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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 2 days

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2: UNWELCOME DISTANCE

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Dinner with Bucky didn't go as well as you planned and now you're suffering from the outcome of being ditched in an autumn thunderstorm.

Word count: 3.2k

Warning: feelings of betrayal, shitty communications skills, illness (upper respiratory tract infection) description, Coney Island and cotton candy, jealousy, Bucky... Barnes is a warning

The following morning, you woke up feeling a little worse for wear. You buried your face in your pillow willing the tickle in your throat and at the back of your nose to disappear. A small groan left your lips as your attempt to sleep in was thwarted by the aching throughout your body. Sitting up did little to make you feel better, other than shifting the balance of mucus in your sinuses, making you sneeze and worsening the scratchiness of your throat. You looked up at the clock, you’d missed the breakfast time that you were expected to attend, but there weren’t any messages on your phone expressing concern from your friends.

A throb of self pity and doubt flashed through your mind. Did any of them even care? You had lost Bucky to another woman, but clearly none of your other friends had noticed your absence. You weren’t special, you’d only been invited to join the Avengers Initiative because of your powers. The thoughts were just forming, your mind ready to spiral into a storm of insecurity, when there was a knock at your door. Each movement felt like wading through molasses, and even sitting up seemed like an insurmountable task.

"Cricket?" Steve’s voice permeated into the room.

"Coming!" At least that was what you tried to say, your voice coming out as a small croak. You padded over to the door barefoot and opened the door to find Steve’s kind face looking down at you.

His concern was etched across his features as he took in your disheveled appearance. Dark circles clung to your eyes, and your skin had lost its usual healthy hue.

"Hey there, sunshine," he greeted, his voice gentle. "How’re you feeling?"

There was only one word that would succinctly sum up your emotional and physical state in that moment. "Shit," you mumbled, sniffing at the fluid that was threatening to leak from your nose.

He reached out, his hand cool against your feverish skin. His touch was comforting, grounding you in the midst of your misery. "You definitely have a fever," he confirmed.

As if to affirm his observation, your body pitched forwards in a violent sneeze, which you barely had the time to catch with the inside of your elbow. You ended the outburst with a pained groan, as the back of your throat burned.

Steve’s concern deepened. "You need rest," he said firmly, steering you back into bed. "I’ll make you some tea."

You followed his instructions without protest, not having the energy to argue. It would be best for you to stay in bed, you’d get better quicker with rest, and it was a great excuse to avoid seeing your best friend and his girlfriend. The practical side of you would use the excuse that you didn’t want to expose anyone to your germs. At least Steve would be protected by the serum, so you didn’t need to worry about him hanging around. So with a clear conscience, you snuggled back under your covers to wait for Steve’s return.

As he disappeared towards the kitchen, you sank back into your pillows. Maybe losing Bucky wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe having a friend like Steve was enough—a warm presence in the midst of your feverish chaos. And as the wind whistled outside, you realized that sometimes, friendship was the best medicine of all.

Little did you know that on his way to the kitchen, Steve ran into Bucky as he was leaving your room.

"Steve?" Bucky called after his friend.

"Hey, Buck."

"What’re you doing?" The real question he wanted to ask was ‘why are you leaving Cricket’s room?’.

"Just grabbing some things for Cricket. She isn’t feeling very well."

"What?" Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. "She was fine yesterday!"

"Well if you hadn’t left her alone to get drenched in that storm, she probably wouldn’t be so miserable." Steve hadn’t meant to be so harsh with his words, but you had interrupted his beauty sleep the previous night and he was feeling rather disgruntled.

"What’re you trying to say, Steve?

"You shouldn’t have left it so long to tell her." Steve was referring to Priya and how long he'd kept his relationship with her private.

"That’s my decision, Steve." Bucky countered, defensively.

"I know. But maybe you should think about why you were so ready to tell me, but not Cricket."

Bucky clicked his tongue against the roof of mouth, dismissing Steve's comments. "I'm gonna go and see her."

Steve thought about objecting, but decided against it, opting to fetch the things he had promised you.

Bucky’s footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway, each one a heavy reminder of his own recklessness. The storm had raged outside, rain pelting against the window panes like a thousand tiny fists. But he hadn’t been there to shield you from it. Instead, he’d left you alone, vulnerable, and now guilt gnawed at him like a persistent rat.

Your room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn shut against the gray morning. Bucky hesitated at the threshold, his knuckles grazing the wooden doorframe. He’d never been good with words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But he had to try.

"Cricket?" His voice was soft, almost tentative. He stepped inside, the floorboards creaking under his weight. There you were, cocooned in blankets, your face pale against the pillows. The storm had taken its toll on you, and he cursed himself for not being there.

You stirred, eyelashes fluttering open. "Bucky?" Your voice was a whisper, fragile like a spider’s silk. "What’re you doing here?"

He crossed the room in two strides, perching on the edge of your bed. "I… I heard you weren’t feeling well." His fingers brushed against your forehead, checking for fever. "Steve told me."

You managed a weak smile. "Steve’s a tattletale."

"He cares about you," Bucky said gruffly. "We both do."

"I feel bad for dragging him out of bed last night."

"Cricket, why didn't you tell me you didn't have any way to get back home. I would have brought a car instead of my bike."

You shrugged, “I didn’t think I had to.”

He had been so caught up in his plans to introduce you to Priya that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might need a ride home. He had assumed you would find your own way, and he was just starting to realize how selfish that had been. He should have been more attentive, more caring. He laid a hand on your arm, “I’m sorry, Cricket. I should have been more thoughtful. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Cricket, please, let me make it up to you. I was looking for you this morning. I made your favorite pancakes," Bucky continued. "Thought you could come and have breakfast with me and Priya, before I take her home."

"Sorry," you shrugged, hating this conversation more and more. Why was Steve taking so long to return?

"I was going to spend the day with her, but if you want, I can come back and we can watch some movies."

"Don't cancel your plans on my account." You rolled over, facing away from Bucky.

Your behavior stung, but he couldn't blame you for being angry. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "For leaving you out there."

"See you later," you mumbled and Bucky knew he had been dismissed.

Bucky couldn't shake the guilt that weighed heavily on his chest as he walked away. He had always been a good friend, someone who looked out for others and made sure they were taken care of. But in his excitement to introduce you to Priya, he had neglected to consider your needs.

As he walked away, Bucky couldn't stop replaying the conversation in his head. He had let you down, and he wanted to make things right.

Steve appeared a few moments after his departure, his arms laden with homely remedies and a bowl of soup which smelled incredible. Your stomach rumbled hungrily in response, making you blush.

"Here, take this first," Steve shoved a bottle of DayQuil under your nose.

Begrudgingly, you accepted the painkiller gratefully and then proceeded to slurp up the soup. "This is delicious," you hummed in approval.

"Hey, when you're feeling a bit better, I was thinking I could take you out somewhere… cheer you up a little." Steve stuttered towards the end as he saw surprise on your face.

You swallowed your mouthful of soup before cracking a smile. “Steve, I'd like that.”

Steve smiled back at you. But suddenly, he reached out, grabbing the bowI in your hands, having noticed the slight hitch in your breath. A sneeze rocked your body forcefully and you groaned.

“Thanks,” you accepted the bowl back from Steve.

"No problem. Don't want to make a mess."

“No,” you sighed, finishing the soup in a sad silence.

“Want me to stay?”

“No, it's okay. I'm just going to go back to sleep.”

Steve took the empty dishes and kissed your forehead, glad that it didn't feel as warm as it had earlier. “Feel better, champ.”

You sure hoped you would.

A few days later, you were back in fighting form. But much to Bucky's chagrin, he could never seem to catch your attention for more than a passing nod or wave. He wanted to make things right with you. He missed you, he wasn’t used to being so close to you but not being able to talk to you properly. He had the sneaking suspicion that your distance might not just be ill-timed schedules. Were you avoiding him? He wondered if you were still angry at him for not giving you a ride back home after your dinner with Priya. A feeling of melancholy settled over him as he speculated on all the things he could have done that made you take a step away from him. Every reason under the sun spiraled through Bucky’s mind except the real reason for your withdrawal.

Bucky had hoped that meeting someone else, someone who was interested in him would help him push away the feelings he had for you. Closure. That’s what they called it in the movies these days. But this didn’t seem like it was going quite the way he had anticipated. In fact, rather than feeling happier, he felt more tortured than he had before. Maybe going out with Priya would take his mind off things, so he decided to give her a call and schedule a date, she had a way of soothing his turbulent thoughts. Not as well as you did, no one understood him quite like you did.

Steve was true to his word, and had whipped up a surprise plan for the two of you to spend the day together. He had chosen a Wednesday, explaining that it was a good time as the place would be less busy. He made sure you had dressed warmly, in spite of the sunny weather.

"Don’t want you getting ill again," he smiled as you got into the car with him.

"Is that why we’re not taking the bike?"

Steve shook his head, knowing how much you loved riding motorcycles.

"So where are you taking me?" you asked. You’d been trying to get Steve to tell you for the last few days, but the tight lipped Captain had resisted all your wily techniques at information extraction.

"Coney Island."

"Ohh!" you exclaimed. "I haven’t been there for years!" You laughed before a thought popped into your head, a memory. "Are you sure you want to go there, Steve?"

"Why wouldn’t I want to go to Coney Island?"

"Well, I heard about… the… Cyclone Incident."

Steve blushed. "Bucky telling everyone that story, huh?"

"Afraid so." Your smile was soured slightly by the shadow casted by Bucky’s name and you turned to stare out of the window, letting Steve drive in silence.

Steve shook his head. He wanted nothing more than for both his best friends to be happy, and for the two of you to be happy together was the ultimate goal. He hoped that one day both of you would come to your senses, but until then, he would do his best to support you both.

The weather turned out to be fine and you had shed your top layer before even leaving the car.

"Oh come on! Stop being such a dad! We can always come back to the car if it gets chilly!" you responded to Steve’s disapproval.

"Come on then!"

It was a beautiful day filled with laughter and joy between you and Steve. He was glued to your side, treating you to all the rides, indulging you when you wanted to ride the Cyclone repeatedly. Every time you got to the end of the ride, you’d turn to him and make sure he wouldn’t spill his guts. Steve rolled his eyes dramatically as you laughed hysterically.

"What next?" Steve asked. "And don’t tell me we’re doing that again."

"Come on, the girl letting people in definitely has a crush on you! Why do you think we got on for free the last two times?"

Steve grabbed your wrist, "Come on!" He led you away from the rides, over to a cotton candy kiosk, dropping a few notes into the vendor's hand and selecting two cones. You took the liberty of grabbing the blue one from his hand and tucking into it before he had the chance to object.

"Bet I can eat this faster than you can!" Steve suggested slyly.

"Oh, bring it, Rogers!" You tore the stick out of the candy cloud and scrunched it up into a tiny ball, sticking it in your mouth and letting the sugar dissolve on its own.

Steve, who had taken several large bites, looked up in confusion and awe. He eyed your empty hands, then put his finger on your bottom lip, pushing it down and peering into your mouth.

You indulged his disbelief, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. "See, all gone! I win!" you smile with glee.

"Wow!"

"You forget, I was the youngest of five! I had to learn to eat fast or I’d lose out."

Steve chortled quietly at your story. "Fine, what do you want as your prize?" He waved around at all the game stalls, letting you pick your prize.

You gazed around, contemplating your options when you spotted a giant stuffed wolf. "That one!"

Steve was true to his word and threw every bean bag with perfect aim and you pointed at a white plushie which looked a little different to the others.

"Why don’t you take this one?" the vendor tried to shove a dark gray wolf into your arms, but you declined.

"No thank you, I’d like that one please." You selected one which had been stuffed on a high shelf, away from the others of its kind.

"Honey, this one’s going in the garbage, look at him, white body with one gray leg. It’s a defective product, they made a mistake in the factory. Happens from time to time."

But you were adamant, you wanted the white wolf with the transplanted leg.

"Whatever you want, miss." The vendor handed you the soft toy, which you hugged to your chest. There was something about him that you wanted to keep safe.

Unbeknownst to you, you had been spotted by someone unexpected. Bucky had had a similar thought to Steve, he had brought Priya to the ‘island’ on a quiet weekday for some harmless fun.

"Jamie, look!" Priya tugged at his sleeve. "Isn't that Cricket and Steve?"

Bucky's head whipped around so fast, he almost had empathy for whiplash sufferers. He frowned, eye searching the crowd in the direction of Priya’s outstretched hand. He couldn't believe that you would come here with Steve. He had often suggested a trip to Coney Island to you, but you'd never managed to make the time for it. So seeing you here with Steve made his insides burn with jealousy. Another part of him, his guilt-ridden conscience told him that he didn't deserve you. Naturally, you'd choose the classical hero, Steve. He was the golden boy, even when they'd been kids, Steve was the trouble maker, but somehow Bucky was the one his parents mistrusted.

"Yeah," he grumbled.

"Let's go over and say hi!"

"I'm sure they don't want us to interrupt them." Bucky vetoed the suggestion with a sulky expression.

"Fair, I mean I wouldn't want anyone interrupting our date either." Priya smiled, taking Bucky's hand, leading him away. Bucky stole one last glance at his two best friends, a deep ache settling inside him as Priya dragged him away from you.

Over the next week, you and Bucky drifted through the compound, both longing for the other but not quite able to find it within yourselves to seek the other out. For you, it was a simple matter of avoidance. You'd made the mistake of touching the flame and now you suffered the burn. But for Bucky it was different. He couldn't understand your absence and he knew nothing of your pain.

He could feel the frustration building up inside him, until one day he caught you returning to your room. And every one of his thoughts and accusations came pouring out.

"What is it? Why’re you upset with me?" Bucky demanded.

"I’m not upset… it’s not- I’m hurt. You hurt me. It’s not that you did something wrong. In fact you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just that I thought you’d share something big, like dating, with me. But you kept it secret. For four months! I thought we told each other everything. I … I just expected-" you shrugged. "And that’s the problem here. My expectations were wrong, and I’m ashamed. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You have nothing to apologize for. But somehow I feel like I’m going to lose you."

"You’ll never lose me, Cricket."

"But Buck, I already have. Like she said… she’s your best friend now." Bucky opened his mouth to interrupt, but you put your hand out to stop him talking. "I just need some time to deal with that. Is that okay?"

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," he mumbled. The sincerity evident in his tone and face.

"I know, Buck," you sighed. "I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. Please, I want you to be happy. I’m happy for you."

"Please, let me make this up to you." Bucky grabbed your wrist, desperately.

"You can do that by making sure you take care of yourself. I’m always going to be with you, on missions and stuff, partner," you patted his upper arm. "I just think that our friendship’s going to change a little… and I just need some time to get used to that."

"Is this because of Steve?"

"Steve?" you repeated after him, feeling confused by the change in topic. "What does Steve have to do with this?"

"Are you together?"

"What? No! Bucky, why would you think that?"

"I just…" He shrugged, not quite able to bring up seeing you at Coney Island, or the moment of closeness you had had with Steve the night he had introduced you to Priya.

