilized room, thrown onto a rusting metal table and operated on with cheap anesthetic. He didn’t know how many times he was strapped into a chair that set fire to his veins and left him feeling numb and empty, how many times he felt a lingering sense of dread he couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t know much at all, really.

But he knew his name. He knew his serial number. He knew Steve would come for him like he did before. He knew he’d get through this. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.

“We have much to do,” Zola announced, admiring how Bucky’s face pressed down into the concrete, how the prickles in the stone scraped against his cheek and cut at his skin— pleased to see a man brought to his knees, bowing before the greatness of Hydra. It brought Zola a sense of pride whether the Sergeant resisted or not. He would give in soon enough.

The guards didn’t loosen their grip on Bucky’s arms as they yanked him back to his knees. They didn’t give him a chance to stand either before they started to drag him from the cell.

The grip on his right arm was sure to leave bruises behind, ones to accompany the mess of blue and purple coloring his skin, but it was the pain on his left that rendered him paralyzed. It felt like his arm was being ripped straight from his body, pulled at every nerve ending until they snapped. He could hardly move.

It wasn’t until Zola made a sharp left at the end of the hall that a familiar sense of dread dropped into Bucky’s stomach. Whether it was fear, panic, resilience, he wasn’t sure, but he started to fight back as they neared a dark red door with six locks running up the side.

“No,” he gaped, barely a whisper, but it caught Zola’s attention.

Bucky thrashed in the men’s grip, using his weight as leverage despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the blood trickling down his ribs from where metal fused to flesh. His heels dug into the concrete, trying to catch against the wall to slow them down, to stop what he knew was coming.

Zola merely smiled.

It was no use, and perhaps Bucky knew that from the start, but he couldn’t be strapped into that chair without a fight. He still didn’t know its purpose but he knew it brought him pain. It disoriented him, made him forget his own name and the monsters that chained him. It forced him to remember all over again that he was held prisoner, thousands of miles away from home, presumed dead, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please,” Bucky gasped and it sounded foreign in his own voice – broken. He hated it. He despised how his voice cracked, how he fell to his knees in front of his captors and begged.

Zola grabbed a firm hold of Bucky's chin, stump fingers digging into his cheeks and demanding attention. As he pulled in closer, Bucky caught sight of something strange in the reflection of Zola’s glasses.

He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him; hair grown and wild, unkept beard on his face, dirt and blood covering most of his skin. Amongst the scratches in the glass and the clouds of dirt, the reflection of the man looked tired, with hallowed eyes and sunken cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back. He wouldn’t survive if he tired.

Bucky slumped in the guards’ arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Zola jeered, a lingering chuckle etched into the trail of his voice. He waved a hand at the guards and Bucky was placed into the chair, all dead weight and positioned like a doll.

Thick, metal bars strapped down around Bucky’s wrists, his biceps, his ankles to hold him in place. He did his best to let go of himself, to find somewhere far beyond the walls of this room, away from the men who ripped him to pieces and broke him to the bare bones. He imagined something better, safer, where he was clean shaven and in fresh clothes, where Steve was waving from the end of the street and the war long behind them, but the dream was torn from him as soon as the panels clamped against his temples.

Electricity jolted through his system and his whole body tensed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

But he could scream.

It ripped through his lungs and he was certain he’d break straight through the mouth guard and shatter his teeth if they didn’t turn off the machine soon. The sound echoing through the room was strained, broken, and Bucky might have mistaken it for nails to a chalkboard if he didn’t feel the burn in the back of his throat.

He started to lose time, unsure if it was on for seconds or hours. It was blinding. It was all-consuming. It was swallowing him whole.

“Enough!” a voice broke through. A woman’s. It wasn’t one Bucky recognized.

“No, keep it on! He can take more.” Zola.

“Are you insane!” the voice shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”

Let them.

The thought startled Bucky but it slipped from him in the seconds it took to arrive; searing pain, white hot fire washing through every muscle down to his bones. His eyes began to flutter closed, a strange sort of emptiness pulling him under, a darkness he couldn’t place, and he welcomed the escape.

There was yelling again, though this time it was coming was across the room. The machine began to power down, the whirring sounds of electricity in his ears leaving him with a numbing silence. The dizziness took hold, the hollowness, and he was surprised to find a woman staring back at him, her hands wrapped around the lever that pulled him from the fire.

“What the hell are you doing!” Zola roared, accent thick and slurring his words together. He bounded forward, attempted to push past the woman but she held her ground, hands planted on her hips.

“I’m saving his life,” she grunted back, unfazed by Zola’s finger pointing up into her face. She swatted it away, ignoring the shock upon his rounded features. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? Let me do my damn job.” She glanced around the room, eyed the men with guns aimed at the ready, barrels trained in her direction. “Give me the room.”

“Not going to happen,” Zola snapped but quickly silenced as she shot him a glare that had him cower several steps in retreat. His cheeks were burned red.

The woman turned back to the man in the chair and he slumped limply in its clutches, her narrowed eyes centering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held up two fingers, eyeing him carefully before she slowly moved to press them against his throat.

He winced before she could even touch him, flinching at the air itself, and she paused, bringing her hand back to her chest. She gave him a minute to watch as she demonstrated what she was trying to do by pressing the tips of her fingers to her own neck.

She tried again and this time she held his stare; calming aura nestled between the vibrant shades in her eyes, a gentle kind of patience he didn’t expect, and he hardly noticed her fingertips against his skin as she felt for his pulse, feather light and paper thin. They were cool to the touch, a comfort in the burning heat of metal surrounding him and he caught himself before he could lean into her palm.

“His heart rate is through the roof,” she said tensely, turning back to Zola and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you want your multi-million-dollar project to go to waste, clear out before he has a goddamn heart attack.”

Zola eyed her suspiciously in what appeared to be a competition of wills. She straightened her back, arms folding over her chest, and she towered over the scientist’s small frame. He glared up at her and the fury was palatable on his face; upper lip twitching, eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists.

She held her ground.

“Fine,” Zola grumbled, waving a hand to the line of men behind him until they bring their weapons down to their sides. “Give the doctor the room.”

As if she were waiting for the men to leave, she exhaled a breath like she had been holding it for quite some time. When she let her hands come back to her sides, puncture marks were left in her palms.

“I’m leaving a man behind for your safety,” Zola threw over his shoulder at he reached the door, almost like a threat.

She swallowed; jaw clenched. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Maybe not today, but it will be.”

Then, he was gone.

The door locked shut behind him and a single guard remained by the door, positioned with his finger on the trigger.

“Finally,” she exhaled, turning back with a gentle smile on her face that felt almost unsettling to be in such a cold and unforgiving place. “Can you tell me your name, soldier?”

“Uhh,” was all that left his lips and he hardly recognized his own voice. He searched in the back of his head for the answer, felt it on the tip of his tongue, and still… nothing. He glanced back up at her with clenched teeth because he knew what would happen next, what always happened next.

But instead of a harsh hand to the side of his face or the blunt edge of a weapon to his crown, she nodded, offered him a sad sort of smile, and simply said, “that’s alright.”

She glanced down at the clamps restraining him to the chair. His skin was raw underneath, bleeding a little, and she frowned. It crinkled up into her forehead, pursed out at her lips, and he decided he liked it much better when she smiled.

“Your name is Sergeant James Barnes,” she said fondly and it sounded familiar as she said it, but it still felt distant— wrong in some way. She seemed to notice the contemplation on his face. “It’ll come back to you soon. Might take longer than the last time, but it will. They haven’t perfected the science of the chair yet, it seems.”

There was a resentment laced into her words as she glared back at the armed man standing guard with disgust. She softened as she turned back to face the man she called James. It was within that moment the anger washed from her features, a kindness replacing the hatred, and she ran her fingers on the edge of the chair before she pulled away.

“I’m going to undo these, okay?” she told him and he was surprised that she waited for his nod before adjusting the mechanics on the machine until the metal snapped open and a rush of cold air swept against the blistering skin. He hissed at the sting of it.

“Come,” she requested, gesturing to the examination table in the corner of the room. “Let’s get you out of this thing, huh?”

He was thankful for that. He couldn’t stand the sharp edges anymore or the blistering heat of the arm rests. Her touch was so gentle he wondered if it could push right through him as she bent down to help tug his right arm over her shoulders.

Just as she nearly had him positioned well enough to get him to his feet, the guard standing in the corner of the room stepped forward, gun raised.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m fine. Let me work.”

“He’s dangerous,” the guard grunted back.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she argued. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in her voice, even as she turned to the man hanging off her arms. “Are you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He shook his head.

“See?” she gestured. “Now leave us be.”

The guard stepped back, lowered his weapon, and she smiled.

“Alright then, James,” she started, “think you can help me get you to that table over there? I know you’ve lost some muscle mass but you’re still pretty heavy.”

A short ghost of a laugh escape as he let himself lean on her shoulder, allowing her to guide him towards the table. It surprised him as it left his chest, the feeling of laughter, because he hadn’t so much as smiled since the fall. It hurt, almost. But it was a nice kind of hurt.

She helped him sit on the table, just high enough to give her decent leverage, and he spotted a bag filled with what appear to be medical supplies. It contained with what he would expect; a stethoscope, bandages, depressors, but there were also needles, and shiny metal tools that made him clench his hands around the lip of the table.

“I’m a doctor,” she said, noticing his stare. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Zola’s a doctor,” he muttered back feebly, sharp images of lying awake on a cold, metal table much like the one he currently sat upon plagued his mind, memories of scalpels in his shoulder and needles in his arms.

She nodded, contemplating what he said before she frowned and countered, “Zola’s a mad scientist with a God complex.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It broke a little, but it remained.

“You can call me Y/n if you like,” she said as she began digging through her bag. She found the stethoscope and placed the ends in her ears. “I’m going to press this to your chest, alright? It might be a little cold.”

She exhaled a breath on the side of it for a moment to try and warm it, rubbing it with the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized by the small details; how she positioned herself strategically between him and the armed guard behind her, how she told him exactly what she was doing before she did it, how she gave him time to prepare, how she hadn’t once touched him without asking first.

He didn’t understand her or why she was here, but he was thankful.

He nodded at her and she leaned in closer, pressing the piece to his sternum. It had a slight chill to it but he could still feel the warmth left behind from her breath. He took a deep breath in as she instructed. She took her time, slowly moving to his ribs, and then his back. He took more deep breaths, felt the pulsing of his heart steady under her touch.

“Looks good all things considering,” she told him. Her eyes drifted to the burn marks on his right wrist, fingers ghosting over the reddened marks and her lips tug down into a frown. She masked it as she faced him again, pushing out a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Might as well attend to this, too, don’t you think?”

Yeah, might as well.

He offered her his hand.

He sat quietly while she worked, listening to her hum softly under her breath. She was impossibly gentle with him, so delicate he could hardly feel it until it was gone. Her hands were a little cold but he found them soothing against the burns. The alcohol she placed on the wound stung, made him grit his teeth and grip to the table’s edge, but she moved quickly, wincing at the way he sucked in a harsh breath as if his pain meant something to her.

When she was finished, she wrapped his wrist with a bandage from her bag and gently tapped on his knee.

“Not a lot my patients would have sat still through that without some kind of numbing agent,” she grinned, praise in her voice, smile on her lips, and it sent a flutter through his chest. “You did good, James.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d known worse, that the pain of alcohol to his wounds was nothing in comparison to the mutilation on his arm or the electricity of the chair. So, he focused on something else, a distant memory edging its way back to the surface, something that didn’t lie within the pages of Hydra’s files.

“Bucky,” he choked out, voice a little dry. She raised an eyebrow. “My name… it’s Bucky.”

She smiled at that.

“Bucky,” she repeated, testing it on her lips, “it’s nice to meet you.”

***

It wasn’t the last time he saw Y/n.

No, he found himself under her care more days than not. It was a simple system, it seemed. Hydra would do its best to break Bucky to pieces and they’d send in Y/n to stitch him back up; glue him together with needle and thread or scotch tape and paper mâché. She did her best to heal him and while she could not cure every wound on his body, she gave him something he didn’t have before – something to look forward to.

A kind smile. A gentle hand. A voice so soft it nestled deep into his chest and warmed the hollow ache that had made a home by his heart.

Even through the pain, through the chair, through the long hours he spent overworked in a boxing ring, he knew she’d be waiting on the other side. It didn’t hurt as much when he thought of her, he realized – the only kindness he knew within Hydra.

They hadn’t attempted to use the chair on him in a while and for that he was grateful. To save him from the pain of the electricity and the emptiness that followed, but lately, to allow him to hold onto her memory. He didn’t want to forget her name, her kindness, her light within the darkest corners of hell.

He only ever saw her in short glimpses, brief moments when the guards pushed the boundaries too far and cracked open a scar that wouldn’t stop bleeding or dislocated his arm again or fractured another bone. They’d drag her into his room, rough hands on her wrists that made a knot form deep into Bucky’s stomach, and give her minutes to work before they hulled her away.

He healed quickly, he came to find. Certainly faster than he should. Maybe in another world he would have been pleased with this. A perfect soldier. Always ready for battle.

In this world, it meant shorter recovery between trainings. It meant pushing him beyond his limits and testing the extent of his newfound abilities. It meant few and distant meetings with the kind doctor whose smile made it impossibly difficult to despise every last ounce within Hydra.

***

A few weeks since their first meeting, Bucky found himself dragged by his wrists on a familiar path into what looked like a room much like his own, only there were a few small comforts inside; a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a series of books piled on a small dresser.

Y/n jumped up from the desk, pen falling to the concrete as she stared back at the guards, agape. “What the hell did you do to him?!”

They dropped Bucky to the ground, his own arms too weak to hold himself up, and felt the harsh crack of concrete to his jawline. Blood dripped down into his eyes, clouding his vision with crimson pools of red, but he could hear the quick patter of your bare feet as you slid down to the floor beside him, shooing away the guards.

Hands ghosted over his shoulders before you paused, watching the way he sighed into the cool embrace of concrete. She glared back up at the guards, waiting on their answer.

“He’s weak,” one of the guards spat, thick accent spewing down to land on Bucky’s bare skin. “The fist of Hydra is an embarrassment. He crumbles under pressure. He needs to be pushed, to be taught what he is.”

Bucky couldn’t quite register the way her hands curled up into fists or how a harsh exhale burned deep in her chest, but she swallowed it the best she could as she muttered, “get out.”

A toe nudged at Bucky’s leg – one of the guards behind him – and he groaned as it dug into a dark purple bruise from the days before.

“You’ve done enough,” she pressed again, swatting away his leg as he tried to push Bucky over to his back to see his good work. "Now leave.”

“You don’t give us orders,��princess,” the other guard smirked, yellowed teeth bared.

“We’ll be back for him soon,” the first one said, nudging his friend to stand down. “Make sure he’s ready to go again tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut and within the echo, Bucky felt the cool touch of a breeze nestle against his skin. It was a relief, as kind as the concrete, that sat in sharp contrast to the burning heat on his skin.

“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” an angelic voice called. It sounded muffled, and a bit distant, but it was one he recognized.

He nodded slowly, though the concrete scratched at his skin.

“You don’t look alright,” she countered, a touch of lightness in her tone and it came as a welcomed relief.

“You kidding? I look great,” Bucky teased, half muffled by the ground. She laughed, pressing a hand over her lips, and Bucky swore for the smallest of moments that all the pain had washed from his body completely.

He could hear her riffling around the room, gathering supplies and laying a blanket down by his side, then a pillow. She was talking to herself, words he couldn’t quite hear or understand, but they were a comfort nonetheless.

"Still with me Sergeant Barnes?"

“Bucky,” he grumbled, just as she came down to kneel beside him again. “S’my name, remember? I’m supposed to be the one with the memory problems here.”

There came that laugh again, though she tried to suppress it. “That’s not very funny, Bucky.”

“Give me an ounce of humor here, doll,” Bucky smirked. It ached in his lips where the split tore through, burned in his cheeks from the swelling on his face, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he had much reason to smile these days. She seemed to bring it out of him.

Y/n smiled, shaking her head. “Think you can turn onto your back? I’ve got some cushioning here for you. I’m sorry I can’t lift you to the bed.”

“Nah, this is perfect.”

Bucky summoned as much strength as his body could muster as he pushed down into the concrete with his right hand. He started to shake as pressure burned into his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth, face contorting in a wash of pain as his smirk faded away in an instant.

She must have noticed because her hands slipped gently onto his right bicep, gently easing him to turn over the metal shoulder and lay onto his back. Her touch was so feather light, he questioned for a moment if it was even there at all, but then he felt a soft squeeze, the cool press of her palms, and he sighed.

Her hands were the only ones who did not mean him harm. She healed. She nurtured. She cared.

“What are they doing to you...”

Her voice was hardly a whisper, the shock on her face evident enough of the damage on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. It hurt to speak, hurt to even part his lips, and his vision was tunneled and dark, cast over in shadows, and somehow, she was still clear as day.

“Dunno,” he responded, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Training me for something, I think.”

She stilled; muscles rigid as she reached into her bag for something to bandage his wounds. He could see the contemplation on her face, the worry, but she swallowed it back, pushed out that gentle, reassuring smile he’d come to rely on and began to work on the cut along his cheekbone.

“It can’t be anything good, Bucky,” she said quietly, eyes flickering to the door as if she were worried about what laid on the other side. He knew the feeling well.

***

He forgot her for the first time a few days later.

The scars were starting to heal; the gashes open on his face just days before nothing but a thin discoloration on his skin. He knew the look on Zola’s face as he emerged in his cell that morning - smug and grim, eager to wipe away the decorated prisoner of war and turn him into something empty and broken. The smirk that crept up his face was unsettling, jarring, as it crinkled lined into his forehead and a vile look in his eye.

They slammed him down into the chair, locked the restraints into place, and he only spotted her rush into the room as the machine powered on. The horror in her eyes as she met his, the quick transition to rage as she turned to Zola, and the pain took over until it consumed him whole.

He lost some time because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a metal table and the room had emptied, save for a single guard standing in the corner over the shoulder of a beautiful woman who eased a soothing gel onto the burns on his wrist.

He studied her as she worked, quietly humming to herself, telling him what she was doing before she dared to touch him in a voice so gentle it startled him. It was familiar, he realized, the delicate intricacies of her tone, the warmth in his chest when she touched him. He wasn’t afraid of her like he was the others. He didn’t flinch under her touch.

“Your heart rate is still pretty high,” she noted, her fingers pressed to the inside of his right wrist. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She embellished her own, chest rising high as she inhaled, air blowing out from her mouth in the exhale. She nodded for him, something encouraging and kind, until he followed suit. But even through the tender smile upon her lips there was a sadness there, a disappointment, and it hurt him deep into his chest.

“I know you, don’t I?” he finally said after he mimicked a few of the breaths as she requested.

She smiled at that and he felt an instant relief. Something warm and gentle. Kind.

He narrowed his eyes upon the slight curve of her lips, drawing up to her eyes where he was met with a linger sense of calm, of peace, of reprieve. “Why don’t I remember you?”

She sighed, a cautious glance back at the guard behind her who seemed to be watching with the intent to overhear. Her eyes were downcast, a nervous brush of her tongue over her lower lip, and she pushed out a smile for him.

“You will, Bucky.”

He hoped that were true.

***

Bucky was barely tied together with string and tape, broken and bleeding and covered in bruises, and yet, a smile etched onto his broken lips as he turned to find Y/n stumbling into his cell. She shrugged off the grip of a guard with an aggravated huff before he slammed the door closed behind her.

She was no longer shocked by the state in which she often saw him. His accelerated healing made the brutal look of his mutilation a bit easier to swallow he supposed or perhaps he was getting used to it. It was like a mask he’d come to wear, fading in and out depending on the day, but always present. It didn’t seem to lessen the pain in her eyes as she sat down beside him, extending a hand towards his face to touch gently at the markings.

“I hate that they keep doing this to you,” she said softly, though there was a rage nestled into the crook of her tone. She shook her head, a tense breath exhaled as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a few swabs of gauze and alcohol wipes.

“M’alright,” Bucky slurred and it didn’t seem to help his case.

“They’re monsters.” Y/n dabbed at the gash on his forehead as gingerly as she could manage. Bucky didn’t mind the sting of it, not when she was touching him so tenderly, like she was handling something precious.

He’d figured out a while ago that she was just as much a part of Hydra as he was. He never dared to ask, but he’d seen the way she looked at Zola, how she despised him as an enemy. He’d seen the clothes she wore and how they were tattered on the seams, how they discolored with use, how she'd wear them over and over again while the men in the room wore pristine lab coats and freshly laundered suits. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the knots in her hair, the way her collarbone began to protrude the longer he knew her.

She was a prisoner of Hydra, too.

“They’re monsters,” Y/n repeated, tears burning in her eyes and it warped deep into Bucky’s gut. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He wanted to make her smile again because she’d been nothing but a light for him and now, she was flickering and fading and he was certain it would destroy him completely until she uttered, “and... and so am I,” and his whole world fell apart.

“No,” Bucky shot back almost instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re not one of them.”

“I might as well be,” she said, brushing at the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m still complicit in what they’re doing to you – whatever that is. I’m still helping them.”

“They’d kill you,” Bucky argued. “They’d kill you if you tried to resist.”

“They’re practically killing you now! How is that any better?” She pressed her palms to her face, shielding herself from him and Bucky slid down onto the floor, kneeling on the concrete in front of her, and gently rested his hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath between the sobs. “I keep fixing you up just to send you back out there and—and—Bucky, I feel like I’m handing you over to slaughter and I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Stop, please,” Bucky begged. He could feel the splinter nestle into his heart, cracking at the edges as it tore a sliver down the center. It burned and ached and threatened to rip him to pieces worse than the foreign metal on his arm, worse than the guards on the other side of the door, worse than the chair that stole his name and his memories, because the woman who saved his life over and over again was crying and he simply couldn’t take it.

“Look at me,” he eased, drawing his hands up her thighs, along her arms, until he met her hands resting against her face. Gently, he pried his fingers under her palms and when he was met without resistance, he pulled them away from her face. “You are the only shred of good within this place. You are the only kindness I’ve known since they threw me on that table and remade me. You are the only thing keeping me going when they’re beating me within an inch of my life, the only thing I want to remember when they try to take away everything I know. Please, don’t think for a second that you’re one of them. You’re saving me, Y/n.”

Bucky wondered for a moment if he said too much as her lips parted into shock, her eyes staring at him shocked and wide. Her breaths were coming in slow and steady as she watched him, almost as if she were waiting for him to recant, but he held his ground.

“You are good, Y/n,” Bucky continued. He squeezed her hand in his right, letting his left fall down to his side to shield her from the evil from which it was born. “You're the reason I keep coming back.”

“I’m scared, Bucky,” she exhaled, voice so low, so shaken, he could barely hear it. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m scared of what they're going to do to you.”

“I’ll have you, won’t I?” he smiled, because it was all he had left. There were no guarantees, no promises he could make to ease her fears. “As long as I’ve got you with me, I’m okay.”

He just wanted her to smile again, to be the woman who fought against Zola in a crowded room of armed Hydra agents and won, who was fearless in the face of evil, and gentle and kind in her touch.

Bucky realized that the more time he spent with her, the more she’d grown to care for him, the more he’d found himself missing her— the more dangerous they were to one another. If Hydra knew...

“You have me,” she said suddenly, a stroke of confidence returning to her voice, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the door and the men that laid beyond it. Bucky met her eye and she raised a palm to his cheek, slow and steady, always giving him the time to prepare before she touched him even when it wasn’t necessary, even after he’d grown to trust her above anyone else. She cupped the side of his face, smiling sweetly for him, sadly, as she said, “as long as they’ll let me, Bucky. You’re not alone. You’ll have me.”

Her thumb traced over old scars she’d mended, over raised edges and dried blood from the mess left behind by the dozen Hydra agents he’d met earlier that day. The tenderness within her touch was unlike anything he knew how to quantify. It sat in such contrast to the hands of men who battered and beat him within an inch of his life, to the torture of the chair, to the scalpel in the hands of mad scientists with god complexes.

There was something in her touch. Something that felt a lot like love.

Bucky found himself leaning in closer, wanting to close the space between them because any space at all was simply too much. He wanted to engulf her into his arms, protect her from the evils that waited for them outside these walls, take her away to somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she didn’t have to check over her shoulder when she smiled. It terrified him how badly he wanted it because he knew there were no fantasies in Hydra, no dreams, no happy endings. He knew it would be taken from him eventually, she would be taken from him, but it didn’t stop him from clinging on as tight as he could.

His lips touched hers, broken and splintered, and still, beautiful. He could taste the salty tang of her tears against her lips, her fingers curling around his long, unkempt hair and twisting along his scalp, breathing him in. There was a sanctuary within her arms, under her touch, that seemed impossible within these walls, and yet, here she was.

Tangible. Real. Kissing him as if he could be ripped from her at any second.

And he was.

The door swung open and Bucky jolted away from her. Y/n jumped back against the bed frame, her head hitting the cement wall.

In the frame of the door stood a guard Bucky had become familiar with; blonde, broad, reminded him a bit of Steve if it weren’t for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The burn mark across his jawline helped to obstructed the similarities.

The guard’s eyes lingered a little longer on Y/n, focusing on the quick rise and fall of her chest, the slight swell in her lips, the mess in her hair, before he gritted his teeth and turned to Bucky.

“Times up, Soldat,” he grunted, wasting no time as he pulled a wand from his belt, flipped a switch at the end, and burned the jolts of electricity into Bucky’s side. He barely registered the desperate crack in Y/n’s voice as she begged for the guard to stop.

Then – darkness.

***

“We need to be more careful.”

“They’ll find out how I feel for you and they'll hurt you.”

“I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

He couldn’t get the words out of his head. Familiar voices: a man’s and a woman’s. He’d heard them spoken aloud; of that he was certain. But they were distant, far away, as if he’d heard them uttered on a film screen in passing. They couldn’t be his own memories. He was a blank slate. He was empty.

A woman stood across from him, approaching him slowly as the machine powered down. It was loud in his ears, echoing enough to pulse tremors into the back of his head. He didn’t dare show an ounce of the pain he felt. He’d come to know the consequences of that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what they were.

“I’m going to help you to the table, alright?” the woman said, gesturing to the metal desk to her left. There it was again— that familiarity.

She smiled kindly at him, as if looking into the face of a man she knew, but he did not know her. She must have sensed his hesitancy because she held up her hands out for him to see.

“I just want to examine you. Make sure you’re okay. Can I do that?”

He narrowed his eyes on the woman, listening intently to her heartbeat. It was a strange sound, one he shouldn’t be privileged to hear, but he found the skill useful. He could listen for the inflections in the rhythm, pulse points and skips that told him when a person was lying.