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mononijikayu · 18 hours

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night we met — ryomen sukuna.

Feeling the gravity of this moment, he tightened his grip on your hand. You looked down at him and smiled—a gesture that sealed his newfound faith in this bond. At that moment, Ryomen Sukuna felt as though he had been reborn. No longer just a boy lost in the festival's chaos, but a person with a role, a duty, and a place in the world. His life, from that moment forward, was to be lived for you, in devotion to the path you would guide him on. You had become his guardian, his mentor—his goddess—and he, in turn, devoted himself to be your loyal follower.

GENRE: Heian Era to Cursed Womb Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

listen: the night we met by lord huron

note: i finally got a break after two exams. i still have one more. but i wanted to pop in and give this to you before i disappear into my books again. i hope you enjoy this little thing~ i love you~

FATHER THOUGHT THAT THERE WOULD BE MORE NEED FOR RETAINERS TO COME WITH THEM. As they navigated the bustling streets of the city, Ryomen Hiromi couldn't shake off a palpable sense of tension, despite the festive atmosphere. The warm glow of lanterns illuminated the cobblestone paths, and the air was filled with lively chatter and laughter. Yet, an underlying unease lingered—perhaps a whisper from the gods, you mused, familiar with the capricious nature of the divine. Your lips tightened into a straight line, your hand unconsciously drifting to the hilt of your sword. Beneath the surface festivity, an undercurrent of anxiety was palpable.

This might explain why your father had insisted on bringing as many men as possible. The Ryomen family was never short of loyal retainers, and Masaomi had been eager to accompany you. Your father's protective instincts weighed heavily on you, his warnings echoing in your mind. As the sole remaining heir of your distinguished family, his concerns were magnified by the elders’ incessant uproar. Though you understood the necessity of your high profile, it sometimes felt stifling.

As you continued through the lively streets, the festival's atmosphere was electrifying. Lanterns hung from every post, casting dancing lights over the faces of the revelers, each absorbed in their own joyous celebration. The air was thick with the scents of street food and a cacophony of laughter and music, creating a chaotic symphony. Yet, despite the jovial chaos, a tug of unease pulled at your consciousness.

You maintained an even pace and a neutral expression, blending seamlessly into the crowd. The presence of your uncle Hiramu was reassuring; his experienced hand rested nonchalantly on his sword, his eyes scanning the crowd with practiced vigilance. His readiness to protect offered comfort and a reminder of the ever-present potential for danger.

Ryomen Hiromi experienced the weight of the festival differently. While others were drawn into the spirit of celebration, your senses were heightened, alert to any discord. The subtle narrowing of your eyes and the stiffness in your shoulders might go unnoticed by an ordinary onlooker, but they were clear indicators of your tension. The flickering shadows cast by the lantern lights seemed to hide potential threats, and every burst of laughter could be masking whispered conspiracies.

You knew you couldn't afford to let down your guard, not when the stakes were so high. This mission was critical, especially to you, marking a step towards your heir’s role, and the weight of this responsibility was heavy on your shoulders. The festival, with its mask of tradition and celebration, might well be a veneer for more sinister undertones.

Navigating through this sea of faces, your gaze occasionally met those of strangers, your deep hazel eyes searching for any hint of recognition or malice. Being with your uncle Hiramu brought some peace, tempering the anxiety that gnawed at your heart, but the persistent unease remained. Something was amiss, and you could not yet pinpoint it. Your instincts screamed for attention, urging vigilance as the night promised to stretch long.

Reports of strange occurrences and unexplained events had been increasing, stirring unrest among the populace and reaching the ears of Lord Isamu. Typically, such critical missions would fall to your elder brother, Akimu, the designated heir tasked with maintaining the safety and stability of Hida's heartland in your father's stead. But now, with Akimu unable to lead, the weight of responsibility had shifted onto your capable yet burdened shoulders.

Each step felt heavy under the scrutinizing gaze of the moon, illuminating the bustling night with a mocking smile. You took a moment to gather your scattered thoughts, steadying the swirling emotions within. As you lifted your gaze, your eyes began to sharpen, honing in on the play of shadows cast by the lantern light, looking beyond the immediate spectacle to the hidden corners and fleeting movements that might betray underlying threats.

This mission was about more than following in Akimu's footsteps; it was about proving that Ryomen Hiromi could stand firm on uneven, unfamiliar ground. You were determined to command respect, to show that despite your gender, you were every bit the Ryomen heir as any man could be.

As you moved away from the main festivities into quieter, dimly lit parts of the town, Uncle Hiramu finally spoke, his voice low and serious, “Little niece, do you sense it too? There’s a heaviness in the air tonight. It must be what your father was speaking of.”

You nodded, your sharp gaze scanning the shadows. “Yes, I feel it. It's as if the air itself is thick with whispers of the past. There’s a disturbance, not just a vengeful spirit, I think. Something older, deeper.”

Hiramu’s eyes narrowed as he looked ahead. “We should be cautious. These kinds of spirits are often bound to old grudges or unresolved tragedies. The festival’s energy could stir it more than usual.”

You turned into a less crowded alley, where the noise of the festival faded into a distant hum. Your elegant robes brushed against the cobblestones, your attire blending traditional beauty with practicality. The layered silk of your fine kimono was dyed in deep blues and purples, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light, mimicking the night sky. Your obi was tightly cinched, supporting the small dagger hidden within—a necessity for any noble venturing into uncertain situations.

Your father insisted that you dress appropriately. It was outlandish, you supposed. The choices were far too simple for taste, unsuitable for any young beauty of such noble stock. But this was as comfortable as it was safe. Pretense of trade being your desire here in these parts, was much easier than to be quite obvious. Anything more than this would have attracted as much attention as retainers.

“Do you think it’s tied to a particular location or event?” you asked, your voice steady despite the creeping chill that seemed to cling to the edges of the night air. “It’s getting me curious…”

“It could be,” Hiramu replied, his hand never straying far from his sword. “These spiteful little cursed spirits often attach themselves to physical locations where significant emotional events occurred. We’ll need to explore the some sites around here—old battlefields, abandoned shrines, places of great loss or betrayal. Someone is deeply angry, little niece."

Your mind raced, piecing together knowledge with the clues of your current environment. “There’s an old well not far from here, sealed up after a great tragedy struck a hundred years ago during a similar festival. A fire had broken out, and many lives were lost. It was said that the well was cursed thereafter.”

Hiramu’s gaze sharpened, his lips just as sharp when he smiled. “That’s a good place to start. Lead the way, little niece.”

IT HAD TAKEN SOME TIME TO FIND THE CURSED SPIRIT. As the moon ascended, bathing the lively festival in its serene, silver luminescence, you and Uncle Hiramu pressed on with your diligent investigation. The festive air, alive with the thrum of activity and the laughter of revelers, contrasted sharply with your growing tension. Underneath the celestial glow, the reality of your mission slowly began to crystallize, taking on a new urgency as unexpected developments unfolded. It had begun with something ever so simple and from there, unpredictable fate intervened and soon enough, the chaos ensued.

The moment of realization struck you with unsettling suddenness. You patted down the side. There was nothing but panic as you looked to the side of the obi and found nothing. One look was enough to confirm that eager suspicion: the coin purse was missing. You looked up towards Uncle Hiramu. You knew that he was trying not to laugh, but his eyes were too obvious. You smacked your uncle which prompted the laugh to bellow from his belly. All you could do was mope in the silence. You supposed that it was alright. Money was not a big deal. But… your eyes widened.

Without hesitating, your eyes swept across the sea of faces swirling around you. The atmosphere was charged with the festival’s energy, yet your focus was razor-sharp. It was then that you had spotted a distinct splash of color that stood out against the earthy tones of the crowd—a young boy with striking pink hair, weaving through the crowd with the agility and desperation of someone fleeing. You looked at Hiramu, and he nodded back at you.

It was then where your instincts kicked in. You tapped your uncle's arm and started mouthing instructions as subtly as one could towards the fleeing figure. Without needing further explanation, Hiramu caught the urgency and nodded. Hiramu took the other direction as you turned to the other.

As you navigated through the dense crowd, the distance between you and the boy closed gradually, you were certain of it. You could sense Hiramu’s cursed energy with each step below against the wide battered ground. You were certain that you were ever so close to bringing a close to the night. But first, you must unravel the night's mysteries. That boy was the key.

Ryomen Hiramu wasted no time as he dashed from stall to stall, street to street. He could feel it, he could feel it too well. That overwhelming power. His seasoned body kicked into high gear, and he swiftly maneuvered through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the pink-haired boy darting through the festival, speeding through the brunt of human bodies. Hiramu cursed under his breath. The child was too clever. With each step, Hiramu's determination as he ran through a corridor of small houses clamped together—one of the poorest sects of life in the quaint area.

As he closed the gap between them, Hiramu noticed an unusual, dark shimmer around the boy—an ominous aura that seemed almost palpable in the moonlit night. This was no mere act of theft; it was clear there was something far more sinister at play. The aura surrounding the boy twisted and writhed like a living thing, a visual manifestation of deep-seated emotional turmoil. It became apparent that this child was not acting alone; he was bound to a cursed spirit, a malevolent force likely fueled by intense feelings of anger, fear, and loneliness.

The realization struck Hiramu with a harsh chill. The spirit's presence suggested that the boy's actions were not entirely his own, that he was under the influence of these dark energies that fed on negative emotions. Such spirits were known to attach themselves to vulnerable souls, magnifying their darkest thoughts and driving them to act in ways they might not otherwise, turning their inner turmoil into outward chaos. Just as he drew his sword, you turned from the corner. Ryomen Hiromi threw that heavy bound haori away, looking at Hiramu.

“Shibaru One! Binding Fate!” you exclaimed, your voice clear and commanding as streaks of luminous energy surged towards the boy. He let out a sharp cry, writhing against the ethereal chains that now ensnared him under your control.

“Be careful!” Hiramu cautioned, moving closer to assist. “He's the source, he's entwined with that cursed spirit!”

You nodded, your focus undeterred by the boy's struggles as you tightened your grip on the energy that bound him. The spectral chains glowed brighter, each pulse of light strengthening the hold over the chaotic spirit within him. Your uncle's warning echoed in your mind, reinforcing your burning resolve to act with both precision and caution.

The boy’s eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and confusion, met yours. You could see the turmoil swirling within him, the innocent caught in the grip of something far beyond his control. “Hold on, just a little longer,” you murmured, your voice a blend of firmness and reassurance intended to pierce through the haze of his panic. A faint smile blossomed from your lips. “Trust me, okay?”

Hiramu understood the gravity of the situation—they were dealing with a phenomenon that was both a danger to the boy and to all those attending the festival. The cursed spirit needed to be dealt with delicately and decisively, for the safety of the boy and the peace of the community. There were too many people here that would not understand what was going on.

There was no need to make a bigger ruckus. With this understanding, Ryomen Hiramu pressed on, his resolve hardened, knowing that he and you must act swiftly to intervene and dispel the darkness that had taken hold of the young boy.

As Hiramu closed in, the cursed spirit sensed the threat and began to lash out, manifesting as tendrils of dark energy. You, realizing the severity of the situation, knew immediate action was required. "Start the purification ritual!" Hiramu shouted over his shoulder as he dodged a swipe from the spirit. "I'll hold it off! Just go and do your job!”

You crossed the tips of your fingers, your eyes narrowing deeper into the soul of the boy. You began to chant softly, the words of an ancient purification rite falling rhythmically from your lips. The boy looked frightened by all means, as the white light did what it could, purging one dark fabric from the boy one after the other.

The air around you seemed to hum with power as your words wove through the currents of energy emanating from your firm hands. The glowing chains tightened further, and the dark aura around the boy began to dissipate, sucked away into the void created by your spell. But as with all things, it tried to keep alive.

Meanwhile, Hiramu engaged the spirit, his sword movements precise, each strike intended not to harm the boy but to distract the spirit and weaken its hold. The sound of the boy’s screams pierced through over and over again, the cursed spirit overlaying against each agonizing echo. He could see the ritual's glow intensifying, the light beginning to engulf the boy, binding and suppressing the dark energy around him.

With a final, desperate cry, the cursed spirit dissipated, expelled in one painful grip. All of a sudden, your white cursed energy also disappeared. You gasped out loud as your shaking knees fell to the ground, weary from it all. It was the first time you had used that purification technique. But it seemed that it had finally worked. You looked at the empty depth of your palm.

As the ritual reached its climax, your voice rose in a powerful cadence, your tender hands outstretched towards the boy, directing the flow of purified energy. The cursed spirit writhed and howled and fought over and over, its form becoming unstable under the ritual’s influence. Sweat permeated through your sleeves, your teeth gritted, your eyes narrowed, over and over the ringing of each of your ears continued as the boy continued to fight for his life.

Your eyes shined. You had done that. Hiramu looked at you, rushing towards you. But you stopped him, coughing as you regained air. You pointed to the boy, sprawled on the pavement. Hiramu sheathed his sword back. Soon enough, Hiramu could only lift the boy in his arms.

The boy, now freed from the spirit’s grasp, collapsed, exhausted but unharmed. He was perhaps trying to catch his breath. He must have been exhausted. You, having returned to the plane of reality, rushed to his side, your own energy spent. You were certain that there was no bigger word than relief as you eagerly confirmed that he was safe. His eyes were both soft and weary as he looked at that boy. He lifted his head at you.

Hiramu's eyes remained narrowed, the wrinkles at the corners deepening as he surveyed the scene before him. Despite the successful expulsion of the spirit, his instincts told him there was more to uncover. His voice, barely above a whisper, carried a weight that drew your attention immediately. "Something is still not right," he said, his tone heavy with unease.

You nodded, understanding the depth of your uncle's concern. You gently placed your palm on the boy's forehead, feeling the residual heat of the ritual. "He's warm, uncle," you observed as your voice echoed tinged with worry.

"Purification techniques are painful to the body," Hiramu responded, his voice a low hum, soothing yet solemn. "It’s purging the worst of the soul, after all. Still, it must be said. You did well, little niece."

The corners of your mouth twitched into a slight smile, a rare break in your usually stern demeanor. "Such praise is rare, uncle."

Hiramu let out a soft snicker, his usual stern facade momentarily giving way to familial warmth. "I compliment you all the time," he claimed, though his smile betrayed the playfulness of his exaggeration.

"That sounds like a lie, uncle," you retorted, your weary eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and affection.

"Yeah, yeah," Hiramu dismissed playfully, but his attention quickly returned to the matter at hand as the boy began to stir. You blinked, taken aback by the sudden movement. You had been so focused on your exchange that the boy's awakening caught you momentarily off guard.

"What do you intend to do with this boy, niece?" Hiramu asked, his tone shifting back to the gravity of your situation. His question hung in the air, pressing you for a decision, reminding you of your responsibilities. “You’re the only one who can decide the lad’s fate.”