Hers was steady. Even. He nodded.

He was surprised at how easily he allowed her to guide him to the table, how he didn’t question as he let her place a hand on his inner wrist to check his pulse, how he didn’t flinch when she approached the scars on his shoulder. It was like he knew the routine, understood the subtle intricacies in her gestures warning him of what she was about to do before she even laid a hand on him.

A relief was evident in his muscles. He felt a calmness wash over him the longer she stood at his side, recording his vitals, running a hand soothingly along his arm. It seemed personal, the way she touched him, like she was preserving something – or guiding something home.

He wanted to ask her name, why she was treating him so kindly when all he knew within these walls was the cruelty of violent men, when the guard who stood at the back corner of the room cleared his throat.

“You almost done, sweetheart?” The guard spat the pet name like an insult and the kind woman standing beside the Soldier flinched. She tensed quickly after that, mustering out a brave face as she turned back to the armed guard defiantly.

“I’ll be done when I’m done, Bronski.”

The Soldier wanted to smile, though he wasn’t sure why. A swell of pride beamed in his chest as Bronski’s smirk dissipated, replaced with something colder, darker; a bruise to his ego. The woman turned back to the Soldier, exhaled a heavy breath and offered him a short smile; calming, reassuring. The edges of his lips started to curve in response until –

Bronski crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed a tight hold of her arm and yanked her swiftly away from the Soldier. She collided against his chest, caged against him under the firm hold of his grip.

“You think you can mouth off to me, bitch?” Bronski sneered, shoving her against the desks at the far side of the room. Viles of serums and chemicals spilled over at the impact, glass shattering, and the Soldier began to stand from his position across the room, his hand curling into fists.

“Stop looking at him! He’s not going to help you,” Bronski taunted as her eyes flashed back at the Soldier, pleading at some unknown force he couldn’t quite understand, though he listened to its call. Bronski towered over her, easily overpowering her frame, and pinned her to the wall.

The Soldier took another step forward, another inch closer to what he was sure were near fatal consequences, but there was a voice screaming in the back of his head, an instinct he couldn’t drown out, a desperate need to protect a woman he didn’t know.

“You think we didn’t notice, huh?” Bronski growled, his hand sliding down her side, tracing over the curves at her waist and the Soldier felt a sudden twist in his stomach, a dead weight sinking him into the ground at the sight. “You think we can’t tell you got it hot for the asset? He’s weak. Pathetic. Why don’t you try being with a real man instead? I’ll show you a good time, princess...”

Her eyes were on the Soldier, holding his gaze though she was shaking; trembling and afraid. He didn’t like that.

“Get away from her.”

Bronski froze. He managed a slow glance over his shoulder to find the Soldier standing just a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, fuming as his eyes flickered between the Hydra agent and the woman he held pinned to the wall.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Soldat,” Bronski spat back.

But the Soldier did not move.

“Get away from her,” he repeated, his voice low, mechanical. He could feel the rush of adrenaline building in his veins, the chaos of the rapid thumping of his pulse. He wasn’t used to such reactions, such intensity, when all he’d come to know was a crippling emptiness. It was unpleasant.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bronski taunted, a sick smirk upon his face. He dismissed the Soldier, didn’t dare to think he’d disobey direct orders, and turned back to the woman.

She tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on her wrists was so tight his nails had dug puncture marks into her skin. She was shaking, tears burning into reflective lenses over the gentle hue of her eyes; kind eyes that should not bare such a weight.

Bronski leaned in closer, his mouth pressing against her neck, her whole body stiffening at the touch, and the Soldier snapped.

He rushed at them, his left hand clamping down around Bronski’s neck until he started to gag. Bronski released her wrists, allowing her to sink to the floor in a fallen heap. Bronski scratched at the hand at his neck, gasping for air as his skin turned bright red, then blue, but he was only met with metal. It could not feel. It could only maim.

There was a rage storming inside the Soldier, a mission he’d assigned for himself, as he threw Bronski across the room. It didn’t take much effort. The Soldier was stronger than most men. They underestimated him, believed him to be feeble and weak because he was submissive. But not now. Not when they threatened her.

“Soldat!” Bronski choked out, his voice damaged. Broken windpipe. The Soldier smiled.

Slowly, he took a knee at Bronski’s side, grabbed a firm hold of his collar for leverage, and barreled the closed end of his fist into the man’s face until he could no longer see the smirk that had pressed upon his mouth as he dared to touch his girl. He didn’t stop until Bronski was no longer begging, until he was silent, and blood caked between the panels of metal in his fist, until he heard a voice calling behind him—

“Bucky! Bucky, stop!”

He froze. There was that name again...

He blinked a few times, a sharp piercing in the back of his head painful enough to obscure his vision and he dropped Bronski from his hold. A hand slid down over his shoulders, guiding him away from the body on the floor. It was that same familiar touch; one he knew well.

“Bucky, look at me.”

He did.

Her hand pressed sweetly to the side of his face, like she was trying to memorize him. He leaned into the touch, something he was sure he hadn’t done in years, and yet, within her arms it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like maybe he’d done it a dozen times before.

When he met her eyes again, he understood why.

“Y/n?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. She molded so perfectly against him, his healer, his savior. Bucky knew they wouldn’t have much time before the Hydra infantry arrived and discovered what he’d done. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the body on the ground.

“Y/n... I—”

The doors swung open, slamming in echoing shocks against the walls, and chaos ensued. Swarms of armed Hydra agents ascended into the room and tore Y/n from his arms, separating them as they restrained Bucky back into the chair. It was the only thing that could hold him.

“Leave her alone!” Bucky roared, that same rage returning to him in fire as two guards pinned Y/n’s arms behind her back, holding her steady as she desperately fought against their hold. “Get your hands off of her!”

Zola appeared at the frame of the door, eyes narrowing on Bucky. The room fell silent.

“Impossible.” He followed Bucky’s eyes to where the guards were restraining Y/n. “The programming should not have failed so soon after he was wiped. How?”

“He’s got a crush on the doc, sir,” one of the guards reported snidely. Bucky recognized him from the many trips he spent dragged along the hallways smearing blood into the concrete before he was dropped off at Y/n’s door.

“Interesting.” Zola crossed the room, hands grasped behind his back as he paced. His eyes fell on Y/n, studying her. “And is it... mutual?”

She didn’t respond, though when her tear-filled eyes flashed over to Bucky, he had his answer.

“Wipe him,” Zola ordered.

The machine started to power up and Bucky found himself fighting against the restraints though he knew it would do no use. Tears were openly streaming down Y/n’s face as she watched him, his name on her lips as she desperately tried to break the guard’s hold on her.

Zola seemed unbothered by the scene. If anything, he was amused, like he was watching lab rats in a cage. “Separate them. I don’t want her interfering with his programming again. We’ll make use of her when the time is right.”

Bucky tried to call her name, but the electricity had already taken hold, submerging him into the darkness.

***

The Soldier was used to his routine. Breakfast at dawn. Then training. Dinner at sundown. Sleep. It was reliable. Simple. The Soldier found a peace in that.

It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside of the two guards at his cell, the parade of uncontrollable human experiments, and the short, stout scientist. It was better this way, they told him. Less stimulation. He was important, meant for incredible things to better humanity. They needed him focused and alert.

He had little room for anything else. Focus on the mission at hand. Complete the task. Reward will follow.

Something as trivial as memories got in the way of that. The Soldier could not afford such a distraction. He was not tied down by a name or a family, by relationships or desires. He was a weapon. Made to be used. He was not capable of more.

“I want to have you looked over before we send you out for your mission today, Soldat,” the scientist said as he examined the Soldier from across the room. The man carried power within Hydra but he was small, cowardly, and he would not dare enter a room with the Soldier without a guard in place. He gestured to the door and the guard with a thick burn down his jaw moved towards it. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad. He seemed vaguely familiar, though it felt distasteful in his mouth.

A woman was pushed through the doors and into the baron room. She shook off the grip of a Hydra agent with a grunt before she realized where she was. Her eyes fell on the Soldier and he expected her to cower in fear; they all did upon seeing him. Word traveled fast of what he was capable of. And yet –

There was relief in her shoulders, a sigh. She almost smiled before Zola turned in her direction and she pushed it away into a tight frown. The Soldier narrowed his eyes.

“Get to work, Doctor,” he ordered, though it sounded more like a warning.

She nodded, stepping in closer to the Soldier though she was hesitant in her movements. She wore dark circles under her eyes, a redness within the whites. Her clothes were old, torn a little at the edges, and dirty with use. But still, she offered a kind smile as she approached.

“How are you feeling?”

The Soldier didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever bothered with his answer. He stayed silent.

“You can talk freely,” she encouraged gently as she approached his bedside. He sat on the edge of the cot, tension burning through his body as it always did when he wasn’t alone. One word out of turn resulted in punishment. He knew well enough not to tempt it.

She seemed to understand he would not fall into the trap, and she nodded in acceptance.

“I’m going to take your vitals, alright? I’ll start with your heart rate.” She held up two fingers, gesturing as she pressed them against her own neck. Seemed harmless enough, though he suspected he didn’t have much of a choice anyway. It was strange she acted as if he did.

Regardless, the Soldier nodded.

As she touched him, something seemed to break. She clenched her jaw tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, but he could hear the distress in her own. Quick, pounding, uneven, and she pulled her fingers away before he questioned the slight tremble in her touch.

He wanted to ask if she were alright because something about seeing her upset was unpleasant for him. She wanted to say something, that much he could tell, but she bit her tongue.

“You’re here for a reason, Doctor,” Zola taunted from his position in the corner of the room. The woman flinched though she kept her back to him. Her eyes flickered to the Soldier as if he were an anchor. Zola smirked. “Go on. Test our programming. Why else do you think we kept you around?”

Then, he exited the room. The guard followed behind him until the Soldier was alone with the woman.

She swallowed; eyes cast down as if she were afraid to speak. For a while, she continued to take his vitals – checking his blood pressure, his eye movement, examining the mess of scars on his shoulder as they attempted to heal. All the while, so impossibly gentle, so kind in her touch, that he started to wonder if he’d felt it before.

When she was finished, she took a step back. It was only then that the Soldier noticed the reflective marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Why did the thought alone make his stomach twist into knots painful enough to nauseate him?

“Bucky?”

He narrowed his eyes, confused. She reached out for his hand, though she stopped herself before she could touch him. It seemed agonizing; the restraint visible on her features.

“Bucky, please tell me there’s still a of piece of you in there,” she begged. He found himself wanting to lie, to pretend to be this man she craved, just to make her happy. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him to see her cry. She was a stranger.

“You don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Her voice was so small, so broken. She was never afraid of him, he realized. No – it seemed she was more afraid of his answer. He did not respond. He didn’t know how.

She nodded, clenching her jaw as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the Soldier managed to break the heart of a woman he didn’t know. Another casualty in his wake.

“Excellent,” Zola sneered, appearing back in the doorway. The doctor took a step back and it surprised the Soldier when the space between them felt like an assault. Zola grinned as he moved closer to the woman. “Hydra thanks you for your service.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, just before she landed a closed fist against the bridge of the scientist’s nose.

The Soldier flinched, stunned by the woman’s brazen as she stared into the face of the mad scientist. The tears hadn’t yet dried and still – she was fearless. Zola laughed as the blood dripped down into his mouth. A guard wrapped a vicious hold around her wrist, beginning to drag her out of the room, but she turned back to the Soldier.

“Don’t give into them, Bucky! You have to fight this! You’re good, do you hear me? You’re not one of them!”

Her voice echoed in the room even as she was shoved through the door and down the hall. He listened for the last remaining vibrations of her voice, of her struggling, until it was silent. He wondered about this man she referred to, why she thought he was worth fighting for. He thought about whether he was the man she spoke of.

“Distractions, Soldat.” Zola tsked. “You are magnificent. You are the fist of Hydra. Do you understand?”

He nodded. It pleased the scientist.

Zola explained the mission he was about to embark on at dawn. He listened to the instructions, the details, the purpose – all the while wondering about what became of the kind doctor who called him by a name he didn’t recognize.

Then, when he was finished, the scientist left and the Soldier was alone— just as he always had been.

---

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a-court-of-valkyries · 2 years

Text

Engulfed In Your Flames

Chapter 2: Nesta

TW: Mention of SA, suicidal thoughts, and the awful “intervention”

“Here are your options, girl,” Amren said, delicate chin rising. “One,” Amren said, raising a slender finger, “you can move up to the House of Wind, train with Cassian in the mornings, and work in the library in the afternoons. You will not be a prisoner. But there will be no one to fly or winnow you down to the city. If you want to venture into the city proper, by all means, go ahead. That is, if you can brave the ten thousand steps down from the House.” Amren’s eyes glittered with the challenge. “And if you can somehow find two coppers to rub together to buy yourself a drink. But if you follow this plan, we will reevaluate where and how you live in a few months.”

“And my other option?” Nesta spat.

“You go back to the human lands.”

Back to the human lands where she’d eventually end up dead at the hands of the humans. They would lock her up or send her off to die.

Nesta turned to Feyre, lips pulling back from her teeth. She could feel the fury building up inside her, could feel her powers beginning to rise and boil in anger. “And these are my only options?”

Feyre squared her shoulders and stood a little taller before answering. “Yes.”

“You have no right.”

“I-”

Nesta erupted. “You dragged me into this mess, this horrible place! You are the reason why I am like this, why I am stuck here-”

“That’s enough. That is enough, Nesta. You’re moving up to the House, you are going to train and work, and I don’t care what vitriol you spew my way. You’re doing it.”

“Over my cold dead body will I go there,” Nesta seethed.

“You will be going there,” Feyre ordered. “This is not up for discussion.”

Nesta shook her head. “Elain would never stand for this. She would hate you for-”

“Elain agreed to this hours ago.” Nesta recoiled at the admission. Elain was part of this? She had already chosen their side? The realization caused a fresh wave of pain to pierce Nesta’s heart. How could Elain betray her like this after everything they’d gone through? Nesta stayed by her side for months after the Cauldron, afraid that she would hurt herself or try to jump out the window to meet her death. She watched over Elain, cared for her, protected her, tried to make sure Elain hadn’t completely lost her mind when Nesta felt like she was so close to losing it herself. How could Elain just toss her away like this and rub her hands clean of Nesta? Elain was supposed to be the only one who could understand her, the only one who would fight for Nesta the way Nesta did for her. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes and clenched her fists together. She let her nails dig in and break her skin to keep from showing any weakness. “She’s packing up your apartment as we speak. By the time you return, it will be empty. Your clothes are being sent to the House of Wind.”

“Though I doubt they will be suitable for training in Windhaven,” Amren muttered under her breath. Feyre glared at her for speaking without permission. Then, she turned back to Nesta.

“Elain knows how to contact you. If she wishes to visit you at the House, she is free to do so. One of us will gladly take her up there.”

Some sliver of hope Nesta didn’t even know she had died like a flame desperately trying to stay alive and finally being snuffed out. She had thought that she already reached her rock bottom, but she was wrong. It couldn’t get any worse than this. Being in a room surrounded by people who had done nothing but shame her and judge her for her choices. And he had used his powers on her just to get her to submit. He took pleasure in scenting her fear.

Nesta pushed them away after the war because she couldn’t cope the way everyone else had. They had moved on like nothing really happened, content to live in their bubble of avoidance and easy to forget the violence of the last few months. Nesta couldn’t stand any of it. There had been a smothering silence when her father died. It had begun crushing her when she’d gone to his study at their half-wrecked manor days later and found one of his pathetic little wood carvings. In her guilt, she had kept the carving just like she kept the piece of wood Feyre had painted on, a small token of her sister after Tamlin had stolen her into the night. She had hated her father for his neglect, for his willingness to let his three daughters starve to death instead of fighting for them. She burned with that hatred, and she still hated him, if she was honest. But then he had finally shown up for the three of them during the battle with Hybern. He told her he loved her, and before she could process what was happening, before she could even speak to him, his neck was snapped and the light left his eyes. Nesta had wanted to scream and scream, but there had been so many people around. She’d held herself together until the meeting with all those war heroes had ended. Then she let herself fall. Straight into that silent and numbing pit.

You have your life and I have mine, she’d told Elain. She didn’t say it to be cruel. She said it because it was the truth. She couldn’t forget everything the way they had. Nesta couldn’t live like that.

All her life Nesta had her choices taken away from her. Whether it was from her mother and Grandmamma, or losing everything and being poor. She lost her humanity and was forced into the Cauldron, fated to spend the rest of her long and miserable life in Prythian. Even the Cauldron had decided to choose a mate for her; the same mate who had never bothered to see her after the war, who didn’t care enough to bother, was now trying to force her to live and train with him. The only decisions she had been able to make for herself was in the last year. She got to decide what to do with her body: who to sleep with (although Tomas had tried to take that from her too), she chose to drink to numb herself and her powers and to help herself forget, she chose where she wanted to live, and now Feyre and her friends wanted to take that away from her too.

“I want to speak to my sister. Alone,” Nesta ordered. She could feel the High Lord’s eyes boring into her, filled with such an intense hatred and animosity, but Nesta ignored him until he, Cassian, and Amren exited the room and went into the hall.

Nesta held herself up, her spine straight. She hated all of them. They were nosy busybodies who were too busy sticking themselves in everyone’s business instead of working hard to rebuild their court and help the people suffering within it. They only cared about their precious Velaris; damn the victims in Hewn City and Illyria. They had never cared before. They didn’t bother to speak to her after the war, they didn’t care when she first started drinking and sleeping around. Nesta almost scoffed at the hypocrisy. When she did it, it was a crime, and extreme measures needed to be taken to make sure she stopped, but they had no problem bragging about all the sex they had and had no problem getting drunk every week. Nesta doubted they were any better than her after their first war, so why was Nesta the villain for doing what they always did?

“You didn’t care before,” Nesta said. “Why now?”

Feyre toyed with her silver-and-star-sapphire wedding ring. “I told you: it wasn’t that I didn’t care. We—everyone, I mean—had multiple conversations about this. About you. We— I decided that giving you time would be best.”

They’d all been discussing her, deeming her unfit and unchecked, and—

Feyre said carefully, “for what it’s worth, I was hoping you’d turn yourself around. I wanted to give you space to do it, since you seem to lash out at everyone who comes close enough, but you didn’t even try.”

Perhaps you can find it in yourself to try a little harder this year. Cassian’s words from nine months ago still rang fresh in her mind.

Try? It was all she could think to say.

I know that’s a foreign word to you.

His words haunted her all this time, the same way Feyre’s accusation would follow her wherever she went. They thought she wasn’t trying. They had no idea what is what like. They had no idea how simply dragging herself out of bed exhausted her so much that it left her with no motivation for the rest of the day. They had no idea what it was like for her to fear simply getting into a tub, but trying to anyway so she would no longer have to use buckets. Or what it was like to drown herself in liquor just to forget all that was taken from her; what is was like to lose herself as her skin was ripped apart and bones were stretched and broken just to be forged into a creature she had been taught all her life to hate. They had no idea what it was like for her to walk around with powers she couldn’t understand, powers that no one could understand. They had no idea what it was like to hate so much that no matter how much she hated them for what they were doing to her now, it would never equate to how much she hated herself. She did try. She tried every day to simply exist, but even that was becoming too much for her. But she tried because she had that one sliver of hope that things would one day change and be different, even if she didn’t truly believe in it, but now that had been taken away from her too. She didn’t feel like trying anymore.

Cassian had said that he couldn’t understand how anyone could love her. Nesta didn’t understand it either.

Feyre continued, “All you have done is help yourself to our money.”

“Your mate’s money,” Nesta corrected her.

“Nesta, You spent 500 gold marks last night! Do you know how much money that is? Do you know how embarrassed I was when we got the bill this morning and my friends—my family— had to hear all about it?”

Her family, as if Nesta and she weren’t flesh and blood. “That must have been very hard for you, Feyre.” Nesta said, sarcasm dripping off her tongue.

Feyre went on as if Nesta hadn’t even spoken, “And to hear what you spent it on-”

“Oh, so this is all about you saving face-”

“It is about how it reflects upon me, upon Rhys, and upon my court when my damned sister spends our money on wine and gambling and does nothing to contribute to this city! If my sister cannot be controlled, then why should we have the right to rule over anyone else?”

“Don’t you dare do that!” Nesta spat. “Don’t you dare act like I’ve done nothing but be a burden. I helped you win a war that wasn’t even my concern. I was dragged into it, killed, and turned fae over it. I helped kill the King of Hybern. I lost everything contributing to help this city and the rest of Prythian and the human lands. So don’t you dare,” Nesta whispered dangerously, “act like I have done nothing. I have done more than enough. And let me make something very clear, Feyre. I am not yours to control.”

“That is why you’re going to train at Windhaven. You will learn to control yourself.”

“So your grand plan to help me get over the trauma of the war is to have me train in a war camp?” Nesta shook her head defiantly. “I won’t go.”

“You’re going, even if you have to be tied up and hauled there. You will follow Cassian’s lessons, and you will do whatever work Clotho requires in the library. You will respect her, and the other priestesses in the library,” Feyre said, “and you will never give them a moment’s trouble. Any free time is yours to spend as you wish. In the House.”

Hot rage pumped through her, so loud Nesta could barely hear the real fire before which her sister paced. Was glad of the roaring in her head when the sound of wood cracking as it burned was so much like her father’s breaking neck that she couldn’t stand to light a fire in her own home.

“You had no right to close up my apartment, to take my things—”

“What things? A few clothes and some rotten food.” Nesta didn’t have the chance to wonder how Feyre knew that. Not as her sister said, “I’m having that entire building condemned.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s done. Rhys already visited the landlord. It will be torn down and rebuilt as a shelter for families still displaced by the war.”

Nesta tried to master her uneven breathing. One of the few choices she’d made for herself, stripped away. Her ties to it cut simply as if it was nothing more than a piece of string and not one of the few times she had been able to choose something for herself. Feyre didn’t seem to care. Feyre had always been her own master. Always got whatever she wished. And now, she wanted this too. The only thing Nesta could feel at this moment was a fierce and burning anger, so she held onto it like it was a lifeline, as she had always done.

“I won’t be your prisoner—”

“No. You can go wherever you wish. As Amren said, you are free to leave the House. If you can manage those ten thousand steps.” Feyre’s eyes blazed. “But I’m done paying for you to destroy yourself.”

“You’re no better than Tamlin,” Nesta sneered. “Taking away my choices, locking me up, dictating what I can or cannot do with my life under the guise that you are trying to help me, to protect me and save me from myself. It sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”

The blow landed. Feyre’s widened her eyes in shock and hurt, and tears quickly filled them. Nesta wasn’t surprised that Feyre didn’t see the hypocrisy in this so-called “intervention”. She had always been so naive. It filled her with even more disgust and rage, leaving no room for any undeserved sympathy. The audacity, Nesta thought, to play the victim when you’re trying to lock me up. Rhysand barged in through the doors, probably well aware of Feyre’s emotions. His eyes burned holes into Nesta, and his shadows swirled and darkened like he was getting ready to attack. Let him, Nesta thought. She was well past caring. If he tries to use his powers on me, I’ll use mine on him. Let him see what it’s like for a change.

“You said I have two choices,” Nesta sat up straighter, looking Feyre in the eyes. “Well, I’ve made my decision. I want to go to the human lands.”

Tag List:

@ladybookstan, @nesquik-arccheron, @theladyofbloodshed, @sv0430, @nestaspegasus, @moodymelanist, @snickerdoodlechittybangbang, @a11yswift, @fanboy7794, @lyzriel, @wannawriteyouabook, @madie-max, @gimme-mor, @lyalii, @separatist-apologist, @queentheeverythingblogel

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#nesta archeron #eris vanserra #neris #nesta and eris #nesta x eris #engulfed in your flames fic #anti ic #anti acosf #anti feyre archeron #anti elain archeron #anti cassian #anti rhysand #anti amren #slowburn neris #EIYF

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collecting-stories · 3 years

Text

She’s Kinda Hot - Sarah Cameron

Request: omg i really wish i could write but, can you do one with sarah and kind of like kie reader(rich but hang out with the pogues)where they are enemies and are stuck together for a project and the reader keeps annoying sarah to make her mad and the reader tells sarah she’s hot when she’s mad and then they end up getting together or something. sorry this is really long this is also my first time requesting so i’m kinda new lo

A/N: I really freaking love Sarah Cameron. That is all. Enjoy the fic.

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Sarah was pretty sure that there was one of those personal rain clouds hanging directly over her head as she sat in math class with you. Who even assigned school projects in math class? Wasn’t that kind of thing reserved for english or science? But no, her math teacher...your math teacher...decided that a project to highlight Women in Math was a brilliant idea for Women’s History Month and, in an even greater stroke of genius, she stuck Sarah and you together as partners. It was all your fault really, that was all Sarah kept thinking as she stared across the classroom at the side of your head. That if you hadn’t walked into class late, in the middle of assignments, Sarah would’ve ended up with the next person alphabetically behind Cameron. Instead, she was stuck with you.

“Why don’t we just split the assignment into parts and then put it together at the end?” Sarah suggested, after the bell rang and she managed to chase you down the hall of the kook academy to your locker.

“Why not just work together?” You replied, shrugging a shoulder as if it shouldn’t be the worst thing that could ever happen to Sarah to be paired together for the project.

“I’d rather not.”

“Cause you broke up with me-”

Sarah hushed you immediately, covering your mouth with her hand and looking back and forth down the crowded hallway. “You know what happened!”

You pushed Sarah’s hand away and rolled your eyes, “well too bad princess, I need this grade so you’re gonna have to deal with seeing me.” You said, “everyday. After school.”

“That’s bullshit,” Sarah snapped, following after you when you shut your locker and started down the hallway to your next class, “you do not need that fucking grade! You’re at like, the top of the class.”

“Are you the teacher?” you asked, looking back at her. “Don’t worry Sarah, I promise I’ll stay six feet away and I won’t try to tempt you. Wouldn’t want anyone to find out you’re into girls.” You said, whispering the last part so only she could hear it.

Sarah stopped in her tracks, watching you walk the rest of the way to your class. She wanted to scream after you, that wasn’t the reason. That wasn’t why she’d totally annexed you from her life. It wasn’t just that she knew this project was going to get her in deep shit, it was that she was one hundred percent positive that she would not be able to work with you without letting her feelings get the better of her.