“Uncle—”

“You are my better, even if I am your elder and uncle.” Hiramu added, watching you become flustered as he watched the young lady shift in her position. “What do you think is right?”

You took a deep breath, your gaze shifting from Hiramu to the boy who was slowly regaining consciousness. You could see the confusion and fear flicker across his young face as he came to grips with his surroundings. He seemed disoriented, his eyes darting around, trying to make sense of what had happened to him.

Your voice rang out with a firm resolve, words carrying an air of unwavering determination. You met the older man’s gaze with a steady intensity, your expression betraying no hint of doubt.

"We'll bring him back with us to the manor," you declared, leaving no room for argument. "I'll send word ahead to let them know."

Hiramu's response was laced with a sense of foreboding. "They won't like this," he cautioned, his words heavy with the weight of tradition and expectation. You understood exactly what he meant—the elders, with their adherence to protocol and rigid adherence to tradition, were unlikely to approve of your deviation from established norms. But your determination remained unshaken.

"That is a matter I will handle myself, uncle," you asserted, your voice steady and resolute. You were acutely aware of the potential consequences of defying the elders, but your concern for the boy's well-being outweighed any fear of reprisal. "Do not worry."

Hiramu sighed, a reluctant acknowledgment of your determination. Despite his reservations, he knew better than to stand in your way when your stubborn mind was set to its desires.

"Very well," he conceded, his voice tinged with resignation. At that moment, he placed his trust in your judgment, knowing that you would do whatever was necessary to ensure the young boy’s safety and well-being, even if it meant challenging the traditions of your elders. “What else?”

“We might stay a day longer, to make sure that this is the only concern.” You retorted back to him, pursing your lips together in a tight line. “I shall head off and see to it that barriers are strengthened. There need not be any more situations like this one.”

“Very well. I’ll go ahead and take him to our inn.”

“Make sure he’s well fed, uncle. And that he’s alright.”

Hiramu snickers. “You act as though I didn’t take care of you or your brother.”

"I’ll check on him when I return. We need to ensure he's truly free of any residual curse," you said tenderly towards the older man.. "We also need to understand who he is. How did he get here at all, past the barriers. And how did he get this powerful. This puzzle requires quite a bit of effort.”

Hiramu nodded in agreement, his face reflecting his approval of your thorough approach. "Very well," he replied, "We should also see if we can help him find his way. No one should be left to wander alone, much so not one who has been through such an ordeal."

You knelt beside the boy, offering a reassuring smile. "Can you tell us your name?" you asked gently, hoping to ease him into conversation.

As the boy's gaze met yours, his initially wide eyes began to soften, a subtle shift that hinted at his growing realization of safety in your presence. Despite this reassurance, he remained silent, a reaction you attributed to the lingering shock and confusion from the events he had endured. Understandingly, you accepted his quiet, knowing well that pushing him to speak before he was ready could only cause further distress.

You addressed him with a gentle, reassuring smile, your tone soft yet imbued with an underlying strength. "Take all the time you need, little boy," you encouraged, your words floating warmly in the cool air, offering him the space and time he might require to recover from his ordeal. Your smile, kind and patient, was meant to communicate that he was under no pressure to reveal anything before he felt comfortable.

Straightening up, you prepared to continue your duties, aware of the responsibilities that still awaited your attention beyond this encounter. You glanced towards your uncle, who had also been through a trying time, his vigilance unyielding as he supported your efforts.

"Get some rest. You too, uncle," you added, acknowledging his fatigue and your appreciation for his steadfast support. "I’ll return with haste."

As you turned to leave, the boy's eyes followed your every move, wide and contemplative. In the quiet aftermath of your promise, his gaze lingered on your retreating figure, a mix of newfound trust and lingering uncertainty playing across his features. His eyes, filled with a depth that spoke of both fear and curiosity, seemed to hold a thousand unasked questions.

As he watched you disappear into the crowd, there was a palpable sense of wonder about whether he could find his voice, not just to speak but to share his thoughts, fears, and perhaps his hidden stories. The boy was silently grappling with the idea of opening up, of letting someone else into his secluded world.

You, aware of his watchful eyes, felt a twinge of responsibility and hope. His silent scrutiny did not go unnoticed, and it reminded you of the delicate task ahead—not just protecting him from external dangers but also nurturing his trust and confidence to the point where he would feel safe to express himself. The boy's quiet contemplation as you walked away hinted at the significant role you would play in his life, potentially being the first to hear his voice when he finally chose to speak.��

As you melded with the festivities, the distance between you growing, you carried with you the weight of his unspoken thoughts, hoping that when you returned, the boy would be ready to break his silence, allowing you into his world. Until then, he shuts his eyes. He lets the sleep take him to the nether world, where nightmares still come to follow.

HIROMI THINKS THAT SLEEP WAS ALL THAT WOULD FIX THINGS. Hiromi returned to the heart of the festival, your task of reinforcing the protective barriers around the periphery completed. Your work, involving the meticulous weaving of energy to strengthen the existing magical defenses, had left you sharp and attuned to even the slightest disturbance. The process was arduous, as you needed to locate and neutralize any lingering curses that could threaten the festival's sanctity. Each of these encounters, a dance of skill and arcane prowess, tested not only your abilities but also your mental fortitude and resolve.

The challenges were varied, ranging from minor nuisances that were swiftly dealt with, to more stubborn, malignant energies that demanded all your focus and power to dispel. Yet, you managed each with precision and control, your extensive training and natural aptitude shining through. With every curse you unraveled and every barrier you chose to further fortify. As Akimu ensured the festival grounds remained a safe haven, you would do the same. This land must always be free from the influence of dark forces.

This vigilant defense was crucial, not only to protect the attendees but to maintain the balance of energies within the festival area. Any breach could lead to chaos, potentially unleashing harm on the unsuspecting revelers. Your successful fortification of the area thus served as an invisible shield, one that allowed the festival to continue in joyous celebration without the shadow of malevolent interference.

As the sky began to lighten with the approach of dawn, you continued that prideful vigilance, keeping a watchful eye on the worshippers gathered for the festival. Amidst the joyous celebrations, you remained ever alert, scanning the crowd for any signs of disturbance or danger. It was in the stillness of the early morning hours that you noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

Despite the dim light of dawn, you sensed a presence nearby, a stirring of energy that caught all of your attention. Instinctively, you turned your gaze toward the source and saw the pink-haired boy, his eyes open and alert. You approached him quietly, your movements fluid and deliberate. You could sense that something had changed, that your encounter earlier had left an impression on him. With a gentle smile, you greeted him, your voice soft but reassuring.

"Good morning," you said, your tone warm with genuine concern. "How are you feeling?"

The boy's gaze flickered between curiosity and caution as he studied you, trying to parse the intentions behind your unexpected approach. Despite the swirl of doubt clouding his young mind, there was an undeniable sense of comfort that seemed to emanate from your presence—somewhat a stability in the tumultuous sea of his current experiences. Sensing his hesitation, you understood his reticence; after all, to him, you and uncle Hiramu were nothing more than strangers who had suddenly entered his life under unusual and likely frightening circumstances.

However, you sensed a deeper narrative woven into the fabric of the boy's aura, a story that extended beyond his current fear and confusion. You were determined to unearth the role he played in the festival's strange occurrences, driven by a conviction that his involvement was not merely coincidental. This was uncharted territory, a situation that neither you nor the festival had encountered before. Yet, you believed that new challenges were always opportunities for growth and understanding, reminders that there is always a "first time" for every occurrence in life.

Respecting his silence, you chose not to press him further for answers. You recognized that trust needed to be earned, especially in such delicate circumstances. It was then, in a moment of frailty, that the boy's strength seemed to falter, his body leaning as if he might collapse. Reacting swiftly, you stepped forward, kneeling to catch him, your movements guided by a blend of concern and readiness to support him.

As he rebounded slightly, stabilized by your quick intervention, he blinked up at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and bewilderment. In that brief exchange of looks, a silent understanding began to form. Your actions spoke louder than any words could have; they conveyed a promise of protection and empathy, laying the groundwork for a trust that might soon allow the boy to share his story and perhaps reveal the mysteries surrounding the events that had drawn you all together.

As you extended your hand toward him, he hesitated momentarily before his eyes blinked in a mix of confusion and curiosity. Observing his uncertainty, you offered him a tender smile, softening your expression to ease his apprehension.

"Are you alright, young one?" you asked, your voice low and soothing, cutting through the noise of the surrounding festivities.

In that moment, the boy found himself unexpectedly captivated by your presence. There was something almost ethereal about you, a radiance that seemed to emanate from within, casting a gentle, enchanting glow in the soft light of the festival’s lanterns—ones which still light up the dark morning glory. Your form appeared haloed by this light, lending you an otherworldly grace that was both comforting and awe-inspiring.

Your eyes, warm and inviting, seemed to draw him in further. They were deep pools of compassion and understanding, reaching out to him across the void of his own confusion and fear. As your eyes met, he felt a profound connection; it was as though you could see into the very depths of his soul, understanding his fears and yearnings without a word spoken.

The world around both of you seemed to pause, creating a bubble of serenity amidst the chaos. To the boy, this wasn’t just a simple meeting; it was a pivotal moment that would redefine his understanding of safety and hope. Even before he knew your name, Hiromi, he saw in you not just a protector or a higher power, but a guiding light, a beacon of hope illuminating his darkened world.

"What's your name?" you inquired gently, noticing his silence but undeterred by it.

When he remained mute, your smile broadened, radiating kindness and patience. "It’s okay if you have no name," you reassured him, your voice a soft anchor in his stormy sea of thoughts.

Upon hearing this, he looked up, his eyes wide with a mix of amazement and relief. Here was someone offering not just help, but a place and a presence in the world.

"I’ll give you one," you promised, a simple offer that nonetheless promised him a new beginning, a sense of identity and belonging that he had long craved. This simple gesture of naming was more than a label; it was a gift of a new life and a fresh start under your protective gaze.

You smile warmly at him, feeling the weight of the moment as you prepare to give him a name—a simple yet profound gift that could anchor him to a new beginning. When you smile at him, he thinks he found heaven. monsters like him do not deserve heaven. Yet the goddess you were, embraced him in the warmth of tender night. Names were important. In the family, it was. Sensing the importance of the choice, you think carefully, choosing a name rich with strength and history. The family histories had such good names to choose from, you think.

"Would the name Ryomen Sukuna suffice for you?" you ask gently, observing his reaction to gauge whether it resonates with him. “Now that you are with us, you will gain two lives. The past and now the future. Will you accept it, little one?”

The boy looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he processes the name. It's clear he is unfamiliar with its origins or meanings, but there is an undeniable flicker of intrigue in his gaze. Ryomen Sukuna, a name that carries echoes of a mystic and power to it. Entirely opposite of what he had known. The boy, now Sukuna, thinks this could imbue him with a sense of might and courage, perhaps reflecting the new path he might choose to follow under your guidance. And then, maybe then, he can serve you. With this new name.

For a moment, he remains silent, contemplating the name, rolling it over in his mind. Then, slowly, a tentative smile begins to form on his lips. It seems to suit him, or at least, he is willing to step into the mantle it could offer.

"Ryomen Sukuna," he repeats softly, testing how the name feels as it comes out of his mouth. His voice is unsure at first, but with each repetition, he seems to grow more comfortable, more accepting of it.

Seeing his acceptance, your smile broadens. "Yes, Ryomen Sukuna," you confirm with a nod, affirming his new identity. "It’s a strong name, one that I believe can help guide you to become whoever you wish to be."

The boy nods, a sense of new identity beginning to settle within him. The name, though ancient, now starts a new chapter in his life, one filled with potential and promise. You extend your hand to him once more, this time as a gesture of warmth. A future worth looking forward to.

"Now, you must be hungry, Sukuna," you suggest warmly, ready to introduce him back into the celebration, not as an orphan lost amidst chaos but as a newly named participant with a protector by his side. “There’s still some stalls open. Some are not yet done with the festival. Do you want something to eat?”

He looks at you for a moment and then tenderly nods. As he takes your hand, his grip is firm, and his initial hesitance seems to wash away with the rising sun. Together, you walk back towards the heart of where the fullness of the festival had been, your steps synchronized. Ryomen Sukuna, newly named and newly empowered, walks beside you, no longer just a passive spectator but a young boy with a nascent but growing sense of belonging and purpose.

Your role as his protector, and now the giver of his name, has created a bond between you, one that promises not only safety but also a future filled with the potential for transformation. As you both step into the bustling festival, the early morning light casts long shadows, yet for Sukuna, illuminated by the glow of the lanterns and buoyed by your supportive presence, the world seems less intimidating.

You had given him a name, securing a place for him in this chaos—a gesture simple yet profound. This act forged a tentative bond, knitting a fragile sense of belonging into his young heart. And now, for the first time, he truly belonged somewhere. On this transformative night, his heart was full of nothing but hope. He had a name—a name that was uniquely his, one his mother had never given him.

As you walked side by side, he looked up at you with eyes shining with admiration. Sukuna adored his new name, not just for its sound or its meaning, but because it was a gift from you. It symbolized a new beginning, a sign of your faith in him. In that simple name, he found a deep sense of identity and purpose. He hoped beyond hope that this newfound connection would last.

This rebirth was not just about a new name but a whole new existence shaped by the promise of guidance and protection under your watchful care. As the festival carried on around you, with its myriad lights and shadows, Sukuna walked confidently by your side, secure in his new identity and the journey ahead.

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sluttywonwoo · 22 hours

Text

instead of you [part forty-one] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, angst, alcohol consumption, smut (18+ ; mdni)

word count: 3.2k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

additional smut warnings: semi-public messing around, oral - m+f receiving

The other resorts along the shore were nice, yes, but they were also crowded to all hell. There’s no way you would have been able to relax at any of them. Not just because crowds make you anxious, but because Minho probably wouldn’t be able to show his face anywhere. He’d have to wear a hoodie to the pool or swim with a baseball cap on, and even those weren’t guaranteed to be foolproof.

There were hardly any people occupying the outdoor spaces so late in the day so it was like you had the place to yourselves. You and Felix continued to play in the pool while Minho grilled steaks and Jisung worked upstairs. You offered to accompany Jisung while he cooked but he assured you that he was fine to do it himself. Sometimes you kept him company at home but you knew he liked to work alone as well.

The room that you and Jisung were staying in was a standard hotel room but Nikki and Dom had a suite with a kitchenette that he could use to prepare the side dishes.

You ate gathered around one of the fire pits as the sun sank beneath the waves in the distance. When it got too dark out, Dom lit the fire so that you could all see what you were eating. There were path lights littered around the resort but they weren’t bright enough to illuminate the adjacent sitting areas too.

“I wish we had marshmallows,” you sighed. “We could roast them and make s’mores.”

“I think the bar sells little kits,” Jisung piped up. “I remember seeing a sign posted on their menu.”

“How convenient!” Nikki exclaimed.

“Want me to grab some?” Minho offered, already standing from his seat.

You had once again put yourself on the spot. Everyone was looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“I-I’d feel bad. I’m the only one who wants them, so you don’t have to!”