It wasn’t like the kook academy was a big place, there wasn’t exactly room to avoid you completely, but Sarah had done a pretty decent job so far. Even when the two of you crossed paths in class, and it happened more than Sarah would’ve preferred, she managed to keep herself away from you. At least until now, she was stuck with you as her partner for some ridiculous math project. She’d been banking on you wanting as little to do with her as she tried to have with you but instead you seemed totally fine. Unbothered by everything that went down between the two of you.

She thought about asking Kiara what she would do but Sarah could already hear her best friend telling her that she wasn’t going to take sides. Kiara was friends with both of you and the most advice she would ever offer was “I don’t get what happened between you two anyway”.

No, asking Kiara wouldn’t work. Sarah would have to resign herself to this project. She could this. It was just a three-week project. She could survive three weeks with you.

“Hey, if I get lunch, what’d’ya want?” You asked, hanging your head off of Sarah’s bed and holding your phone out so you could tap through your doordash app.

Sarah wanted to scream, it was still half-way through the first week and you had been to her house three times in as many days, spending your after-school hours driving her crazy. She was pretty sure that you were doing this on purpose.

“It’s almost 5:30,” Sarah replied, not looking up from her laptop, “I think lunch is over.”

“Dinner then.” You said.

“No. I don’t want dinner.” She snapped, “and I don’t want lunch or whatever else...I just want to finish this project.”

“We’ve got like, two weeks left Sarah,” you pointed out, rolling over onto your stomach and looking at her across the room, “just chill out.”

You knew you were pushing Sarah’s buttons but you couldn’t help it. When things between the two of you had gone bad, when she’d told you that it was over and, worse than that, it was a mistake, you had been heartbroken. There wasn’t a better word for it. You hated how upset you’d been after Sarah broke it off with you but when things settled, you couldn’t deny that there was still something there. Little looks, fleeting in the hallway, moments you caught her staring and you knew she caught you too. It felt like boiling tension, the same way it had before, when you’d gotten together.

“Chill out?” She huffed, “you’ve been at my house all week driving me fucking nuts and now you tell me to ‘chill out’. No, you need to help me with this fucking project!”

You sat up on the bed, unable to contain the smile as you looked over at Sarah, “god, I totally forgot how insanely hot you are when you’re pissed off.”

Sarah tossed her pencil across the room at you, “will you knock it off. You always pull this shit with me.”

“What shit?” You almost laughed, “you’re the one who told me that dating was an ‘accident’ and you were ‘confused about your feelings’. What am I doing, exactly, to pull shit with you? If anything, Sarah, you leading me on was pretty much exactly that.”

“I wasn’t leading you on.” She groaned, flicking her hair over her shoulder the way she always did when she was pissed with something someone said to her. “What was I supposed to do anyway?” She said, voice dropping lower so no one would hear her. You might’ve been in her closed bedroom but if there was one thing you’d learned about Tanny Hill it was that someone was always listening. “Do you know what my family would do if they found out?”

“Found out that you were dating...basically a pogue? Or dating a girl?” You deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at her in question. You knew what the answer was. Sarah had been trying to live up to every expectation that Ward set for her from the moment she was born. She was always trying to make up for Rafe or Wheezie doing something to upset him by making sure she never did. And while other people dating whoever they wanted was totally fine with him, his favorite daughter, his pride and joy, dating a girl...maybe if it’d been Wheezie a few years down the line. But not Sarah, who was supposed to date a rich kook and go to UNC and marry the same rich kook and they could have a couple kids and buy a big house near his. He’d been planning it all out for her since before she was born and you had thrown a wrench in that plan.

“It’s a delicate subject.”

“No,” you laughed and shook your head, “your dad’s a total homophobe. What’s he got against two super-hot girls dating each other?”

“When one of them is his daughter, I don’t think it’s at the top of his approved list.” She replied. “We should be working on this project anyway...I want a good grade and so do you.”

“Sarah-”

“No. Cause you’ll say something that you know I wanna hear and then you’ll do the stupid slow walk over to my chair and put your hands on the arm rests and I’ll be totally defenseless and then I’ll do something I totally regret...like kissing you.” Sarah said, “or letting you kiss me.”

“You’d totally regret it if we kissed?” You asked. “Positive?”

“Yes I’m positive.”

“We could test it out? Just to make sure?”

“No.”

You shrugged, grabbing your math text off the bed and setting it on your lap again, “okay, I guess we should get back to work then.”

“What?” Sarah almost sounded shocked and really she shouldn’t have been. She should’ve known when the teacher put the two of you together for the project that this was exactly where she would end up at some point within the three weeks. Though really, she’d held out a lot longer than she ever thought she would be able to. “That’s it? You’re just going back to the project?”

“You said that’s what you wanted to do.”

She groaned and tugged at the roots of her hair for a second before looking at you, “you are the most frustrating, annoying, dense person in the entire world and I cannot believe that we-”

While she reamed you out, you had put your book aside and gotten up, going over to her and doing exactly what she said you would. You put your hands on the armrests of her desk chair and you leaned in and kissed her mid-sentence. “Is that what I was supposed to do?” You asked, pulling away just enough to see her face.

Sarah wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you toward her and forcing you to stabilize yourself with a knee on the side of her leg, practically sitting on her lap. “Something like that.” She finally said, “though I would’ve appreciated a little warning.”

“Oh, sorry, you seemed stressed,” you replied, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to help you relax.”

“Is stressed the word?” She joked, tension melting as she brushed her nose against yours. She leaned forward so your foreheads were touching, her eyelashes just ghosting a touch on your cheeks when she closed her eyes for a split second.

“Extremely hot? Sexy...a major turn on.” You joked, kissing her again. “God, imagine if you’d been paired with like...Topper for this? You’d be kissing him right now.”

“Stop trying to ruin the moment and kiss me.” Sarah laughed.

#sarah cameron imagine #sarah cameron fanfic #sarah cameron fanfiction #sarah cameron fic #sarah cameron x reader #sarah cameron x you #sarah cameron x y/n #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #sarah Cameron fanfic #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fic #obx fic #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #collecting stories imagine

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diavolosthots · 3 years

Note

Could you make a fic about Diavolo finding out that his mc is being bullied for not being good enough for the future King?

We all know MC would get the hell bullied out of them by several demons

Warning: mentions of bullying

Unworthy (DIAVOLO X GN!READER)

Coming to the Devildom, you would’ve never imagined all the fascinating things it would bring you. After all, hell is supposed to be this dark and unforgiving place, is it not? Yet, when you arrived you were greeted with somewhat open arms. A little mistrusting, and a hell of a lot chaotic, but not as badly as you would have imagined it. Things, for the most part, went smoothly, and even Belphegor grew on you at some point. Of course, what would this story be without some classic romance? The Demon Lord took particular interest in you and you found yourself being intrigued by him too. Seriously, the man is attractive, intelligent, and has a sense of humor; it’s an overall win! Still, there was a lot that came with being close to him. Even as just a friend, you were challenged on the daily for ulterior motives or any regime you might lead against him. As his lover, all of that became worse. But none of that mattered to you, or really made you think twice about him. You always came out on top, truthful and honest, and never proved a threat to the future King. In a way, Barbatos had even praised you for it, although discreetly. It felt good to be wanted and it felt even better to be wanted by him, that’s why you didn’t really have much of a problem to prove yourself pretty much on the daily.

But proving yourself didn’t just mean you had to prove yourself to him and his immediate circle, did it? Demons were jealous beings, rageful demons… the seven avatars shone in every sinful creature that walked the Devildom grounds and some of them shone out more than others. You weren’t a favorite by default, being human and all, but having managed to “suck your way up to the Demon Lord”, per the citizens of the Devildom, had you on a whole new hate list. Diavolo was, per unspoken rule of, once again, the citizens, off limits for anyone. Many have tried and all of them have failed to come close to him. Barbatos had been the main cause of that because the loyal servant seemed to think no one was good enough for his Lord, but if by some miracle, someone did manage to get past Barbatos, it was Diavolo they had to worry about. The Prince was picky, always has been, in everything he does and in everyone he takes. Even being courtesan to the future King proved more than difficult, and yet, somehow, someway, a measly human managed to snuggle up to him.

Needless to say, you really grabbed the short end of the stick. Thankfully, you were at the House of Lamentation for most of your time outside of RAD, so the bullying and accusations were limited to school hours, but you would be lying if you said they didn’t take a toll on you. Hearing things like, “pathetic, useless human” or “Spineless cocksucker” or “dick kissing attention whore” took its toll on you mentally. Of course, the abuse never stayed verbal, did it? If none of the brothers were around to protect you, which thankfully rarely ever happened, people are quick to get physical, too. Being shoved into walls, robbed of any money you had on you, or even being dunked into the toilets are all not new tricks to you. As much as life in the Devildom was glorious, it was also frightful. Naturally, as most people would, you tried to keep these things to yourself, maybe cry in the shower or in the middle of the night when you were sure everyone else was asleep.

Today, you couldn’t hide it though. You were supposed to meet Diavolo right after classes were done, but sadly, one succubus decided to gang up with a few incubi and throw you, yes literally throw you, down the steps at RAD. Nothing terrible happened, but you twisted your ankle and bruised both elbows when you landed. If that wasn’t enough, they of course had to throw some words at you as well. “He’s just looking for new meat.” “You’re nothing more than a cockwarmer.” “You don’t think Lord Diavolo actually wants you, do you? You’re an easy slut with no sense of self worth.” You cried, of course, and couldn’t wipe the tears quick enough before Barbatos came to pick you up. His usual smile faltered and before he even asked what happened, he went to get Diavolo. “I’ll tell My Lord immediately.” For obvious reasons, that’s the last thing you wanted, but Barbatos was already gone before you had the chance to stop him. You curled up on one of the steps, pulling your knees up to rest your head against, one hand rubbing over your twisted ankle while your face rubbed against your knees to collect the tears, “What ever did I do….” that’s the thing though, you really didn’t do anything.

“(Y/N)!” Diavolo was quick behind you, racing down the steps to get to you and immediately dropping to his knees to inspect your ankle, grimacing when you pulled it back because the pressure he put on it hurt, “Get some ice Barbatos.” “Yes, My Lord.” You couldn’t look at him, feeling pathetic that a few bullies got to you and actually managed to somewhat break you. “Talk to me (Y/N). What happened?” He tried to lift your head, cradling your face in his hands but you turned away from him, not wanting him to see your tears, which broke his heart. His arms wrapped around you gently, pulling you into his chest while letting himself fall back on his butt so both of you could be more comfortable. You shook your head against his chest, watching as the tears got soaked into his red RAD uniform, which made you feel worse. “They hate me…” the sentence came out in sobs, making Diavolo’s arms only tighten around you, “Who hates you?”

His head rested on top of yours, anger and sadness boiling beneath his skin. Anger because who dares touch you? Who dares mess with the Prince’s lover? Sadness because he feels like he can’t do anything unless you tell him. His head lifts when Barbatos comes back with the ice pack, taking it from him and then shifting a bit, “I’m putting this on your ankle, alright?” He waits for you to nod before placing it gently against your ankle, which had started to swell already, “who hates you, (Y/N)?” You gripped his coat tightly, hiding your face further in his chest, “Your people…”

You told him everything, albeit in between sobs and heavy breathing. He listened, making sure to keep the ice back on your ankle, although it almost broke a few times from how hard he was gripping it. Honestly, he can’t believe anyone would have the guts to touch you while you’re under his care and supervision, but especially because you’re his. Have they forgotten whom they’re messing with? This could easily end in a death sentence for all of them, and from a quick glance at Barbatos, Diavolo knew that his servant was thinking the same thing. “You’re coming with me, (Y/N). Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” You let him pick you up, bridal style, and carry you through the never ending RAD hallways until the outside of the Devildom hit your skin. He walked, all the way back to the castle, with you in his arms, and something about that made you feel at ease. He didn’t push anything else, he didn’t even try to make it better, although he did make it better by just holding you.

“Why am I here?” You couldn’t help but wonder, though, why he did bring you back to his castle. After all, you lived back with the brothers, but his next words had your heart flutter and a soft smile spread across your lips, “because you’re staying with me, by my side, where you belong.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me lord diavolo #lord diavolo x mc #obey me diavolo #shall we date diavolo #om! diavolo #diavolo obey me #obey me diavolo x reader #tw bullying

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titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

Prima Vista Part VII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)

It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.

It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk.

“Erwin here?”

The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”

Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”

Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead.

He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

“What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy.

You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different.

“I needed to talk to you about something.”

Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”

You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”

He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?”

“Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”

“You can shut it then.”

Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you.

“Why haven’t you been talking to him?”

Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!”

Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”

“And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”

Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”

You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping.

“That motherfucker,” he grunts.

“What?”

“You blocked his number.”

“What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”

He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”

Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”

“My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.

You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.

If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.

Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list.

“Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal.

“Have what?”

“Tinder.”

“What are you talking about?”

Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”

That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced.

Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself.

“Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”

Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”

“Probably.”

“Might be a little difficult now, though.”

Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”

Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”

You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”

Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”

You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.

But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process.

“It, uh… It gets worse.”

Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”

Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry.

“I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”

Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling.

Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her.

“Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”

Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”

You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest.

There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him.

“Come on.”

“W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”

“I’m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."

You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person.

“Fine, but put a shirt on.”

“Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”

You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.

You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand.

“We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze.

It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.

Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous.

He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy.

"Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand.

"Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."

You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."

"I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable.

"Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."

"I'll be there, Nile."

"Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."

Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth.

"So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back.

"Don't fucking tell me."

Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."

"She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good.

"Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."

"How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."

"Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."

"I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."

"Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?"

"Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever."

It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it.

"Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."

"I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"

"As a distraction?"

Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?"

The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party."

It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house.

Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight.

Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on.

When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party.

Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him.

So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this?

And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink.

Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit.

She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?"

No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight.

They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism.

They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin.

Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you.

Oh, you don't like her.

"Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?"

Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."

"Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"

"Kind of?" You try.

Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?"

Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible.

Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"

Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe.

"Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"

"Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."

"I don't think that's really—"

"Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits.

"You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out.

For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands.

He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you.

"The fuck do you want, Jaeger?"

"Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?"

Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt.

"Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back.

"He's not worth it, Mike."

Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.

He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights.

He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him.

He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger.

You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now.

So he drinks.

He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—

Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch.

"What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him.

"I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"

"I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!"

Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in.

"What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?"

"No!"

"Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.

He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms.

"Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head.

Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?"

Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."

"Are you serious?"

Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile.

"I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!"

Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again.

"Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks.

"Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"

"Including you."

Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him.

"Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?"

"Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests.

Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty).

Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak.

"What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"

Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice.

"It's just Adderall, I swear!"

Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren.

"Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up.

Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen.

"They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile.

"Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"

"Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."

Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time.

Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way.

"Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back.

It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause.

"Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink.

He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind.

It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets.

He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts.

Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.

"God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in.

Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels.

A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again.

"Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."

"No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"

You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction.

"Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again.

"The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?"

"Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—

"Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic.

"I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him.

Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."

"He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker.

You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).

"Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."

"Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss.

He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand.

Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."

You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."

"What? No."

"There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out."

Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea.

"Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."

"So?"

"Erwin."

He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?"

"Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.

"Text me if you need help, alright?"

"You got it, boss."

He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.

His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning.

How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass.

It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh.

People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place.

Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way.

More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of.

Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three.

Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep.

Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest.

After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it.

You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex.

You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).

It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long.

Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."

"Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."

"Nooo. No Miche."

"Yes, Miche," you laugh.

He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again.

When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."

You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again.

"Okay. Just Mike then."

He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again.

"You're a needy drunk, you know that?"

Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again.

"Sleep now," he mumbles.

"No, no sleep now."

"Sleep now."

"Oh my fucking god."

His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water.

He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday.

Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self.

So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid.

He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much.

"President… dumb boyyy."

"Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"

"Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr."

There's really no pleasing him.

"Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."

"Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."

You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you.

"You're fucking ridiculous."

Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub.

"Jesus Christ, Mike."

He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower.

"Water, pleeeease."

He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them.

"No, dude. I am not letting you drown."

Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle.

"Yeah, okay, I guess that works."

The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.

So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist.

He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."

Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright.

"ευχαριστώ."

"Come again?"

"Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward.

You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways.

Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze.

"You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time.

"Dunno."

"Can you tell who I am?"

Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"

"Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.

"That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun.

He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress.

Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel.

Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands.

"Can I help you?"

He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you.

"Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh.

Switching tactics, he pats his chest.

"Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."

Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…

Not like this.

"Please. No more vom. Promise."

"I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."

He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants.

A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth.

This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin.

Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks.

"'m mad at you."

Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting.

"I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."

Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep.

"Still love you."

You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason.

"I love you too, Miche."

Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake.

You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?"

"Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub.

Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."

"What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?"

He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!"

"You're disgusting."

"Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"

God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint.

"Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep.

"Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off.

"We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.

Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."

You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."

It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day.

"Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub.

"He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts.

"Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add.

Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing.

"We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile.

"Probably."

Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious.

It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look.

You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy.

There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him.

"'m still wet."

"You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."

"Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"

"Know how it works, dumb… butt."

"Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."

"Don't panotrize me!"

You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."

"That's what I said!"

It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard.

He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."

"All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."

"Why?"

"I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."

"Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair.

It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot.

He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours.

A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest.

Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed.

Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it.

You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.

The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #tw manipulation #tw vomit

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aetheternity · 3 years

Note

I have a request

Levi's wife y/n and 4 or 5 year old son get kidnapped by kenny and the military police. They get taken to the crystal cave with eren and historia. So when levi comes to save them he is livid and is quickly taking down every mp in his way. Luckily both y/n and her son make it out safely with levi and his squad.

Levi, y/n, and their son have a soft moment and they all hug and give kisses 😚😚😚 and day squad teases them

(I added my own little spin to this where Y/N is playfully argumentative and sometimes wild with Levi. Hope that's ok! I also thought it would be cute if Levi and Y/N’s son was named after Levi’s late friend Farlen.)

"We have more than just Historia and Eren now." Levi grunted, facing Hange. "My son and Y/N were taken as well."

"We can't wait then. We'll leave as soon as possible."

Levi squeezed the paper Hange had given him earlier in his grasp as his squad whooped and hollered behind him. Kenny probably wouldn't kill them, they were insurance after all. Which was that much worse for Levi.

He already knew if he didn't manage to calm himself before they got to Kenny he would lash out recklessly. The one thing he'd told his wife and son to never allow themselves to do.

~~~~

"Oi." Levi stepped closer, concern etched onto his face. His eyebrows scrunched where he looked into his wife's eyes. "If you continue moping around our child's health will be at risk and yours. The doctor already told you that."

She turned, eyes narrowed and lips tight where they were pulled into a frown. "What else am I supposed to feel? The father of my baby is running around dodging death. Am I supposed to be happy Levi?"

Levi rolled his eyes, his hand already coming up to the bridge of his nose in expectation for the upcoming brawl of sorts. "I'll be alive for the birth of our son."

"Will you though?" She stepped closer, challenge rising in her tone and eyes.

"I'm not leaving you or the soon to be kid we've made. And you already know that." He fought back. "I'd sooner go back to the underground."

Her hands ran up to his collar tugging him closer. And he let her, let every bit of fury trapped beneath those stone cold eyes run over his spine like a flash of lightning all with the same neutral expression.

"I'm so serious you wouldn't even believe. If you don't come back one of these days and I have to raise this baby all on my own. I'm gonna bring you back to life just so I can kill you again. Do you hear me Levi Ackerman?"

Levi let out a little huff and a small smirk ran over his lips. She let him go and he straightened out his collar. "You get scarier everyday." He remarked "Way scarier than any damn titan."

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her down the mostly empty corridor. "You saw the doctor again today right? Tell me what happened."

"We've got a healthy Ackerman on our hands. He's grown bigger than he's supposed to be at this stage actually." She smiled softly as she placed a hand on her belly. "Probably cause he has your blood."

"Tch, moron. He's already his mother. Constantly kicking every time I touch your belly. He's gonna be a brat just like you."

"I hope he gets my height and not yours."

"For his sake your height instead of your mouth would be good."

"My mouth has gotten you through many long nights so I wouldn't complain if I were you."

Levi playfully rolled his eyes as Y/N's soft laugh filled the corridor. Her eyes shining brighter than they had her whole pregnancy. It was weird Levi had always heard about new parents being scared but he barely was.

When he'd found out he'd been more surprised than anything but he'd barely even had the time to over analyze the situation until that night. This unbelievably wild girl was the mother of his child. What more could he want.

Fear did dawn on him. Knowing he'd have something new in this world that needed his protection. Something so precious and small to protect. But another part of him knew that kid would be safer if he got his mother's fighting spirit.

"Hey, you better not be thinking about other girls." Y/N huffed as she poked at Levi's forehead.

Levi grabbed her finger. "Dumbass, no one else would be able to handle you if I left."

"Just sounds like you're making excuses so that you don't have to tell me, you adore me and could never find anyone else who brings you this much joy."

"No." That barely even scratched the surface..

~~~~

"Do you have a location on them?" Hange asked

"There're a whole bunch of military police and Kenny's squad is surrounding the entire area. But no sign of Kenny himself or any of the people who were taken." Sasha replied

Levi huffed, brain not wanting to retreat to the worst possible scenario. Besides the conversation currently developing in front of him there was a sort of quiet drifting in the atmosphere.

"We have a plan right?" Armin suddenly asked

And Hange nodded, "You're gonna need these." Her hands clasped around the cool metal of the signal flares.

"Signal flares??" Jean stared in disbelief

"Don't worry, we're getting out of here alive hostages and all." Hange stated before turning to Levi. "They're ok."

Levi blinked, slowly but surely uncurling his fists. He looked around to the others their faces a mix of concern and in certain cases glee. But they all had the same sentiment.