“Don’t be silly, we’d all eat them,” Jisung assured you with a pat on your knee.

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to try s’mores,” Felix agreed.

Your mouth dropped open in shock. “Wait, you’ve never had one?”

“They’re an American thing, babe.”

“Does that mean you’re the only other one here who has had a s’more?” you asked Jisung.

“I might have had one before,” Minho added thoughtfully.

“Might? You don’t remember?”

“Yeah, well, when we were on the first world tour we had a lot of bonfires and shit but I was pretty drunk at all of them so there could have been s’mores there, there could not have been. I dunno.”

“Anyway,” Nikki swooped in, averting the attention away from her eldest son’s anecdotes of underage drinking. “Minho, why don’t you go grab a few kits from the bar Ji mentioned? I think your father and I would like to try a s’more too.”

“How many do you think we need?” Minho asked.

“It depends on how many each serves. Why don’t we start with two and if we run out of supplies we can send Felix up to get more.”

Felix made a face. “What, me?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to send Minho up twice,” Dom explained.

“What about Jisung?”

“He cooked dinner.”

“I’ll be right back,” Minho interjected, cutting Felix off before he could protest any further. “Does anyone want anything to drink while I’m over there?”

He took everyone’s order and then disappeared in the direction of the bar.

“Do you think he’ll need help carrying stuff?” you whispered to Jisung after he left.

“Oh, shit, maybe.”

“Should I go help him? Would that be weird?”

Jisung looked back toward his parents to check that they weren’t paying attention before answering. “No, I don’t think so. No one suspected anything other than me. Do you want me to go with you, though?”

“No, you cooked,” you reminded him, “you should stay and relax. I’ll go help him.”

He nodded. “Okay. Oh, but kiss me before you go.”

Minho was still waiting when you joined him at the bar. It was almost as deserted as the rest of the pool area. Only a couple of people were occupying the stools and they seemed to be strangers to each other, drinking in silence apart from the waves crashing on the shore nearby and the occasional sound of the blender.

“Hey, stranger,” you said, grabbing Minho’s attention with an elbow to his side.

“Hey... did someone forget to ask for something?”

“No, I came to help you. We realized it’s a lot of stuff to carry all by yourself.”

He scoffed. “You doubted me?”

The bartender placed the drinks and s’mores kit down on the counter in front of Minho right at that moment, leaving both of you to size up all there was to bring back to the fire pit.

“You could have carried all that without spilling anything?”

“Fine, maybe it’s good that you came,” he grumbled.

“Maybe?”

He set his jaw and took a deep breath. “It is good that you came. Thank you for helping. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

You grabbed two of the drinks while Minho took the rest, holding the plastic bags of s’mores supplies between his teeth.

Nikki and Dom cheered when you reappeared with everything. The twins looked marginally happier. It was honestly as much as you could ask for from them.

You spent the rest of the evening teaching the Hans how to make, what was in your opinion, the perfect s’more. There were only a few skewers to go around so everyone had to take turns, but it was nice to be able to take your time with something and relax. There hadn’t been much time to do that on this trip. Jisung had warned you of that in the beginning but you were still way more exhausted than you expected to be at this point. At least it was almost over.

The thought of the trip ending was one that you had been pushing to the back of your mind for weeks now. Especially now that Jisung knew what had happened, you didn’t want to think about what would happen when you went back home. Would you grow apart? Would he distance himself once he was no longer in forced proximity with you? Would Minho break up with you? It wasn’t just something you could ignore now. There were only a matter of days left.

When it was over, you would go back to Seoul with the Hans until the summer ended officially. But that would be different too.

“You’re burning your marshmallow, love,” Nikki said softly, putting her hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

“Oh!” you exclaimed and pulled your skewer out of the heat. You blew the flame out and transferred it onto a graham cracker.

“Do you want a new one?” Dom asked.

“No, that’s okay! I like them burnt, actually. I just didn’t mean to leave it in the fire for so long. It could have made a mess.”

Jisung’s dad shrugged as if to say ‘suit yourself’ before taking the rod from you and reloading it with fresh marshmallows.

If it was woodburning, the fire would slowly start to dwindle as the kindling turned to ash. Since it wasn’t, it was still burning as brightly as it had been at the start of the evening when Dom finally turned the propane off. Nikki collected the empty cups and dirty skewers to return to the bar.

“Good night, kids. Don’t stay up too late.”

Felix was the first out of the four of you to go up to his room, leaving you with your best friend and... Minho.

The pool area was completely empty by then.

“I’ll uh, I’ll leave you two,” Jisung said and stood to leave.

You grabbed his hand to stop him. “Wait, no, you don’t have to go.”

“Yeah,” Minho agreed, a little less convincingly. “You should stay.”

Jisung shook his head. “No thanks, I’d rather not third-wheel.”

“Ji-”

“Take as much time as you need,” he said to you. “Just don’t get fucking caught by anyone else.”

You waited for him to leave before slumping forward and sighing into your hands.

“I thought you said he forgave you,” Minho whispered.

“He did. That doesn’t mean he’s okay with it,” you sighed.

Minho leaned back and stretched his arm across the back of the loveseat, inviting you to sit with him. You crossed over to his side and joined him, allowing yourself to lean into his side. He wrapped his arm around you and squeezed your shoulder. It felt nice, to do something so domestic with him, even while sitting in complete silence. Still, you worried about someone seeing you.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“You.”

“What about me?”

“Just you.”

You didn’t want to give him the details and risk ruining the mood so you hoped he was content with that answer. Thankfully, he didn’t ask you to elaborate.

You shivered suddenly, unintentionally but thankfully changing the subject.

“Are you cold?” Minho asked.

“A little.”

“Should I turn the fire pit back on?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s so dark out now. It’ll only draw attention to us.”

“I don’t want you to be cold, though.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Minho didn’t look convinced. “Why don’t we get in the hot tub? You still have your bathing suit on, right?”

“Are we allowed to?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

You followed Minho over to one of the many hot tubs on the property. It was tucked away behind the now-deserted tiki bar and also totally empty. Minho turned on the jets and ventured down into the water, holding his hand out for you to get in behind him.

You let out a sigh as you sank into the bubbling water, closing your eyes and resting your head against the pool’s edge.

“Better?”

“So much better.”

You looked over to see him smile. “Good.”

You hadn’t realized how cold you were until you were warm. The chill had seeped through your bathing suit too. You could feel it ebbing out of the fabric as well as your muscles the longer you sat in the water.

Minho settled next to you and put his hand on your thigh. It was comforting even though his hand was still cold.

“This is nice,” he said.

“It is nice,” you agreed. “I like being able to do just nothing with you.”

“We don’t get a lot of time to do that, do we?”

“No, not really.”

“Guess that just means we have to enjoy it while we have it.”

You sat up to look at him, wondering if he meant something more than what was implied when he said that. He met your gaze and gave you a questioning look.

“What?” You shook your head and sank further into the bubbles. You were reading way too much into everything. You needed to get a grip.

“What’s wrong?” Minho repeated. “Talk to me.”

“I’m scared to,” you finally admitted.

It wasn’t much, but you were finally being honest with Minho instead of skirting around his questions like you usually did. You could tell your answer hurt him but you were afraid that you’d hurt yourself even more if you told him everything. You had a feeling the conversation was going there anyway, though, and there was little you could do to stop it.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I don’t know... what we are?” You cringed as you said it. “And I don’t want to ruin things by asking, you know, because I like what we have going on and I don’t want it to go away but I also don’t want to get my hopes up by thinking we’re something that we’re not but sometimes you do things that make me think you want something more than... whatever it is we’re already doing but- mph!”

You were cut off with a kiss, like something out of a movie. It was brief, but enough to disrupt your train of thought. You stared at him incredulously, trying to read his expression.

His face was even but his eyes were warm. You wished you knew what he was thinking. Moonlight and the flickering flames of torches in the distance were just enough to illuminate his features. The quirk of his cupid’s bow, the flutter of his long eyelashes...

“What was that for?” you inquired, even though you knew what it was for.

“You were spiraling.”

You sighed, dropping your head into your hands. “I can’t help it.”

“I know,” Minho said softly. “For what it’s worth though, I feel the same way.”

You lifted your head to look at him again, your vision slightly blurred by the water dripping down your face from your wet hands. “What?”

He hesitated. “I feel... what you said. I feel the same way.”

“I don’t even know what I said,” you laughed.

“Me either, but I got the general vibe of it and I’m in agreement.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I... I thought I was making it kind of obvious that I wanted something serious with you.”

“You never said anything outright, though!”

“Because I didn’t know what you wanted,” he explained. “You never said anything either.”

“Well, you’re the man!”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we’re going there? The feminism just evaporates from your body the moment you’re faced with confrontation?”

“See, you get it.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you now, okay? I want you. In all the ways you’re willing to let me have you.”

You swallowed hard, eyes burning. You didn’t want to start crying and you didn’t want Minho to see you crying so you kissed him again, with more urgency this time. You couldn’t think, hell, you couldn’t breathe, until he pulled away, leaving you wishing and hoping for more.

When your lips met for the third time, he pulled you under with him, just long enough to shock your senses. You gasped for air when you surfaced, pushing your wet hair out of your eyes.

“You’re not supposed to do that!” you scolded, sputtering as you shoved him.

He stumbled backward onto the bench, falling seated again and pulling you on top of him.

“You believe that bullshit?” he scoffed.

“It’s not bullshit! It’s not good for you to put your head under the water in a hot tub!”

“I know people say that but why?”

“I... I don’t know why,” you admitted, “but I know you’re not supposed to.”

“See, you don’t even know!” You gave him a look. “Will you accept an ‘I’m sorry’ kiss?”

“That depends, are you actually sorry?”

He didn’t bother answering. Instead, he kissed you anyway, cradling the back of your head as he slipped his tongue past your lips. He tasted like s’mores and whiskey and chlorine, a combination so strange you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

One of his arms dropped to your waist, wrapping around your body and pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. You could feel him through his swim trunks, growing harder by the second. You were tempted to take him right there, but you were in public and having sex in a hot tub couldn’t be good either, right? That sounded like an infection waiting to happen.

“Upstairs?” Minho asked breathlessly, lips only centimeters from yours. Not for the first time you wondered if he could read your mind.

You nodded. “Yeah, upstairs.”

You dripped your way back to his room, shivering despite the thick towel wrapped around your shoulders.

“Wanna hop in the shower?” Minho asked between kisses as he fumbled with the straps of your bikini.

“Yeah, don’t want to get your bed all wet,” you replied.

“That would happen whether or not we had just been in the pool,” he joked.

“Hilarious.”

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he hissed. “Let’s get these off of you, they’re so cold.”

“Is that the only reason you want them off?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

You knew Minho was expecting to have sex in the shower but you kind of wanted to fuck on the bed so you sucked his dick while he washed your hair and then took turns rinsing off before moving to his bed. You put your hair up in a towel to avoid the aforementioned wetness and wrapped yourself up in one of the hotel’s robes even though you knew it’d be coming right off.

To your surprise, Minho left your robe on. He just undid the tie around your waist and let it fall open before shouldering himself between your legs. It was kind of like putting a towel down. He was killing two birds with one stone that way: protecting the sheets and keeping you warm.

It didn’t take long for you to cum in his mouth. Minho knew your body like the back of his hand by now. It had taken him a fraction of the time it took your past lovers to learn what made you tick and he used all of that knowledge to his advantage.

He kept going after you came the first time, eager to pull another from you, but you pulled him up by the hair to get his attention before he could get too into it.

“Too much?” he asked.

“Want you to fuck me,” you urged.

Thankfully, he was receptive to this and moved up so that he could position himself on top of you. He notched himself at your entrance and kissed you as he pushed himself inside, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue before pulling away and wiping his face on your shoulder.

“Ew!” you cried and tried to push him away.

Minho looked offended. “What do you mean, ‘ew’? It’s you.”

“That doesn’t mean I want me all over what I’m wearing!”

“Since when?” he joked. “Seems like it’s always all over what you’re wearing when you’re around me.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” you begged, suddenly embarrassed and grossed out at the same time.

Minho laughed and pecked you on the cheek. “What would you rather talk about? The weather?”

You tightened around him as punishment, making him swear and bury his face in your neck. “Fucking hell, you succubus.”

You smiled politely and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Don’t people usually say that if she can talk at all, you’re doing it wrong?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I was just taking it easy on you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, this was for your benefit,” he continued. “Didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“How gracious of you.”

He clenched his jaw as he started fucking you faster, muttering sarcastically, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was boring you.”

Ironically, you couldn’t respond right away, too caught up in the feeling of how deep he was inside of you to get any words out.

“I forgive you,” you choked out finally.

Your hands fell to his biceps, desperate for something to hold on to. You dug your nails into his skin, making him hiss through his teeth.

“Harder,” he urged. You squeezed harder and he gasped. “Fuck yes, keep doing that.”

“Like this?”

“Just like that, baby. That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

#instead of you stray kids #instead of you skz #iou stray kids #iou skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know x female reader #lee know x bi!reader #lee know series #stray kids series #stray kids x female reader

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nunalastor · 1 day

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Radioapple Your Lie in April AU because April's almost over and nobody has brought me this pain, so I'll do it myself.

Lucifer has been suffering from depression since his wife left him and took custody of their daughter. He has slowly begun to rebuild his relationship with Charlie since Lilith's disappearance, but he has yet to come to terms with what happened, and he sees the world only in monochrome without color.

Enter Alastor, who brings color into his life the moment they meet. Unfortunately, they do get off on the wrong foot and don't get along very well initially, but everything changes after the extermination, when Lucifer jumps in to help Alastor fight off some attackers against the hotel, and they slowly become closer...

Until one day, Alastor collapses after a fight side by side with Lucifer against the Vees.

Alastor brushes it off as having an iron deficiency and he hadn't eaten any people in a while, so it wouldn't happen again, but Lucifer knows something is seriously wrong. He doesn't push the matter at first, he is too grateful for the friendship Alastor brings and doesn't want to push his boundaries. He doesn't want to lose Alastor like he lost Lilith. But when Alastor collapses again, this time not even showing up to a battle, Lucifer has to pry.

Turns out during the extermination, Alastor was struck by Adam's blade. He has been able to hide it and fight off the injury, but the holy elements of the weapon have been infecting him like a disease, eating away at his very being and not even his own powers can stop it anymore. He manages to hide the strain at first, but when he gets the prognosis that unless something is done, he is going to die, he becomes more irritable overall.

Lucifer begins to spiral all over again. He wants to help Alastor, but the infection has spread so much he doesn't think he alone can do it, and it reminds him of how he failed Lilith and it caused her to leave. His mental health taking a turn allows an opening for Roo to appear, and the hotel gets notice that she plans to attack the hotel as well.

Charlie spoke to heaven about the situation with Alastor, and because he sustained the injury fighting against their genocide, aka he was the righteous one in the situation, Emily is able to overpower Sera's opinion and agree to set up a surgery for Alastor to extract any of the angelic power remaining and save his life. Unfortunately, this surgery is very dangerous, and it would have to happen on the same day Roo is estimated to attack.