"Put the plan into motion." Levi stood

~~~~

It went surprisingly quickly. From the barrels they'd deployed to the signal flares being shot off. Sasha and Mikasa taking out the military police like no one's business but Levi could already feel his Ackerman rage growing.

Where the hell was Kenny? He thought.

His question was soon answered when a bullet flew past his cheek immediately drawing blood. The next bullet striking an ice pillar with a hard crack as he ducked for cover behind it.

Levi paused repositioning himself to jump and land behind one another of the thick pillars searching for the source of the bullets. "Where the hell are they?" He grunted voice raspy, thick and loud where he called to the only person that would be behind this.

Kenny's laugh was boisterous, heavy where it bounced between each pillar. The amount of sweat that had collected on Levi's palms had his weapon slippery in his grip and the vein in his forehead was close to popping.

"I think you have other things here you should be concerning yourself with."

In the blink of an eye Levi's head shot backwards, Jean's scream mixed with the heart shattering sound of Hange hitting one of the pillars caught his attention. A bullet releasing her blood as she slipped and rolled over against the ground like a discarded toy.

"Tch!"

"Levi! Oi you should be worried about me. After all. Your little family dies by my call!"

If Levi was boiling before his blood was erupting now. With incredible skill and speed he bounced his way around the pillars dodging each bullet as Kenny shot them out. His agility raised as he flipped over Kenny's form and behind him. In an instant Levi was tossing a bag full of flammable liquid in time to meet his next shot.

When the bag tore open Levi flew forward, through burning flames created by Kenny's gun tossing his blade. The motion caught Kenny off guard but he managed to dodge it, his hat flying off into a nearby pillar along with Levi's blade to hold it up there.

Levi's heart was hammering taking the advantage he'd managed to get he flew at Kenny with incredible speed slicing through his torso almost like it was butter. In the heat of adrenaline Levi watched as Kenny's body fell to the ground of the cool cavern.

He landed with a hard breath before retracting the odm gears hooks. He couldn't wait any longer. He couldn't stop himself from running forward no matter how stupid and dangerous it was.

He heard bits and pieces of speech behind him. "Follow Captain!" And "Wait, hold on!" But none of it stopped his feet.

He skidded in his pace as he heard soft calls of, "Dad! Dad!"

And he was immediately headed for it. A bit of relief flooding his chest as he heard the faint sounds of odm gear clanging behind him. His squad clearly keeping good pace.

When he arrived he instantly locked eyes with his five year old son and wife.

"Dad!" Farlen's voice echoed. He didn't look injured from what Levi could tell and neither did Y/N. Farlen's hair tosseled as if he'd merely been running outside.

"Where are Historia and Eren?!" Mikasa called as she ran up behind Levi.

"Guys!" Historia's voice boomed. She slunk forward barely supporting Eren's weight. His shirt gone and his face covered in blood.

Levi quickly ran to untie Y/N and Farlen immediately embracing Farlen when he jumped into his arms. If he were any other kid Levi would probably be questioning why he hadn't shit his pants and why his face was tearless. But he definitely wasn't any other five year old.

"Geez, you guys took forever." Y/N remarked, stretching her hands above her head. "I was about to wreck all these Military brats butts for you." She said with a smirk at Levi.

Levi huffed, rubbing his son's back. "Next time you can save yourself then." He remarked giving Farlen a soft head rub.

"Ugggh Mom.. Dad not now.." he sighed

"There won't be a next time!" Y/N fought back. "I'll never get caught up like that again."

"Tch, whatever."

"Are you challenging me Mr. Ackerman?"

"You're a brat, Ms. Ackerman."

"How about I show you how much of a brat I can really be?" She chuckled with a dark smile etching over her features. She pulled him closer, hugging his and Farlen's form with a firm hand on Levi's lower back.

"Don't start something you can't finish." Levi whispered back.

"Ewwwwww.." Farlen mock gagged between them.

Y/N just laughed loudly. "You'll understand when you have someone you love to hate, Farlen."

"Yeah.. I'm with Farlen. That's eww." Connie remarked with a shake of his head.

The others soon joined in with their own little laughs and teasing words. "I can't believe how soft Captain can be." And "They're such a cute family I hope I get that some day."

Levi repositioned Farlen on one arm ignoring all the chatter. Though his cheeks bloomed a rosy color that was extremely unmistakable "Historia, where's your father?"

"He escaped before you guys got here. He's headed toward the wall." She replied

"We've gotta hurry then."

(I'm so sick of people on the internet rn I swear🙄)

#aot x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #shingeki no kyoujin levi #snk x reader #levi imagine #levi ackerman scenario #levi ackerman headcanons

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burytherosemarysprigs · 3 years

Text

Oral Sadism and Literary Arguments

A/N : Ok, so, like enemies to lovers???? slow burn??? literature??? fuck me.

/ Masterlist /

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader (College AU)

Word Count: 6k

Summary: There’s probably only one thing worse than chauvinist literature, and that’s the sardonic boy who sits two rows behind in Lit class with his torn paperbacks and ineffable aversion.

“Well, I actually disagree with you,”

If you didn’t have that much self-control, you would’ve snapped the pencil you were holding in half, as you heard a deep voice speak up behind you, and before you could retort, Professor Gordon spoke,

“And why’s that Jason?”

“I think Bukowski was trying to present how men will hide their inner thoughts and feelings, really their sensitivity in that aggression as an attempt at protection.” Jason spoke up, his voice boiling your blood as the rest of the class stayed in relative silence, as you turned around to look at him as he stared directly at you,

“I’m sorry, protection? What part about misogyny and blatant objectification of women as only being sexual objects that can be discarded and picked up when he pleases passes as protection? Women that are empty and uncharacterised to the extent the reader begins to agree with Chinaski that yes, women are less. Women are not important. And women don’t require compassion and consent, what part of any of this reminds you about goddamn male – “

“All right, I think that’s enough for today.” Gordon interrupted your heated rant with a sigh, which you share and quickly turn around close your eyes to try and avoid the weight of Jason’s stare as Gordon begins to dismiss the class.

“All right everyone, I hope you took something useful from that discussion, though I’m not sure if you would classify that as a discussion,” He added sarcastically, before continuing, “I expect you all to have brief outlines planned out for next week, and please try to work as collaboratively as you can with your partner to do so.”

The last part was directed at you and Jason – though neither of you payed proper attention – while the rest of the class let out small snickers.

“Right then, class dismissed, and uh, you two, could you both please stay behind for a minute.”

Fucking great. You thought to yourself, even though Gordon didn’t specify both you and Jason, his tired expression tells you otherwise and you start collecting your notes and pens into your bag in a silent fury and made your way to the front of the class, where Gordon was leaning against his oak desk, watching both of you stand in front of him – not casting a single glance towards the other as you waited for him to speak. He sighs,

“I don’t think you both understand how frustrating it is when your top students both have it out for each other and can’t hold a single civil discussion before arguing like little children,” He begins, becoming more wary as he continues, “Which is why I paired you up for this assignment and I fully expect you both to work together, and I hope I can expect that from you?”

He looked at both of you with an expectant look, and Jason only nodded curtly as a response, and you did the same but decided to chirp in,

“That’s great that you think we’ll be able to work together, sir, but on a totally unrelated note, how would my grade be impacted if my partner was suddenly mauled by a car over the weekend and was unable to complete the project with me?” You spoke, voice deadpanning, as your professor barely restrained in a smile while Jason looked at you with an empty expression.

“I would say that would be a fail as you missed the premises of ‘working with a partner’, as well as some serious legal consequences.” He replied, somehow maintaining a serious look as he spoke.

“That’s great to know sir.” You spoke, nodding along before he dismisses you both, leading you to quickly walk out of the classroom, breathing out a sigh of relief as you see Barbara leaning against the wall, busy on her phone, waiting for you to come out.

“What took you so long,” She asks as soon as she hears your sigh, pocketing her phone, and linking her arm with yours,

“I swear to God, one day, I might as well skin him – “

“Look, if I had known before that you could be so dramatic, I would’ve told you to choose drama as your major.”

“Ha. So funny. It’s just – fuck him.” You say the last part under your breath as you turned around to see nobody in the empty hallway.

“You two are really something else.” She states, making you roll your eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that you and Jason are really annoying. And petty.”

“Well, he’s the one that needs to contradict and compete against every single fucking thing I say, every single fucking time! It’s really fucking annoying,” Barbara only rolls her eyes in amusement. “And Gordon paired us up together for this project, and, God, I just can’t do anything with him without wanting to punch him in his stupid face.”

“I know, and that’s exactly why Gordon paired you both up, he really likes you both and he wants you both to stop having this weird rivalry between each other.”

“Wait. You knew?”

“Well yeah. I’m his daughter.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Because I like seeing you suffer.”

“You know, you’re a terrible friend.”

“Thank you,” She replies, with a small laugh, before she links her arm with yours again and whips out her phone to frantically shoot another text as she lets out a deep sigh. “Where is Steph? She took my car this morning and said she’d pick us up.”

“You let her drive your Bentley?” You ask, surprised she would give Stephanie one of her most prized possessions.

“Yeah, I know,” She spoke, absorbed in her phone, “But, she promised me that she would keep it safe, and we all know that I will kill her if something happens to it.”

“I do.” You reply, a small laugh escaping your lips before a blue Bentley pulled up in front of you both, causing Barbara to quickly pull open the door and shuffle inside, leaving you to chuckle to yourself before making your way to the back seat of the car, the blaring music making you wince as you enter the car but Babs quickly turns it off as both of you settle in.

“See! Your car is perfectly fine, just like I told you it would be!” Steph smugly announced, her blonde curls bouncing wildly as Barbara stared at her unimpressed, before both of them fall into their routine bickering as, this time, Babs begins to criticise her driving and apparent ‘mishandling of the most precious thing to me’, while you only roll your eyes at their antics before pulling out your phone to scroll through the messages you’ve missed throughout the day.

“Hey,” Steph’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts as you meet her eyes through the rear-view mirror, “What’s up with you today?”, her seemingly innocent question provokes a snicker from Babs – to which she receives a smack on the shoulder from you.

“What?” Steph inquires further.

“Nothing, why don’t you ask miss ‘I-fucking-hate-Jason-Todd’ here.”

“Fuck off, Barbara.” You grit out, glaring at her through the rear-view mirror.

“God, both you and Jason actually act like children,” Stephanie chimes in, “You’re both almost the same but you both compete against each other against every little thing – “.

“Are we done talking about Todd?” You retort, ignoring Steph’s comment, “I have better things to do than think about him.”

“Mhmm, sure.” Barbara winks at you and it takes a lot for you not to launch at her right there, in the car but Steph draws your attention away by babbling about some boy she met in her criminology class and the conversation in the car gradually fizzles out, until Steph asks,

“You guys heard about the party this weekend, right,” A matching ‘yes’ from you and Babs prompts her to continue, “Well, you’re going then, right?”

“I don’t know, but why’re you so pressed about it?” Bars questions, with a raised eyebrow.

“No reason, I’m just curious.”

“It’s Tim, isn’t it?” This time, you pipe in, and Steph almost yells,

“No. No, it’s not!”

“Oh my god. Of course it is.” Babs laugh echoes with yours as you eye Steph in the rear-view mirror, to see a blush dusting her cheeks as she quiets down.

“Whatever, are you coming or not.”

“After this conversation, yeah I am.”

“God. I hate you both.”

Standing in the corner of the party, nursing a red solo cup of something that burns your throat when you drink it, you regret not saying anything in the car against attending this party.

You’re currently standing alone, both Steph and Babs have completely disappeared into crowd, as Dick had shown up and quickly whisked her away as soon as you all entered the apartment, whereas Steph has promised to get you a drink about twenty minutes ago but never came back and as you try to block out the reverberating EDM music blasting through the room, you make your way towards the kitchen to re-fill your cup (the one that you went and got yourself), before something catches your attention in the peripheral vision.

It’s a wispy haired girl, her eyes smudged with mascara, backed against the wall of the kitchen – away from the main crowd, you could pick from her body language a sense of uncomfortability as she was drunkenly shaking her head at a man who towered in front of her, making you stop in your tracks to watch the scene unfold right in front of you, before quickly changing your course towards their direction, already knowing the identity of the man in front of the girl, without seeing his face.

“Hey, Cyrus, get the fuck away from her!”

As soon as you reach them, and the words leave your mouth, another raucous voice speaks at the same time as you.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Cyrus and the girl in front of him stop at their hushed conversation, to look away from each other and face you both while you also look at Jason – with a shocked expression – standing next to you and before you can say anything, Cyrus lets go of his hold on the girl before turning to glare at you.

“I don’t see how any of this is any of your business?”

You restrain yourself from physically hurling at him and fist your hands at your sides before looking at him with an unimpressed look.

“I don’t see how any of this is your business either, Beck? Thought daddy said that he’ll pull you out of school if he had to deal with your stupid behaviour again, or did you forget about it?”

“I swear to god – “

He tries to step closer to you but Jason steps in front of you before he can do anything else, and mutters,

“How about you fucking walk away before something worse happens?”

Beck shrugs of Jason’s hold on him before walking away and pointing a finger at you.

“You’re such a fucking bitch, you know that?”

“Should’ve said that to your daddy when he said I was best fucking person he’s ever met.”

He looks at you wildly and is about to retort before one of his friends pulls his attention to a game of beer-pong happening in another corner of the party and the whole scene stops for a second. You watch with a held breath as within a fraction of a second, a cocky smile overtakes his face and his shoulders relax as he runs his hands through his dark hair, leaving with his friend and you quickly turn around to see the girl, still standing there, her arms wrapped around her body and a shocked expression on her face.

It takes you a second, but you manage to gently coax her to the hallway outside the apartment and Jason (unbeknownst to you) follows in your footsteps.

“Do you want me to call you a cab, or can I drop you off?”

She shakes her head and is about to say something before Jason interjects,

“I can take her home.”

Both you and the girl turn around and stare at him and you quickly shake your head, diverting your gaze away from him,

“It’s fine Todd, I’ve got this.”

He sighs.

“Will you just let me help her?”

“Well, I’ve already told you that I’ve got this under control, so I don’t see why you’re being so – “

“Oh - uh, you don’t have to worry about me, I can uh – go home myself.”

“No. I – uh mean, let us take you home just to make sure that everything will be okay.”

A meek smile overtakes her face as you squeeze her hand lightly and you offer a half-smile in return.

“Us?” Jason’s voice perks up and you turn around,

“Well, I don’t have a car. If you want, I can come with you and drop her off at her place but – “

“Yeah, sure. Come on.”

His voice is clipped as he moves past you both, turning around the end of the hallway, leading you both to quickly follow him as well.

“Wait. I never asked you for your name.” You gently rest place your hand on her shoulder, making her stop and quietly giving her name,

“It’s Anna.”

...

By the time you’ve left Anna’s apartment complex, the small talk in the car dwindles down as you both sit, unnerved in the dimmed light of the car, the silence suffocatingly awkward. It doesn’t change until he pulls up to the curb, facing the entrance to your apartment building.

“Thanks.”

It’s quiet enough that you didn’t expect that he’d actually hear you. Let alone, grab your wrist before you leave, an incredulous expression on his shadowy face.

“Thanks? That’s it. You’re not going to say anything about what’s just happened?”

“Well, what the fuck do you want me to say.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well neither do I. Look. Thanks for dropping me off and Anna. That’s it. I don’t have anything else to say to you.”

He doesn’t say anything and let’s go of his hold on your wrist before you quickly slip out of the car, not realising the force at which you push, slams the door shut, making you internally wince. But in your peripheral vision, you can see he doesn’t look at you, with his face staring forward and grip tight on the wheel.

His car’s gone further and turned the corner before you’ve even made it to the entrance doors, and you breath in the cold October air, letting the wind whip across your bare skin, goosebumps rising while standing in a pathetically insulating satin dress, your thoughts pummeling through your mind without fully understanding them and you sigh again.

“What did you say to him after that?”

“Babs, I’m already – “

You stop midway through your hushed conversation with Barbara to see a disheveled Jason noisily weave his way through the shelves, towards the table at the back of the library you had occupied with Barbara.

“Sorry, I – “