Lucifer agrees to go into the fight alone, praying that when he got back Alastor would be in recovery, but halfway through the fight, a ghostly image of Alastor appears by his side and is able to fight alongside him. This was Alastor, but the way he was here... Lucifer knew what had happened, begging Alastor to stay as they win the fight, but he has no choice but to watch Alastor disappear forever, with only a final whisper to him.

"Goodbye."

Alastor died from complications during the surgery, and because of the angelic weapon poisoning him, he was gone for good. Lucifer didn't need to be told the news, but he didn't come out of his room for a long time after that.

But it's while he's making more ducks to cope that he finds a letter hidden among his duck-making supplies. The letter was from Alastor, written the same day he had told Lucifer about the surgery. He had known he was likely going to die, and decided to tell Lucifer everything, about who he was, why he came to the hotel to help Charlie, and most importantly that he had fallen in love with Lucifer and wanted him to be happy.

Lucifer uses that as the strength he needs to continue on and stay alongside his daughter, but he would never forget about Alastor. He would never be able to see another spring without him, and he would always wish he had told Alastor he loved him too.

(Yes I know, given their assigned instruments the roles would be the other way around, but this felt more fitting since how the hell would Lucifer get terminally ill.)

👀

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #Your Lie in April #nunalastor asks

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holdmytesseract · 2 days

Text

A Hypnotising Spell

model!Tom Hiddleston x fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend surprises you with a very sexy clip he shot for an ad - but also for you.

Warnings: suggestive/light smut, flirting, a lot of thirst, sexy Tom?

Word Count: 2,3k

a/n: I had the idea for this oneshot, as I listened to this song...

I just couldn't help myself but to write it...

Masterlist

divider by @fictive-sl0th <3

(Credit for the picture goes to @multifandom-worlds 😁)

"Tell me."

"Not a chance."

Tom shook his head; smiling playfully at you. He knew he was teasing you.

"Pleaaase?" You looked at him with literal puppy dog eyes, but it didn't work. Much to your dismay. "No, darling. I can't. Unless it's not a surprise anymore... And I want it to be a surprise."

You sighed; giving up. "Alright, got it." Tom smiled; pecked your lips softly, before he went to zip his suitcase shut. You watched how his muscles worked underneath the loose tank top he wore and bit your lip. "Not even a tiiiiny hint?"

Your boyfriend looked up at you with a warning, but still playful glare. "Y/N..." "Okay, okay!" You chuckled and lifted your hands in surrender. "I give up!" Tom smirked; something boyish glinting in his oceanic blues. "You better will. Unless, I have to make you shut up." "Nope." You said; popping the p, before you hopped to sit on your little make-up table. Legs crossed and gently swaying them. You palms were anchored to the table; supporting you. "You can't, because you have to be at the airport in exactly... thirty minutes."

"There you go..." He breathed; stepping between your legs and gently pulling your body closer towards the edge of the table. "Caused you to shut up within a mere few seconds."

The handsome Brit standing a few feet away from you beside the bed scoffed. "We both know that I don't even need thirty minutes to shut your pretty mouth."

With three long strides - and before you were able to say something, had crossed Tom the short distance between you. He dipped his head and without further ado let his lips crash against yours; making you gasp. You'd never get used to the incredible feeling of his piercings against your skin - and on your tongue.

You shortly gazed on the clock. Twenty-eight minutes until Tom had to be at the airport. Fifteen minutes until he had to leave your shared apartment.

You smirked; wetting your lips with your tongue. "And..." You started; lifting one hand and slipped it underneath his grey tank top; feeling the outlines of his abs underneath your palm. Tom gasped at your touch, "... what else do you think you could do to make me shut up in... fourteen minutes?" and words.

Due to the angle and the very loose shirt he wore - which was hanging quite low now, gave you a delicious view down his upper body. Inked skin, pierced nipples, rippling muscles and the darker hair growing between his pecs and in a thick line starting from his navel and disappearing underneath the waistband of his black gym shorts.

You let your hand climb higher; gently tucking at his right nipple piercing - making Tom to groan softly. You made it very clear what you wanted - and he knew. "So?"

Without answering you, he quickly slid his hands underneath the back of your thighs and hoisted you up in the air, before your legs found a grip around his waist a few seconds later. You squeaked up in surprise and giggled, when Tom literally slammed you down on the bed; hovering over you. Two hands planted beside your waist on the mattress; strong arms holding him up. A predatory look in his eyes.

You could also swear that those shorts looked tighter than usual. "Fourteen minutes, huh?" "Twelve," you corrected him; voice shaking with anticipation. "Twelve?" He mumbled huskily. "Still enough."

With those words he claimed your mouth with his again, but before you could get lost in his breathtaking kisses, you broke them with a wet pop and pushed him gently. He knew what to do.

Mere seconds later, Tom found himself seated on the edge of the bed. Leaned back with his elbows and forearms supporting the weight of his upper body. His legs were spread. You knelt between them; hands gripping his twitching thighs.

"I'm going to miss you..." You sighed and bestowed another kiss upon his soft lips as you stood at the airport; bidding your boyfriend goodbye. You knew where he was going... Detroit. For one week. He had been hired for a model job. More you didn't know. It was all he had told you. The rest was supposed to be a surprise.

He insisted and you let him.

"I'm going to miss you, too, darling. Even though it's just seven days." You hugged him tightly then. "Text me as soon as you landed, okay?" Tom smiled. "Sure, love. I promise."

While Tom went to work in the US, you got to work inside yours and Sam's studio in London. Your week was packed as well with quite a few photo shootings and other appointments you needed to attend.

Of course you called Tom every day at least once; mostly through video call. No matter how stressful yours or his day was, you'd always make it work someway somehow...

Tom was just jogging down the Detroit Riverwalk, when the music in his ears suddenly changed into the ring phone of his mobile. A look on his Smartwatch told him, that you were the caller. He smiled and immediately tapped the small green button to accept the call.

A shiver ran down Tom's spine. "Don't threaten me with a good time." "Ohh..." You purred. "I never would." The Brit swallowed.

"Hello, darling," Tom panted; was a little bit out of breath due to his jogging. You hesitated on the other end of the line; blinking. "Umm... Am I... interrupting something?"

Your words caused him to chuckle. "No, you're not. I'm just on my daily morning run." "Ahhh, too bad," you answered with a sigh. Tom almost choked at his own spit, but then grinned to himself. "Very naughty, my little minx." "Sorry, babe, but you know exactly how our call ended yesterday night, so..."

This wasn't going how he thought it would...

"Okay, okay, change of topic, darling. I just left the hotel and I don't wish to return straight away..." You giggled once more, "Sorry, I couldn't resist..." and took the first bite of the Cheese Macaroni Sam got you for lunch. "Why are you going on a run this early in the morning?" You checked the time. "It's 7 a.m in Detroit. What the heck, Tommy? I thought I'd wake you up from your sweet dreams, but no..."

You would've loved to talk longer to your boyfriend, but work was calling as well...

Tom chuckled. "I sincerely apologise for disappointing you. Unfortunately, I had to get up earlier, because I have to be at the studio in... An hour." "Ugh... Sounds like a long day is ahead of you, babe." "Most likely, yes." He took a few deep breaths, before speaking again. "And you, love? What are you up to?"

You took another bite of the Cheese Macaroni. "Two photo shoots and a little shopping trip with Sam." Tom smiled; passing by a few people who were walking their dogs. "Sounds great, love. Have fun." "Thanks. And you? Anything else beside whatever it is you need to go to the studio for?" "Not much, honestly. Perhaps having a little swim in the hotel swimming pool, but beside that..." You bit your lip; smiling. "Sounds great. Next time I- Oh... Sam's here. I think I have to keep on working. Have a great day, babe. I love you." "Thank you, darling. I wish you a wonderful day, too. I love you even more."

Five days later, you welcomed Tom back home - and you were absolutely excited. You couldn't wait to see what surprise Tom had for you.

While he unpacked his suitcase, you leaned against the door frame; watching him with anticipation. "You are so impatient, darling." Tom said; chuckling, while he threw his dirty clothes in the hamper. "Yes, obviously, because my boyfriend was away for one week for a single model job and just doesn't wanna tell or show me anything. I wanna seeee!" The Brit chuckled again. He turned to you and walked over; resting both hands on your hips. "And you will, I promise. It just... takes another day or two."

You whined. "Tommy..."

Your jaw dropped. "Whaaat? Why?"

Tom smiled, "You'll see." and pressed a sweet kiss on your nose. You huffed. "That's not fair." "Life isn't."

"What?" You boyfriend answered; giggling.

"Stop being a moralizer. You are already smart enough." Tom couldn't help but laugh out loud. Sometimes he wasn't the only one who behaved like a small child.

He wrapped you up in his arms and brushed his lips over your neck, which caused a shiver to run down your spine at the sensation of his piercing grazing your skin. "I love you."

You smiled. "I love you, too."

Two days later, you came home from work in the evening; throwing your keys on the counter and taking off your shoes, you walked towards the kitchen. Hungry. You were utterly hungry.

You didn't find something to eat, though... Tom was leaning against the kitchen counter with a little, quadratic envelope in his hand. Through the window of said envelope, you could make out the features of a CD.

"Hi, ba- Ohhh... Is this what I think it is?" Tom greeted you with a kiss; then nodded. "Indeed."

You squealed. "Show me!"

"Don't you wish to eat something, first?" He asked; wetting his lips and giving you a glimpse of his tongue piercing. You shook your head. "Nope. I wanna see what you've been up to in Detroit."

Tom smiled. "Alright."

"A... A clip? Tommy, did you do an ad?" Tom smiled down at you and clicked onto it. "Watch and see..."

You squealed once more and followed him into your shared office. He started the computer and put the CD in the drive. Then Tom turned the swivel chair. "Take a seat, milady." You sat down excitedly. He turned you around again, so that you were facing the big screen of the computer. "Are you ready for your surprise?" "Gods, yes!" He chuckled. His way too big hand enveloped the way too small computer mouse as he went to open the file.

You had anticipated to see a lot of pictures, since you thought he had a photo shoot, but there wasn't a single picture to be seen. On the CD was only one file - a clip.

So, you did.

The screen was dark. All you could hear was the sounds of (presumably) Detroit city. Engines, people chatting, car horns, foot steps. But after a few seconds, the sounds of a quite familiar song kicked in... 'It's A Man's, Man's, Man's World' by James Brown.

You swallowed hard. That was one of those typical 'sexy man' songs - and if Tom was anything, then sexy. You hadn't seen Tom yet, but you already knew that it fitted him perfectly.

Tom.

Finally, after a few seconds, the darkness on the screen vanished; turned into an old street in Detroit. Old buildings, old street signs, old traffic lights and old cars.

The camera drifted over the grey asphalt, until it met a pair of brown, almost cowboy-like boots.

The camera climbed up Tom; showed now his long legs, which were covered by loose light blue trousers. Cord trousers.

Then his upper body was shown - perfectly in time with the song.

You swallowed. It looked like typical 70s clothes.

Your boyfriend wore a wide black shirt. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first few buttons undone; exposing some of his tattoos. A silvery necklace hung low across the exposed skin; drawing your attention to the fine, dark hair underneath.

Tom had thrown a dark blue denim jacket over his left shoulder and was casually standing on said street.

This is a man's world, sang James Brown - and the delicious deadly combination of the music and Tom's look almost caused your heart to stop for a second.

He looked drop-dead sexy.

Tom looked around, subtly wetted his lips and started to walk down the street then. His entire backside was filmed - and it all happened in slow motion.

Torture..., you thought. Sweet torture.

You were staring. Simply staring. Shamelessly and certainly not respectfully.

The next shot was a car. An old Jaguar XJ 12 to be exactly... In black.

Tom walked towards the Jag. Then the scene changed and showed how he leaned casually sideways against the hood of the vehicle. Long legs crossed; one hand buried in the pocket of his trousers and the other running through his styled hair.

You almost combusted on the office chair; fingers gripping the armrests tight.

The scene changed once again and showed how Tom sat graciously inside the car and how he drove the Jaguar. A close-up of the opened window with his hand and forearm resting on the door was shown. The camera was fully focused on his hand, which seemed even bigger. Long fingers adjusted the side-view mirror; veins pulsing beneath the skin.

In the background was Tom softly biting his lip; oceanic blue eyes literally shining.

The back of the car and Tom driving down the street was the last thing to be seen, before the screen got dark. The music faded gently with the credits rolling.

You were still staring.

Both, you and Tom erupted into giggles.

"And?" Tom's voice suddenly urged to your ears. "What do you think? Do you like it?" You turned your head and looked at your boyfriend; blinking. "Like it? Like it? Tommy, like is absolutely understated." You scoffed. "That was probably the sexiest thing I have ever seen." Tom smiled cheekily and ran a hand through his blonde-brown locks. "That was exactly what I wanted to achieve."

You bit your lip and stood up; straddling Tom's thighs as he sat on the other swivel chair beside you. "Ohh, really?" You asked; climbing onto his lap. He nodded; "Yes, ma'am." hand immediately gripping your waist. "Very naughty." Tom chuckled. "I thought you knew that, darling." "Well, yeah... You've got a point."

"Please tell me that you still have the clothes from the video." Your boyfriend gave you a smouldering look and winked. "Of course I do."

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @huntedmusicgardenn @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @fictive-sl0th @loz-3 @javagirl328 @icytrickster17 @jaidenhawke @eleniblue @lou12346789 @lady-rose-moon @km-ffluv @herdetectivetheorist @lokiforever @simping-for-marvel @cakesandtom @crimson25 @vanilla-daydreaming @kimanne723 @glitchquake @lulubelle814 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @buttercupcookies-blog @november-rayne @lokidbadguy @smolvenger

#tom hiddleston one shot #tom hiddleston x y/n #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston oneshot #tom hiddleston fanfiction #model!Tom Hiddleston #Spotify

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luv-gukkie · 9 hours

Text

★j𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 ★

pairing: yandere! min yoongi x f. reader

genre: fluff? || smut || non-idol au || yandere

summary: after a couple of months of just staring at the same four walls, you realize you do love yoongi as much as he loves you, or maybe you’re just trying to survive.

word count: +2.1k

tags/warnings: yoongi kidnaps reader, unprotected sex, yoongi is delusional asf...(a ‘bit’ crazy in the head), pregnancy, murder(s), stockholm syndrome, mentions of drugging, unconsensual touching, dom! yoongi, sub!reader, stalking, reader starts going crazy lowkey

notes: this is more like a small drabble for yoongi :) and its kinda written to show that the reader is losing her mind, sorry if it’s confusing!

༻❤︎︎ ★ ★ ❤︎︎༺

min yoongi was a man of a few words. he liked to relax his mind with his own devices; never one to say much with other people, even to himself. he was an introvert from the very start. his past relationships were always left in pieces; left with girls in tears while munching on tubs of ice cream left and right from such a lousy boyfriend who never cared about them. how he couldn't save their relationship from ruins, leaving it to dissolve with no worries at all for the future of what they could be. if he's honest, yoongi doesn't even know (or care to) how he managed to get women to go out with him. what he thought was just a couple of hookups was actually a relationship to some of his 'girlfriends'. maybe, he just couldn't understand women or maybe, just maybe, he was a sleazy ass who preferred to be by himself.

but, yoongi preferred to say that he loved his alone time more and wasn't prepared for a full-time relationship. the peace that he had built within his mind was enough for him. yoongi didn't really need anything else around him except for money, which was his income from working a boring office job from nine to five; monday to friday with decaf coffee in his hands daily and blue light glasses to protect him from the screen of his desktop.

the constant noise of the people around him were just annoying crowds that he couldn't handle. that was until he landed his eyes on you. it's a day he clearly remembers from sunrise to dawn. how could he ever forget seeing such a pretty face?

it was just his luck that his apartment was far from the city. one word could describe his apartment: perfect. the land was extremely quiet since no one else lived around. the only exceptional noise that would interrupt the silence would be the animals: the deers that would constantly communicate with the others, bunnies hopping around, hummingbirds that chirp with soft ends, or the baby opossums that would sneeze to get their parents' attention. yoongi's house had more than enough of love. he lived for it. however, it never hurts to add more to a loving house, especially when he was missing someone by his side. yoongi couldn't believe his luck on how this apartment was so excluded from the world; from the hands of society. it's exactly what he needed when he wanted to play his guitar with no one knocking on his door to disturb him. or when he wanted to listen to his music out loud, or to keep you safe in his home. its like it was meant to hide someone inside it, and the best part is that no one would ever know. no person can search somewhere they don't know exist. in other words, you were meant to be his.

the second you were inside, yoongi had basically erased your existence from earth. your missing poster left on wooden poles, shops, and shown on the news. and yet, not a single trace of you was found; questions about your appearance went unanswered. everyone was clueless on what could've happened to you. your disappearance was a complete mystery to everyone: where had you gone?

are you still alive?

it was uncomfortable to wake up. your head was pounding and the dizziness that took place in your head only further pushed you to have nausea. "finally." a deep, unsettling voice boomed out of somewhere. startled by the sudden noise, you quickly glance up to catch sight of a man's eyes. he stood right next to the door. that was the beginning of a new chapter. you were slipping away from sanity as time passed. most of the time, you were left alone. 'where am i?' You just sat on the bed trying to figure out what happened; what was happening. the man who stood in the corner — you learned his name was Yoongi — left after a while. he would talk a little with you before leaving the room, saying something about grocery shopping.

you kept up a calm facade for the sake of survival. You had to or else you didn't know what your captor would do to you. you had full knowledge that he had the possibility of hurting you, or even worse, he could kill you. just like he had the guts to take you from your own freedom and dreams from when you were a little girl.

but there was no stopping time. it crept up until you realized that you've done nothing to help yourself get out. you've sat there day and night, acting like a good girl for him when it wasn't even you who wanted to be there. you've wasted seconds that led into days and you hope that it doesn't go on to years because you've truly lost yourself in this house. so, you prepared and waited until he left to act out. what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

as soon as Yoongi disappeared from your room and heard another door close, you took the opportunity to do what you don't usually do. all your yells for help and screams of desperation were drowned by the trees. You kept losing hope each wasted second. you were watching it slowly fall away from your grasp, and you couldn't do anything. the remorse of watching as the days went by and you were still stuck in a room locked in by your captor. It was just him and you. You and him. but he swore on the stars that when the time comes, it will no longer just be him and you, but mini-hims and mini-yous waddling around the house.

the small interactions you had with him were uncomfortably awkward for you, and you could clearly tell that he knew. and yet, he stuck around, choosing to stay and 'talk' with you. he didn't want you to think you were alone. he would be there for you.

as the weeks passed, the situation worsened for you. at first it was him moving into the room along with his things, then the part where he started sleeping next to you, and eventually to changing in front of you, touching you, and kissing you. Soon enough, it got more intense. That's when you knew you had to get out someway. You knew what step was next when his touching didn't stop at a few pecks. yoongi began to play with your tits, holding your ass tight to his crotch every night. you just couldn't get away from him.

everything was fucking shut tight. you felt the heat of anger crawling in your body. each window was locked, even the cabinets were locked. there were also hidden cameras. it was just your luck when you had found one in the bedroom hidden perfectly. you were very surprised when you saw it peeking out of the lights. it just proved to you that yoongi was a fucking lunatic. he had been watching you and you were fucking clueless about it. but it also meant that there could of been hundreds of these tiny cameras recording you. you needed to get out.

you couldn't take it any longer. You were watched every single second. You were touched when he was home. You just couldn't keep it going like this. it was your breaking point. you screamed, sobbed, and whimpered at the fact that you were here. 'pathetic', you thought. there you were crying miserably on your mattress without trying to escape.

you heard the door open and then close, you dug your head into your pillow as the footsteps came closer. "it's okay." You immediately felt the presence of Yoongi by your side, pulling you up into a hug. he was panting. "I was worried about you." The hug got tighter. "I came here as fast as I could."

yoongi had worried about you. in that moment, you realized that maybe you gave up long ago. That's why you let him do what he did, after all, a whole year did pass without your knowledge. missing posters crumbling on the floor as the world continued to revolve without your existence. You had gotten used to his presence, his kisses, his behavior, and his love towards you. You were so frightened at first and used his attraction for you as a shield.

he kissed your lips gently before sticking his tongue inside of your mouth. your arms unconsciously wrapped around him. And for the first time, you let him touch you with his love and lust. the unbuckling of his belt made goosebumps grow out of excitement. With one thrust, your pussy sucked him in whole. Yoongi lowly groaned while you whimpered at the sudden feeling of his cock inside of you."I love you."

Yoongi waited. Were you going to say it back? his hips pounded into you with a harsh pace. You guttered nonsense as you quickly held onto his shoulders for support. the overstimulation flourishing on your cunt as his cock disappeared inside of you. "I-I love you..."

He kissed your nose gently. Yoongi stayed still until you came, cunt squirting around his cock with need. He moved his cock out slowly before filling you back in, his hot tip reach your cervix. a smile on his lips as he continued to repeat his desperate actions. a yearn in him to hear you moan in his ears louder. to make sure his cockhead reached your soft spot good enough that you would be whimpering under him as his cock perfectly managed to hit your g-spot. yoongi sucked on your skin, groaning against it as your pussy clenched around him. you were so perfect. his fingers dived into your hair as you milked his dick dry. his pace got sloppier, soft grunts escaping his throat as you legs wrapped him closer to you. yoongi pushed himself until he was deep inside of you, cumming with a loud moan leaving his lips. limbs comforting each other as the stars shined brightly until the sun outshined them once again.

the constant fear of you leaving had vanished in yoongi. replaced with a loving emotion that never left him once. While you slept in his arms, he eyed you. his fingers tracing over your arms, "I really do love you." And he meant that. That's why no one was ever around the area his apartment was in. He made sure the cameras he brought were in use to protect his territory from trespassers. buying red, bold signs to keep people out of what's supposed to be kept hidden, and for anyone who didn't listen, there's a reason he bought a shotgun. he killed anyone that passed the border between your world and reality. it's really the main reason for the cameras that were placed everywhere: inside and outside.

And as time passed rather quickly, your stomach grew and your tits swelled with milk. yoongi couldn't contain the pure excitement when he found out. you were pregnant with his child; a family both of you were able to grow out of dreams. yoongi smiled as he talked day and night, chuckling as he pressed his ear and hands to your stomach. he couldn't be happier that everything he dreamt of was finally happening.

All he had to do was wait and the perfect family he had planned for years prior had been achieved. you were clueless to everything he'd done, maybe cause of the constant drugs that he put in your food and drinks. secretly hiding away inside the locked cabinets. yoongi's lips kissed your head with softness while you carried his tiny daughter in your arms after nine months of constant patience and care. "I really do love you, __." the tears that swelled up in your eyes reminding you of your past; memories that once rested coming back to haunt you. you felt the knot inside your throat, the disgusting taste of wanting to throw up because of the gruesome sight in front of you. The doctor's snow-colored coat was splattered with his own blood. he was dead, stabbed to death by your yoongi. the knife in the middle of his chest tensing you up along with the other harsh cuts against his skin. "I had to", was all he repeated, "for our baby." his fingers gently wiping the tears from your cheeks, "say it." You felt like you couldn't breathe during that moment. everything was taking you back to day one. "i-", you paused as your voice trembled, "i love you." the pile of blood grew, drowning out the wooden floor. a faint pink colored yoongi's cheeks, "i love you more."

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straightforthefl00r · 2 days

Text

until my knots unravel

His eyes widened at the sight of the door slamming in his face, the mahogany of the door mocked him. The lock delicately clicked into place.

“You’re a fucking ass!”

Dabi felt the words escape from his mouth. He didn’t mean that, truly. If anything, he was the ass for being so ignorant.

He wished the world would just stand still. It couldn’t keep spinning like this, not when you were in so much pain. Not when he caused that pain. Not when he feels so much that he thinks he could explode into stardust.

However, the world didn’t heed a single wish of his and, instead, became blurry.

Typical.

“Why the fuck did you do that!”

Dabi banged his fist against the door.

The mission had not even ended an hour ago and he was kicking up a fuss. Despite the mission going according to plan (for once in his goddamn life), he came back to the hideout with about three broken ribs, a smashed shoulder and with some internal bleeding to go with that, no doubt. Everyone else was in no better shape.

“Tell me!”

You, as per usual, healed them all until they were as good as new. Dabi never really knew how your quirk worked (he never really bothered to learn), because you always went to hide away in your ‘infirmary’ room. If it could be called that. It was just a dark room with a few beds, and a stain on the floor that would never disappear, no matter how hard you would wipe.

Blood started to trickle from his hand. The cold air, the red, the yelling: it was too much. He was being too much.

Dabi wondered if you would heal this too.

“Come out here and talk to me!”

You healed him last out of all the league. He remembered your eyes when you healed him. They were tired. Exhausted, with a hint of something else.

He only found out about your quirk when you rested your hand against his and healed him. From what he’s pieced together, you absorb the injury and then heal yourself. He was sure of it. However, the sinking feeling in his stomach told him there was a lot more than that. You never got any visible injuries after healing.

“Please.”

Why did he care so much?

Of course he should care about you, you were the only healer in the team. Absolutely essential for this type of work. Perfect for villains like him.

You never got too attached either. Another thing Dabi respected about you. Always cold to the others in the league and even indifferent to the blood-sucking leech Toga. Even her insufferable bubbling didn’t make much of an impression on you.

Dabi, on the other hand, was very much attached to you.

When he thought about it, he had fun talking to you. You just made sense. Sometimes, that was just all he needed.

And when he really thought about it, he would swear that you enjoyed him too. Too many times Dabi caught a glimpse of a smile on your lips.

“Come out.” He whispered, voice now hoarse,”I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

He had no right whatsoever to be outside your door. He had no right either to be shouting at you. This was your life, your quirk. You didn’t need to explain a single thing to him.

You were fuming. The sheer entitlement this man felt.

“No.” You mumbled, from the other side of the door.

“Go away.”

Your back was against the door, head in your arms. “I’ll talk to you when I want to.”

#dabi #bnha dabi #bnha x reader #dabi x reader #bnha #mha #angsty #light angst #lysa.xo writes #drabble #touya todoroki #touya #touya x reader

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veronicaphoenix · 5 hours

Note

It’s okay if not because I don’t think you’ve written anything like it or similar before but for Into the Abyss of Bad Habits would you maybe consider writing reader who wants to try strapon sex with Noah because she sees how well he takes Oli and wants him to fall apart like that under her? 🫠 Especially since he’s a workaholic and a control freak, to see him just lose all sense of that. There is not a thought in his head. He melts actually melts into the mattress. I just know you would do it justice. Maybe Oli and reader are plotting together as a result of him disappearing into the studio for hours,days, at a time, kind of getting lost in it, ignoring them. Not everyone’s cup of tea though, I know. Feel free to ignore!

Title: Into the Abyss of Bad Habits — Requested scene

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Oliver Sykes x Reader | Words: 2k

Tags and trigger warnings: established polyamorous relationship, sexual content (basically what's written in the request, it's not too descriptive, though), use of handscuffs, three people in love exploring the joys of sex, oliver being sort of a sex instructor 🤭, and fluff ✨

I felt apprehensive at my own idea as I approached the studio on the ground floor of our house, my hand tightly gripping Oliver as he led the way.

My heart raced in my chest, skittish at Noah’s reaction to my proposal.

He had been consumed by work again in recent days, secluding himself in the studio for hours on end, skipping meals, and feeling perpetually behind schedule, despite evidence to the contrary and his bandmates reminding him that they were good on time for their next releases. Noah’s self-imposed stress often found a way to take control of him, keeping him distant from both Oliver and me.

Considering that we hadn’t had much quality time the three of us together since a week, I had had enough time to entertain myself with different scenarios that still hadn’t unfolded in the intimacy of our bedroom.

At first, when the idea crossed my mind, I felt somewhat embarrassed and quickly dismissed it. However, it persisted, stubbornly refusing to vacate my thoughts. I missed Noah, and I couldn’t shake the image of Noah unraveling every time Oliver took him, how effortlessly Oliver managed to get him to surrender to him. And in a sudden, unexpected moment, a twinge of jealousy took over me. I knew I could cause that effect on him, too, elicit the same response, to make him come undone when he was with me, whether inside me or in the grasp of my mouth. But now I yearned to get the same level of surrender that Oliver achieved.

I was so mortified at my own thoughts and needs that Oliver noticed my distress as soon as he entered the kitchen a few days ago and found me frantically preparing tea in the kitchen.

It took him less than five minutes to coax me into telling him what was going through my head, the scenario I’d been picturing the past few days. His reaction? He took my hand, picked the car keys, and drove us to the nearest sex shop, taking advantage of Noah being lost in his music world, which ensured us that he wouldn’t notice our absence.

Today, it had been three hours since Noah had disappeared into the studio immediately after breakfast, his absence stretching until late morning. It was Saturday, for God’s sake, and instead of going out for a run and spend some time with Oliver and me in the garden, or in bed, he had decided to remain sequestered in his space, oblivious to the world outside. He hadn’t even finished the bite of the avocado sandwich he’d been devouring for breakfast by the time he stood up, left the plate in the sink, and strode out of the kitchen, leaving me an Oliver gaping at his back as he disappeared down the corridor.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself before I knocked on the studio door three hours later.

“He’s going to like the idea, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Oliver tried to reassure me.

“Too late for that,” I replied.

Oliver squeezed my hand, a hint of laughter escaping him as he didn’t wait for Noah to open the door. With determined strides, Oliver barged into the room, removing Noah’s headphones from his ears.