“If you weren’t really going to care about this assignment, you should’ve said something before showing up thirty minutes late.” You deadpan, voice steely and brows furrowed.

“Will you fucking listen to me?” he breathlessly cuts you off from saying anything else as he drops his books on the table.

“I’ll head out now.” Barbara mutters to you, squeezing your arm and slinging her bag over her shoulder before quietly slipping out of sight. You rested your chin in your propped arm, waiting for Jason to continue,

“Well, what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t have an excuse. I was caught up in call with my father, it ended up being longer than I expected.”

You stare at him for a moment, his eyebrows also furrowed and hair sticking in all directions as he breathes heavily.

“Whatever, just complete the outline of notes I made for you.” You replied, pushing pieces of sticky notes and highlighted papers, that you had been picking at for the past half hour, towards his direction.

In about fifteen minutes, you’re both working in relative silence apart from the occasional remarks on the thesis and clarification on handwritings. There’s also been the perpetual looks on Jason’s part, and regardless of how much you try to block them, it itches at you to confront him about his irritating tendency.

“What Jason? What do you want now?”

His expression is firstly, taken aback, and then he coughs before asking,

“Did you ever talk to the girl after the party?”

You nod slowly, eyes still trained on the table, curving letters on colour-coded sticky notes before replying,

“Yeah, Stephanie’s their R.A, so I went and checked up on them the day after the party, she’s doing fine.”

You think that’s the end of his curiosity, but the pit of anxiety in your stomach and his next question, makes you internally want to bang your head against the alder wood table.

“And, uh, what about Beck?

Now, you stop writing with your pen and look up at him instead, resting your chin on your propped hand again, with a bored expression splayed on your face to try and detract from the internal anxiety, for both yourself and him.

“What about him?”

He doesn’t say anything at first and for a moment you think he might snap like he did in the car a few nights ago, but he only closes his eyes in frustration as you cock your head to one side.

“If you’re wondering if he’s going to face consequences for what he does – then no.”

There’s no verbal response except for a quizzical expression and you almost roll your eyes at him.

“I swear to God Jason, do you live under a fucking rock?”

“I just – look if you’re gonna be a bitch about it, then fucking leave it.”

“Maybe if you’d like to stop yelling in the goddamn library, I can fucking say something.” You almost hiss at him, voice seething as you both glare at each other.

“Anyways, you probably know that Beck’s the son of the headmaster, yeah, yeah, anyways, he’s always been a fucking creep around parties, but he’s never like you know, ever gotten that far.”

Jason raises an eyebrow at your hushed whispers.

“Like, he just trails around parties looking to either fight someone or just annoy them the fuck out but usually someone stops him before he can do something worse. But, still doesn’t mean that he isn’t a fucking asshole anyways – and his dad and him have like the worst fucking relationship ever, he’s threatened to pull him out a bunch of times of school because he’s so shit.”

You lower your voice even further at the last past, that you’re not sure if he can even hear you.

“How do you know all this?”

You shake your head and trail your eyes back to the unfinished notes in front of you.

“That’s unimportant. He’s a whiny trust-fund brat and I don’t know why someone hasn’t punched him yet.”

That silences Jason for a moment. And the moment doesn’t last long before your phone’s alarm blares through the silence of the library and you quickly move to silence it and Jason eyes question you but you don’t respond, instead move to disorderly throw all the pens and highlighters into your bag and grab as many papers you could in one go before quickly whispering,

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait – “

“Look. I promised I’d help a friend out with something. I’ll let you know when I’m free again.”

Jason doesn’t have a chance to say anything else before you’ve flitted through the haze of bookshelves out of view.

“What happened to the guy your dad set you up with?”

“Darian?”

Babs doesn’t look up from her place on the vanity table as she touches up her makeup while you’re sat on the table with a plastic fork prodding the edges of one of the Halloween themed chocolate cakes Babs attempted to bake for the party.

“Yeah, the one with the hair, right?”

“The hair?”

She casts a pointed look at you through the mirror, but you only take in another forkful of chocolate icing before answering,

“Yeah, he had like the most voluminous hair I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“Really? Well he had the most boring personality that I’ve ever fucking seen.”

She barely contains a smile at your comment while her own snarky comment elicits a snort from you but before you can say anything else, the frantic clicking of Stephanie’s (beloved) d’orsay heels against the linoleum floor followed by her quickly making her way into the dimly lit bedroom causes the room to fall into silence.

“You’re not ready yet?”

Her voice holds an accusatory tone and Babs quickly scoffs,

“I’m trying. But somebody keeps distracting me by asking unimportant questions.”

“Excuse me. I’m trying to be a good friend and keep up with my friend’s life.”

“Please. It sounds more like you want to know more about Darian.”

Before you can retort to her statement, Steph’s voice cuts in,

“Darian? Who’s that?”

“A guy I went on a date with a while ago.” Babs replies with a roll of her eyes, pulling out a scarlet lipstick tube from her make-up bag.

“ – That your dad set you up with.” You finish for her and Stephanie laughs.

“Since when is Professor Gordon a dating guru?”

“Since fucking never,” Babs replies, this time, twisting the cap of her lipstick. “It was just some guy in the forensic unit that he probably felt bad for being single and alone, but he shouldn’t have, ‘cause he didn’t have a fucking personality even if he tried.”

“Well that sucks. Anyways, are you both ready?” She pulls out her phone out of the bag she’d brought and starts typing.

“Or, you know, at least tried to be ready?” This time, she eyes you pointedly and you let out a noise of protest while stuffing another forkful of chocolate cake in your mouth.

“I’m sorry not all of us have devoted our whole fucking lives curating every Halloween costume known to man!”

This was something you’d noticed since you’d come back to Gotham and had been forced to attend Halloween parties – nearly everyone you’d encountered was practically obsessed with the celebration – and one of those people was Barbara. So much so, that every year she held a Halloween party and planned it more profusely than you’ve ever seen her do anything else. Her love also came with a heightened scrutiny for your enthusiasm – or lack thereof – for the holiday.

Which was why you were currently sat, dressed in a black boat neck dress with a flimsy witch hat resting on your head as you decimated one of Babs’ rejected Halloween cakes – yet the worst part was that it was currently early December (midterms being pushed back made it impossible to have it in October) and the last thing you’d wanted was to attend this party but Babs had personally threatened to drag you there to complete her and Steph’s wish of doing a group costume.

“It’s only you, you know.” Steph retorts, head cocking to one side and blonde curls hanging over her shoulder, “Now, let’s go, let’s go!”

About three hours later, you’ve found yourself nursing a cup of cheap bar (the number, you’re pretty sure that you’ve lost count of), eyeing a clique of literature students, who are currently in the midst of an argument while you stand in the corner of the room, trying to avoid them recognizing you out of their peripheral vision.

“What’re you doing?”

“What the – “ You quickly turn around to see a tall figure dressed in black staring down at you quizzically, and then you realize that it’s Jason Todd.

“Todd, what the fuck do you want.” You hiss – not at all in the mindset to have a conversation with him at the moment – while trying to remain quiet enough so that you don’t attract any unwanted attention.

“I should be asking you,” He taunts back. “You’re the one sulking around the party and hiding in places.”

You don’t try to reply to his response but offer another front of argument that throws all sensibility of your previous claim of not wanting to fight Jason out of the window.

“I don’t fucking understand, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to talk to you and you’re blocking everyone’s way.”

“Well, I’m not moving. So, they can find another way.”

“Are you fucking serious,” His voice raises. “You’re actually acting like a – “

“Shut up. Will you.” You hiss, pushing both of you further into the corner, so the bi-fold doors hide you better from the view of the group.

“What are you – “

“Morgan and his stupid friends keep trying to argue with me about some shit literature and won’t leave me alone.”

“Why?” There’s an edge to his voice which you pretend not to hear by avoiding his eyes.

“Beats me.”

He falters at the hostility of the comment – or lack thereof and you don’t say anything else but instead move to carefully peer pass the maple doors to scan for the group you’ve been avoiding amongst the mass of people in the room and as soon as you can’t see them you quickly move past Jason, to the to the cantilever staircase, without registering Jason’s footsteps trailing behind yours until you’ve reached the top and the overwhelming music and yelling from the party subdues a little and you let out a breath of relief before you see Jason also reaching the top of the stairs.

“Are you fucking following me?”

“No. Barbara and Stephanie were looking around for you and I was helping them.”

That lessens your anger a little and then confusion settles.

“Why?”

“I wanted to apologise to you.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in and find yourself a little speechless.

“I – I meant why were they were looking for me but go on.”

“Oh,” You think you see his cheeks tint pink a little but with the dim lighting dancing shadows on his face, you’re not sure. “Well, I wanted to say sorry about the last class we had with Gordon.”

He takes a pause to slightly mess with his hair by running a hand through it.

“You were right about Bukowski – I – I don’t know why I said all of that shit.”

Looking back at this moment, you think it’s not your brightest because somehow his rather heartfelt confession falls almost deaf on your ears and somehow the narrative in your mind shifts to something else entirely.

“Is this some sort of joke, Todd?”

“What?”

“Did Morgan put you up to this shit? I know you and I don’t get along but siding with him is real fucking low, you know?”

“I – “

“I can’t fucking believe that you’re listening to all their bullshit and agreeing with them. It’s so – “

“No. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He cuts you off and his voice raises considerably. “I’m trying to fucking apologize to you and all your doing is being a bitch again.”

That silences you, but he continues.

“You know, I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything to understand what I did to fuck up with you, I’ve asked Barbara and Stephanie and – just, fuck, why did I listen to Dick?”

He mutters the last part, but you catch it anyway but still no response forms in your head at all, instead new questions pop-up as Jason runs another frantic hand through his ruined hair before quickly thundering down the stairs, leaving you…

You’re not quite sure what you’re feeling but cold is one of them as you pull the pathetic lace sleeves down your arm to try and warm yourself but nothing happens and maybe you feel your eyes too heavy to keep open as tears brim at the corners.

“Hey – are you okay?”

Babs’ voice causes your head to snap upwards as you watch her quickly scaling the stairs, eyebrows furrowed together, and you offer no response until she reaches the top and extends her arms to pull you into a hug.

“You were right. Halloween really isn’t your holiday.”

“Could you please stay behind for a moment?”

Gordon asks of you as you’re heading out of the hall, and the pit of anxiety resting in your stomach throughout the class, blooms further as you wait on the side until all the hall empties and its just you and Gordon.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, until he finally sighs and looks at you with a hard expression – one you’re all too familiar with from when you were little –

“Concerning Jason,”

You nod. Since your argument two days ago, you haven’t seen him, and the guilt seeped in farther when his spot well behind you remained empty the entire lesson.

“He’s pulled from your partnership.”

“W-what?”

“He came to talk to me, saying that he can’t continue to work with you anymore on any further projects, and the last one I paired you up on should definitively be the last.”

“Sir, I – “

“Look, I don’t like to meddle in the private lives of my students, but this situation is too tiring for me not to say that whatever problem you and Jason have; fix it. I always find both your work fascinating and that goes for the assignment you both submitted before and I simply cannot allow your own vanities to cloud judgment over the fact that you and Jason are paragons at literature and in my books, are too quick-witted to allow this talent to be lost amongst petty arguments.”

“I know, I – “

“So, I hope you’ll resolve this issue before next week’s lesson?”

“I – yes. Yes, I will.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

“Can I come in?”

The situation that you’re currently in rolls over you in waves of guilt and anxiety as you stand in front of Jason, in a beige coloured hallway as he idly stands with the apartment door halfway open, hesitant at your words or more so at how you’re standing in front of his apartment with worn boots and a heaving chest. You’d finally taken heed of the advice offered from Gordon, Steph and Babs and even consulted Dick and mulled it over with your own guilt before trekking all the way to his apartment.

“Sure,” His voice sounds removed – apathetic enough that you have to refrain from wincing, as he opens the door further to let you in. “Are you okay?”

You don’t hear him as your boots echo against the hardwood floor as you enter the apartment building and the sudden realization that this is the first time you’ve seen his apartment settles in as you eye the dimly lit space, with books scattered on the coffee – most of them are torn, something you’ve always found a little endearing, though you won’t admit it. The room is an oddly home-y mixture of warm beige's and deep browns that you would’ve kept staring at if he hadn’t called out your name again.

“What?”

“I asked, are you okay? You’re red in the face and panting.”

“Oh, oh, yeah, I walked all the way here and the elevator was out of service, so I used the stairs.”

“Why did you walk, nearly twenty blocks?” He furrows his brows and you let out of a puff of annoyance.

“I – listen, I don’t want to argue with you,” You take a step closer and calm yourself before starting. “You – you were right, I was being a complete and total bitch to you without reason at that party and before that. It’s just – “

You stop, and release a chuckle before awkwardly asking, “I’m gonna need a drink to get through this, do you have any?”

Nearly fifteen minutes later, not as drunk as you need to be, but enough that it gives you courage to finally stop beating around the bush and talk to him so you move to see him also standing facing the open windows to the evening sky, the sun setting against the horizon as dusk settles and you motion for him to sit on the floor as you are and he slowly complies.

“Look, I know I’ve been hostile towards you since – “

“Why?” He interrupts, not looking at you and you sputter a little. “Why have you been so hostile to me.”

“Well, you should know, none of it was your fault – well, not directly.” You sigh.

“College was my chance to start over. You don’t need to know all of the other shit, but I just thought that this whole experience would make everything okay and I wouldn’t need to fight for every single thing in my life just to end up being sub-par. And, it was going great.” You slightly chuckle to try not to choke on your words.

“That was, until you came along with your prodigal capabilities in literature and it felt like everything was falling apart again. Because somehow, suddenly, I wasn’t Gordon’s favourite anymore and I wasn’t at the top of the class – and somehow, I wasn’t enough.” Your voice is a little more choked now as you kept looking forward, even though Jason had started watching you now.

“It just was like my entire belief system just got turned upside down.” You release a breath and let the silence settle after your words.

“Fuck, I just unloaded a crap-ton of shit onto you, and you probably don’t understand any of it. I mean, I’m drunk so I don’t understand either.” You laugh and try not to cry, even though you’re pretty sure you will.

“No, I think I understand sort of, too,” He replies, voice softer than you expected and you’re more surprised to see a small smile gracing his lips. “You’re not completely wrong about the whole belief system thing there, you know, Gordon’s classes meant the same thing to me too and I just wanted to enjoy something without having to fight my way for it but boy, did you make that hard.”

A breathy chuckle escapes you as he stops talking and you both sit in the silence until he pipes up again,

“If we’re trying to mend this whole thing then maybe you should want this back too,” His voice is cryptic as you furrow your brows in confusion and stare at him with a lost expression as he stands up to walk away and disappear into the hallway, out of your sight before quickly returning with something clasped in his hand while you raise an eyebrow at him.

“You dropped this in my car when we were heading back from the party with that whole thing with Anna. Dick found it the next morning and had a whole field day about it.”

In his palm, rests a single earring piece shaped like an olive branch which you thought you’d lost in the chaos of the party and you almost laugh.

“You know, I’m gonna pretend this isn’t too creepy and thank you for giving it back.”

“I was trying to give it back to you but you never wanted to have a single conversation with me so,” You roll your eyes before picking up the earring and hooking it back through your ear even though you didn’t have the other one on.

“Right, I get it, I suck.”

That causes him to laugh as he settles back down again next to you and he doesn’t look at you before saying,

“No, you’re not as annoying as I originally thought.”

You echo a ‘hey’ and lightly punch him and the silence envelopes you both – softly, and there’s a moment of peace you think you’ve both settled in and it feels nice.

le fin

(pt.2 will come)

#dc #dc fanfic #Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #batfam #batman imagines #jason todd imagines #red hood imagines #dc fic #dick grayson imagine #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #fanfic #my fanfic #bruce wayne #jason todd x you #red hood x y/n

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