Noah’s immediate protest was cut short by the seriousness in Oliver’s gaze, which conveyed a message of “enough is enough.” Then, with a subtle eyebrow gesture, Oliver directed Noah’s attention towards me, standing a few steps behind him. Noah noticed my tight grip on Oliver’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired, furrowing his brows.

“She wants to ask you something,” Oliver said.

“Propose, actually,” I corrected, my voice barely above a whisper.

“What is it?” He sat in his chair, relaxed yet attentive, hands hanging from the armrests and legs open and inviting. His attention was now fully on me, curiosity piqued.

I bit my lip.

“I want to fuck you the way Oliver does.”

After a brief moment of processing, Noah chuckled, his eyes flickering between me and Oliver.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve picked up a few things,” Oliver explained, “and we’re done waiting for you to come out of this mouse hole. So, get up from that chair, and let’s put some work into that rear, or it’s going to flatten out like a pancake.”

Noah’s expression shifted to one of disappointment and mild embarrassment. “Your jokes aren’t funny, dude,” he chided.

“Noah, please?” I interjected, extending my arm toward him, silently conveying what I wanted as I held his gaze. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he swiveled around in the chair, quickly saving his progress on Logic Pro before standing up. His fingers lightly brushed against my chin.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

I could barely contain my excitement, nearly letting out a squeal as we made our way out of the studio.

When we made it to the bedroom, Noah and Oliver took of their t-shirts. I wriggled to remove my jeans, keeping my t-shirt and tiny thong on. Oliver then retrieved the strap-on from the bag, and when Noah caught sight of it, his reaction surprised me.

Instead of shock or hesitation, he chuckled with amusement, pulling me close to him for a deep, passionate kiss. He pressed his body to mine as I stood on my tiptoes before letting a delicious friction ignite between us that got me wet and him, hard.

Unlacing his sweatpants, I pulled them down with his underwear. He climbed onto the bed without needing any direction from Oliver or me. Meanwhile, Oliver assisted me, pulling down my thong and securing the strap-on around my hips.

“How do you want me, baby?” Noah asked, eyes on me.

“Umm,” I glanced uncertainly at Oliver over my shoulder.

“Don’t be shy, come on. Tell him what you told me” he encouraged me.

“On your back?” I said, moving some hair behind my ear. “I want to see your face.”

“Missionary? Alright, missionary it is,” Noah agreed.

With a contented smile, he settled onto the bed, arranging himself among the pillow on our huge mattress. He relaxed, arms folded behind his head, dick hard. He watched me as Oliver inspected me, his hands still on my hips.

“I feel so weird…” I muttered, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Can you feel the weight?” Oliver asked. I nodded. “That’s how it feels to be a man.”

I rolled my eyes. With a playful slap to my ass, he directed me to get on the bed and position myself between Noah’s legs, which were now bent.

Noah clicked his tongue, gesturing toward my chest. “T-shirt and bra off, baby. If you’re going to be on top of me, I want those beautiful tits pressed against my chest.”

Oliver spared me the hassle by removing the last of my clothes. Moments later, he positioned himself at the foot of the bed, still standing, his bare chest pressed against my back as my hand found their place on Noah’s knees. Uncertainty gripped me as I pondered how to begin. It was pretty obvious, yes, but it was still something new to me. I hadn’t tried this with any of my past lovers.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll guide you through it,” Oliver whispered in my ear, his hands massaging my shoulders. As I glanced down at Noah’s growing erection and then at the smirk on his face, I felt a surge of nerves. I was damn nervous about this whole situation, and he seemed to be thoroughly entertained by the prospect of what I was about to do.

Oliver excused himself briefly, returning with a bottle of lube in hand. He applied some to my hand, instructing me to spread it on Noah, emphasizing how good it would feel if I caressed Noah’s perineum in the process, a sensitive area Noah apparently enjoyed. Following Oliver’s guidance, Noah emitted a low moan, his gaze fixed on me intently as I adjusted to this new task.

“Good,” Oliver said. “Guide it with your hands and start pushing in. When you feel ready to continue with your hips, use your hands to stimulate his dick. Meanwhile, I’ll tie his hands to the headboard,” he concluded, already moving to carry out his part of the plan.

“You had this all planned, didn’t you?” Noah began to remark, but his words faltered when I pressed forward with my hips.

My fingers encircled Noah’s erection, applying gentle pressure as I began to move and pump him in a steady rhythm. Oliver secured Noah’s wrists to the headboard before leaning in to grab his jaw and press a hungry kiss to his lips.

“Such a control freak,” he reprimanded him between clenched teeth while still holding his jaw between his fingers. Noah’s eyes had darkened and his cheeks flushed by the time Oliver had returned to stand behind me.

“Does it feel good?” I asked Noah, curious and anxious.

“It’s—ugh. Kitt—ah! Fuck.” His wrists pulled at the bindings. I bit my lip, power running through my veins as I kept thrusting into him and watched him abide to me. “It feels amazing…”

I attempted to go faster, but Oliver stilled my hips, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

“You don’t have rush, love. Find your rhythm, go at your own pace. He’s enjoying it either way. Just look at his face. He’s already melting. You’ve got him right where you wanted him, don’t you?” Oliver’s words were soothing, grounding me in the moment.

“Yes,” I replied softly, barely whispering. I had already lost myself to the cadence of my hips against Noah and in the harmony of seeing him slowly surrender blissfully to me. Spread out on the bed, hands bound, lips parted, his moans filling the room, he looked utterly beautiful.

“Keep going,” Oliver encouraged, his hands squeezing my breasts, and his fingers beginning to tease my nipples. My breath hitched. “Just like that. Good girl. You’re going to make him come in no time.”

In those minutes, I felt once again mesmerized at the connection I had with both, how marvelously well we worked together, how good we were for each other. My inexplicable connection with both Noah and Oliver was a harmonious blend of desire and intimacy that never failed to envelop us in its warmth. I felt fucking blessed.

“I want Noah to touch me, too,” I suddenly expressed.

“Alright,” Oliver replied. He was clearly enjoying the moment, guiding us through it all, witnessing how Noah was about to fall apart with me positioned between his legs.

It hadn’t been more than ten minutes of Noah being bound to the bed when Oliver released him. Despite his struggle to contain the pleasure, Noah motioned for me to lean on him. Maneuvering our bodies was a bit challenging given how they were connected and our size difference, but Noah managed to grasp my face in his hands and kiss me deeply.

With one hand still nestled between us, fingers wrapped around his thickness, I continued to stroke him, feeling the tension building within the body underneath mine until finally, I had him falling apart, his release coating both our stomachs, my mouth swallowing the wail his orgasm elicited.

It was dirty, the way I lay on top of him after, but as soon as the euphoria of seeing Noah succumb to ecstasy, totally melting into the mattress because of me, began to settle down, I returned to my knees.

Oliver helped me remove the toy, and quick as a cat I crawled back to Noah’s side while Oliver fetched wipes to clean us both.

As we cuddled in bed, Noah’s hand caressing my hair and his lips leaving feather-light kisses on my nose and cheeks, his voice filled the room with messages of reassurance, praise, and gratitude. Oliver joined us on the other side of Noah, still wearing his jeans and his erection evident against the fabric. Nevertheless, he looked just as elated as we did.

“That was fucking beautiful,” he said.

#noah sebastian #oliver sykes #itaobh request #bad omens #bmth #bring me the horizon #noah sebastian x oliver sykes #noah sebastian x reader #oliver sykes x reader

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bbyhellfire · 23 hours

Text

our phantom of forever

➠ summary: eddie is resurrected by vecna, only to realize you don't exist in the upside down.

➠ pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader (she/her pronouns)

➠ word count: 1.3k words

➠ warnings: angst city, death, resurrection, allusions to suicidal thoughts (eddie wishing for death), swearing, reader moved to hawkins with her parents, vecna being vecna.

➠ a/n: pushing the 'eddie is alive' agenda 😌 i have a couple ideas about eddie making a deal with vecna that i'm debating turning into a series or just standalone one shots, so let me know what you think! and let's continue to live in delulu

It was stupid, running away from Vecna in the Upside Down. It wasn't like he controlled it or anything. But Eddie Munson isn't exactly known for his smart decisions.

He makes a mad dash from the Creel House the first chance he gets. He's alive, resurrected by the very monster responsible for his death. Eddie should be relieved that he can feel his heart beating as he runs through the decrepit streets of Hawkins. The never ending fog blurs his vision, not that it matters. Upside Down or not, he knows where he is going. No alternate dimension can change that.

All Eddie wants is you. He wants to curl his wrecked body around yours and cry into your neck as you tell him everything will be okay. He knows it won't happen, Vecna won't be so quick to let his new plaything go. But the hope is still there, and it's enough to take him across town towards the direction of your home.

If he can't physically be with you, then at least he can be surrounded by you. A piss poor replacement, but he'll take what he can get.

The ash-like spores make his lungs burn with every jagged breath. His body, still weak from his death, begs for him to stop, but he is already here. The navy blue paint is chipped and vines have broken through the front windows, but it's still your home. The world around him blurs into a watercolor of black and blue as he rushes through your front door and up the stairs to your bedroom.

Maybe you'll be waiting for him. You'll greet him with open arms and a teary smile and –

Nothing.

You're not there. In fact, none of your belongings are there. Not your bed, not your desk, your posters, your clothes. The room is empty.

What the hell?

He moves towards your bathroom. The counter should be covered in your toiletries. The doodles he'd given to you should be taped up along the mirror.

An owl with "You're owl I need" written on the bottom.

A mug with "I love you a latte" etched in the front.

Another of a cat holding a sign that says, "I've got felines for you."

The bathroom is as empty as your room. The only things waiting for him are those fucking vines, slithering out of the bathroom sink like a bouquet of snakes.

No, no, no.

Vecna controls this universe, right? So it's not completely unreasonable that he could make you disappear. Right? That has to be it. This is just Vecna. It's all Vecna.

"Do you really think so little of me? After I saved your life? Think, boy."

Eddie's head shoots up to the mirror, expecting to see the monster standing behind him like this is some sort of horror movie, but he's alone. Of course Vecna has an omnipresent voice that echoes throughout. Of course he fucking does.

He's never gonna beat the God complex allegations, Eddie thinks as the vines in the sink start to move. A little nudge of encouragement so to speak.

He bolts out of your room and down the hallway to your parent's bedroom.

Empty.

He tries the linen closet.

Nothing.

He practically tumbles down to the first level. Your living room, dining room, kitchen, even the garage. Everything is devoid of you and anything connected to you.

Dread is settles in the pit of his stomach. He is running out of places to check. All he thinks to do is scream. And he does. He wails and wails until his vocal cords hemorrhage. The dull taste of blood in the back of his throat makes him add obscenities to his screams. Maybe it'd be enough to echo through the other side. Hell, he'd take your parents materializing to scold him. He'd take anything as long as it means you're there. But nothing ever comes. It's just him and his pain.

It's like you never existed.

Only when he's back in your bedroom, standing in the exact spot where your bed should be, does he remember Nancy's diary. Ice cold realization turns his organs into stone.

He tries not whimper, "She isn't here, is she?"

"No, she's not, but you already knew that." With every word, the fog thickens into a violent red until the monster responsible for all of this appears in front of him. Eddie shakes his head in furious denial as the date in Nancy's diary taunts him.

November 6, 1983.

It's like you don't exist in the Upside Down because of you don't exist. Your family wouldn't move to Hawkins until the following month. It wouldn't be until the start of the spring semester when you and Eddie would properly meet, paired up for a science project. By February, he'd build up the courage to ask you on a date. His adoration for you would bloom with the spring flowers. He would be head over heels in love with you by the fall.

But with the Upside Down frozen at a point in time where he didn't even know your name, you won't be here. There will be no record of you, no liferaft to cling to as his humanity is thrown into freefall.

"No, it's not fair! This isn't fucking fair!"

"The human existence is anything but fair. Your life was an excellent example of that."

Eddie knows that very well, but he doesn't need this walking smear stain reminding him like he's a toddler. He remembers every taunt, shove, and outrage that formed his life. They were his to experience, not anyone else's. They were his life no matter how unfair it may have been. Vecna didn't get to use them against him.

Now, he is angry. He lunges toward the monster, but vines shoot out to wrap around his waist before he can reach Vecna. They throw him back violently, wrapping around his middle and neck to keep him flush against the wall. The tendril around his waist tightens until he stops moving, his arms pinned to his side. Another vine slithers around his neck, squeezing until he has no choice but to look up at the monster of the Upside Down.

"So ungrateful even after I gifted you the chance of another life. Do you understand I can take that away from you? And then how would you see her again?"

Eddie grimaces, scrunching his nose and glaring with all the resentment building inside. He knows where this is going, the manipulation so obvious it's insulting.

The weight of his situation presses down on him harder than the vines bundling his body. He finally cries. Fat, angry tears run down his dirty cheeks as he glares at Vecna. Eddie hopes he looks as pathetic as he feels. Maybe Vecna will be disgusted and realize he made a mistake resurrecting him. He is not a killer, not a hero, not a villain. He is just Eddie.

He wishes for a reinstatement of his death sentence. He'd rather his body be picked apart by demobats than a life shackled by shame and defeat.

"I'm not unreasonable, Eddie," Vecna takes heavy steps towards him. "You can see her again, if it's what you really want. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it. I just need you to do something for me."

The tears keep falling, his vision blurring from the splotches in the shape of you. He thinks of you, the way you smell, the comforting feeling of your hand in his, the sweet nothings you'd whisper when you thought he was asleep. He remembers the nights you'd spend wrapped in his sheets, eyes glassy from all the weed you'd smoke, as you talk about the future.

That is all he will ever have of you – memories. Memories that will fade until only the pain of what could have been remains.

What else is he supposed to do?

"What is it?"

divider by @/silkholland

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson angst #bbyhellfire

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 2 days

Text

Daughter of the Rain and Snow

Concept: Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who put her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Tags: @wraith--2 @lunarthecorvus @just2bubbly @real-fragments7 @cartoon-clifford @origami-butterfly @lady-a-stuff @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @inej-ghafa-deserves-the-world @thatdelusionalnerd

If anyone wants to be added let me know :)

Content Warnings: in more general terms I want to remind people to be aware of the nature of Kaz and Inej's experiences and relationship since even if I'm not directly addressing these things they tend to be implicit in any writing about them, but specifically to this chapter there's ptsd references, anxiety, violence references, blood, wounds, and fear of losing loved ones

Note: Oh my goodness we only have the epilogue left to go... this is insane I can't believe we've reached the end

AO3 link: Daughter of the Rain and Snow - Chapter 145 - She_posts_nerdy_stuff - Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter 144 - Kaz

At least the Crow Club was back in working order. Beyond that things weren’t looking at their best. Kaz knew from Anika and Pim’s reports that the damage was mostly repaired and they’d reopened the closed wing a few months ago, but he also knew from the income reports Yara had been sending him that they’d taken a hit. Her projections looked sunnier for next month, but Kaz wasn’t feeling particularly confident. There was a nervous energy about the Slat when he walked in, still as rowdy as it usually was in these early hours of the morning but with a slightly frantic edge. Kaz had known his extended absence would take a toll, but he’d tried to keep in control of what he could.

“I assume there are rumours going round about -”

“Your mysterious disappearance? Yeah,” said Anika, “We’re treading water trynna cover up for you being missing,”

“Anyone get wise?”

“To the fact you weren’t here or to what you were actually up to?”

Kaz shot her an unamused glare. Clearly he needed to stop telling Anika up to 50% of the truth, because she was getting too good at picking up what the rest of it was.

“I don’t think so,” she said, “Not with any proof you weren’t around. Few people here and there are convinced you’re dead,”

That didn’t particularly surprise him.

“Any attempts at territory grabs since you last wrote?”

“Liddies are still riled up, but nothing new except a pretty hollow looking threat from Black Tips,”

Kaz sighed. They weren’t staying in Ketterdam for long, he’d have to get through work quickly and make a few choice appearances if he could spare the time.

As far as Kaz and Inej knew, the plan was for them to drop in on Jesper and Wylan for the afternoon, then go to the house overnight whilst Nina stayed on the Geldstradt. They didn’t have the space to have her at the house by the harbour - especially when Alyssa was staying with them too - and anyway she would only be kept up all night by Sadja. But apparently Jesper and Wylan had other plans, as soon as they were through the door it was all but a demand they at least stay there the first night. They’d even set up a room for Alyssa upstairs, so she was close if Inej or Sadja needed her.

“How are you feeling?” Kaz had asked, watching Inej’s hand find the railing on the porch of the Hendriks house.

“I’m fine,”

Kaz shook his head, looking down at Sadja.

“Once you can talk I’m going to teach you to shout at your Mama every time she says that,” he told her, gently readjusting the sling in hopes of helping her settle.

Nina laughed.

Sadja had done well on the boat, Kaz thought, for a stubborn two month old who had never travelled further than the Grand Palace until a couple of weeks ago, but she hadn’t slept well last night and still didn’t seem to be interested in sleeping now.

“Kaz, really,” said Inej, shaking her head, “I’m okay. I’m just tired,”

Kaz nodded, but he and Nina had shared a brief glance. Inej rang the doorbell and Sadja immediately jutted out her bottom lip in indignation; for a moment Kaz thought she was going to cry but she settled again, still looking a little grumpy. He readjusted his cane so that he could remain balanced whilst he offered her his finger, and once she’d acknowledged it he gently rubbed his hand up and down her tiny tummy.

“Do you not like doorbells, Sadja?”

“I think it’s quite normal for babies not to like loud noises, Kaz,” said Nina, peering over the sling, “You’re okay, aren’t you Sadja? You’re a brave little muffin,”

“Brave little muffin?” asked Kaz.

“Hey, that is just about the highest compliment I’ve ever given anyone,”

“Well, you are brave aren’t you Sadja? You’re just like your Mama,”

She wriggled a little in the sling, as though she was trying to look up at him properly, and smiled. Kaz glowed.

The door had barely been opened when they were met by the practically shouted words:

“Where’s my niece?”

“Well, hello to you too, Jesper,” said Inej, sharing his soft laugh.

She leaned into the arm he offered and he kissed her on the cheek, ushering her over the doorstep. Kaz followed, nodding at Jesper.

“Saints, I’ve missed you,” said Jesper, hugging Inej again.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too,”

Nina cleared her throat, glaring teasingly at Jesper. He threw an arm around her shoulders.

“I’ve missed you too, darling, obviously. And I guess I missed you Kaz,”

“Always with the compliments,”

Where’s Wylan?” asked Inej.

“Couldn’t get out of a meeting,” Jesper replied, shaking his head, “He won’t be long. Now, where’s this little Sadja you’ve been withholding from me?”

“Withholding-? She’s only been alive two months - and you were in Novyi Zem for one and a half of them,”

“Withholding,” Jesper repeated

Inej laughed. Kaz gently scooped Sadja out of her sling and into his arms, rocking her for a moment before he passed her to Inej so Jesper could lean over and greet her. He looked like he was about to burst with glee.

“Oh my goodness, you two she’s so beautiful. Aren’t you? Yes you are, yes you are,”

Jesper looked up at Kaz and Inej, grinning.

“She’s wonderful,”

“She most certainly is,” Kaz smiled, pushing the door to behind him before they walked together towards the living room, “It’s good to see you, Jes,”

“You too. And honestly you with a baby is quite possibly both the funniest and cutest thing I have ever seen, so thank you for that,”

Nina snorted. Kaz glared at them both.

“And how are you?” Jesper had asked Inej, as they sat on the sofa together.

It was about twenty minutes later and Wylan had just got back, all apologies for being late and overjoyed to see them all again. He was now sitting in between Inej and Kiada with Sadja in his arms, smiling.

“Well, I haven’t slept in about two months,” Inej smiled, leaning her head onto Jesper’s shoulder, “But other than that I’m doing pretty well. How are you? - How was Novyi Zem?”

“I’m good, we’re all pretty good at the minute, actually. And Novyi Zem was lovely, good to see my Da, and everyone did a very good job,” he squeezed Aimee’s hand lightly, from where she was perching on the arm of the sofa next to him, “There were a few moments where we thought we’d have to come home early - that was always in the plan as an option, if anyone needed it - but we ended up staying the whole time,”

“How’s Colm?” asked Nina, leaning forwards to pick her coffee up from the table.

The conversation floated on, and Kaz had drifted in and out of paying attention to it as he kept his eyes on Sadja. She started wriggling uncomfortably and Wylan passed her back to Inej, then a moment passed before she started crying.

“Is she alright?” asked Kaz.

“She’s just hungry,” said Inej, looking at Kaz in a way that meant calm down, she’s a baby, she’s going to cry, you do not need to worry as she stood up and gently rocked Sadja against her chest, whispering to her in Suli, “I’ll take her upstairs,”

At some point, Kaz wasn’t exactly sure how long it had been, it was only him, Nina, and Jesper still sitting in the living room. Focus had switched freely: the trip to Novyi Zem - two weeks with Colm followed by a month and a half through in Weddle and Shriftport, then another two weeks with Colm - Kiada had struggled with the boat, Aimee had struggled on the farm, Kiada has struggled in Weddle; news on the Ravkans and their new little prince and princess, twins about three months older than Sadja; Clemmie Boscht had started renting an apartment in the city and came to the house to share roast dinner with the family once a month; updates on something Kaz had forgotten to pay attention to as he was wondering how long Inej and Sadja had been gone and if he should go upstairs to find them. Now Nina was asking about wedding plans - the original date should have been last month, but it hadn’t been set in stone when Kaz and Inej first went to Ravka so Jesper and Wylan had decided to postpone and visit Jesper’s father instead of him coming out to them.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jesper was saying, “Nothing will ever make up for the fact that Kaz Brekker got married before I did,”

Nina flopped against the back cushions of the sofa.

“Yeah, it’s a real blow to the ego isn’t it?”

“Aren’t you two just the height of comedy?” said Kaz drily.

“To be fair, Jes,” Nina added, “I think we were all surprised you weren’t the first to get married. I mean how long had you two known each other before you moved in, two months?”

“No, well I really only joke,” said Jesper, glancing briefly at the door and lowering his voice, “Wylan told me ages ago he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get married, after everything with his parents he just kinda… lost faith in it,”

Jesper had told Kaz about it at the time. It was years ago, around the time of the Van Eck trial, and Wylan was having an unsurprisingly bad time of it. He said he’d burst into tears and told Jesper that it had been evil of him to trap him in a relationship that would never go anywhere, and that he could leave if he wanted to and Wylan would understand. Apparently Jesper had stared at him for almost a full minute, and then said:

“Wy, you’re seventeen,”

“Well, clearly,” Kaz had said, “You handled that well,”

“I helped him afterwards!” Jepser had cried defensively, “That was just my first thought,”

Now Kaz sat behind his desk at the Slat, flicking through the endless pile of papers laying in wait and watching the hands move on his timepiece. Almost five bells. He wanted to be back by six.

Sadja had woken up not long before three bells, screaming loud enough to bring the entire house down. Kaz fumbled in the dark, searching for his cane, before Inej turned on the gas lights and handed it to him, smiling and shaking her head. They sat next to each other on the side of the mattress as Sadja nursed, and for about half an hour afterwards Kaz was still rocking her slowly whilst Inej lowered the lights and lay back down. Sadja seemed on the verge of settling back to sleep and Kaz stood to return her to the cradle next to the bed, only for her to immediately start wailing again.

“Well I hope you’re not still hungry,” he said softly in Suli, giving her a gente bounce “I think Mama’s asleep,”

She flailed one of her tiny fists into the air and it whacked lightly against Kaz’s chest.

“Not bad form,” he told her, “But you need more strength behind it if you want to do real damage. We’ll work on that when you’re older. What can we do to help you sleep now though, hm?”

Sadja wriggled in his arm and Kaz moved to sit on one of the armchairs so he could set down his cane and support her more comfortably.

“I don’t have anything new to read to you,” he said, “But I could tell you a story if you’d like,”

There was a pause broken only by Sadja’s impatient cries, before Inej’s soft voice came from the darkness on the other side of the room:

“You know the whole idea of us using one language each with her whilst she's still learning kind of depends on you speaking to her in Kerch, right?”

Kaz looked up.

“Inej? I thought you were asleep,”

“Kaz, if you think anyone could fall asleep through this then I have serious concerns about your hearing. And, again, you’re supposed to speak in Kerch,”

“I’m still not convinced that’s going to work,” he replied, “Isn’t she just going to hear us using both with each other anyway?”

Inej groaned.

“It’s three in the morning, Kaz, can we talk about this later?”

He laughed softly, nodding though he wasn’t sure if she’d see in the dark. He’d known that he needed to go to the Slat - the last word from Anika and Pim had been concerningly vague - but he could stay here a little while yet, couldn’t he? What harm would it do, just to stay here for a little longer? He sighed.

“You need to go, don’t you?”

He didn’t know how she did that.

“It can wait until tomorrow,”

“You can’t,” said Inej, quietly, “Go on. I’ll get her settled, just don’t be long, okay?”

“Never,”

He really needed to stop watching the clock, or he wouldn’t get anything done and have to bully himself into staying longer. It was a good while past five bells when he left, ignoring the shouts for attention that followed him from the crowd. The Hendriks house was mostly still sleeping, though Wylan was unsurprisingly up and in the kitchen making coffee by the time Kaz arrived at six bells. Inej was awake but she was still upstairs, not long dressed and part way through brushing her hair when Kaz knocked softly on the door. She opened it slowly, pressing a finger to her lips as he slipped inside.

“Sadja’s asleep,”

Kaz stood over the cradle for a moment, watching her. She really was perfect. Inej appeared next to him, her arm slipping around his waist once he’d nodded confirmation. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“She already looks like you,” she whispered.

Kaz shook his head.

“She’s beautiful. That’s all you,”

Inej shook her head then, her hand finding his and slipping beneath the rim so her fingers brushed his wrist. Kaz’s heart leapt, thinking of holding her on the floor almost a year ago, a knife in her gut and her blood soaking over both of them. He swallowed and she felt him tense, starting to pull away to give him space. His fingers tightened over hers, holding her to him.

“We’ve not…” she hesitated, “We’ve not talked about a plan for where to live. For what to do next,”

Kaz had been avoiding the conversation, because he didn’t actually know what he was going to say. But it was a year ago when he couldn’t tell her everything he’d thought he should be able to say by now -

Their happiness, together. In Kerch, in Ravka, they could move to the permafrost in Fjerda for all he cared. He would carve a life for her in the face of a mountain, if that was what she wanted.

- and so much had changed since then. He should be able to tell her that now. And he did.

Inej turned and leaned her face up towards his, glowing in the soft dancing light of dawn leaking through the window, her dark eyes shimmering. She lifted a hand up to cup his cheek, and slowly they leaned into each other. Their foreheads pressed against each other, Kaz’s hand slipped down Inej’s back, and their lips met in the warmth of spring and joy and a family that for so long Kaz had convinced himself he didn’t want, because he never thought he’d be able to find it.

The entire world was golden.

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your-eternal-lies · 10 hours

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_ YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME (chapter eight)

Main Navigation || Series Masterlist Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

Pairing — Steve Rogers x f!Reader Summary — As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

Warnings — None.

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME

CHAPTER EIGHT THE SMALLEST OF GIFTS

Time seems to slow to a crawl in the steel cocoon of the elevator, but Steve finds a sense of tranquility as he keeps vigil over your sleep.

He’d been through wars, seen the best and worst of humanity, yet nothing’s prepared him for the quiet upheaval that came with caring for someone in such a simple and unguarded way.

There’s a promise forming within him, unspoken but resolute, vowing to bridge the gap between your brief encounter here and the uncertain expanse of the real world beyond. Even he, in his infinite attempts at denial, knows he needs to find a way to make this connection endure, to weave the thread of this shared experience into the fabric of your everyday lives.

But life, much like you, has a way of surprising him when he least expected it.

With a soft sigh, you stir in his arms, your body shifting ever so slightly as consciousness begins to seep back into your features. Your eyelids flutter, revealing sleepy eyes that blink up at him, still hazy from dreams.

A smile spreads across Steve’s face, one that reaches deep into his eyes, crinkling their corners with genuine delight.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmurs, the affection in his voice wrapped in a playful tease. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Your eyes go wide with shock, and just as you’re about to leap back in surprise, his arm tightens around you, the motion almost instinctual.

Something shifts inside him then, like the tectonic plates of his very soul rearranging themselves to accommodate the seismic event that is you.

He pictures you waking just like this in a bedroom with linen sheets, the sun streaming in through a nearby window, looking up at him with a sleepy smile.

He imagines introducing you to the Avengers, his friends, all the banter and jokes at his expense, and the looks of surprise when they would see this unassuming woman who’s captured his attention.

It’s not lost on him, the absurdity of contemplating a future with someone he’s only known a few hours, but he can’t seem to shake the feeling that there’s significance in this chance encounter.

Warmth seems to grow with each passing minute with the fantasy, feeding a fire that sparks unexpectedly in his heart.

Suddenly, thoughts of the world outside that demands Captain America disappear, the weight of his shield feels distant, and he begins to truly appreciate a very peculiar kind of magic at play.

“Steve?” You whisper, your breath fanning across his cheek. He only holds you tighter in response, moving achingly slow as he places his chin on top of your head, allowing you to find purchase against his chest.

He closes his eyes, his lungs seem unable to draw in enough breath, no matter how deeply he breathes.

Because, for the first time in years, Steve dreams for something beyond a hero’s call—a shared future, unpredictable and thrilling in moments of vulnerability and laughter.

“Never thought I’d get cozy with Steve Rogers in an elevator,” you mumble, heart in your throat.

You shift, your leg brushing against his as you settle further into his chest. The contact is electric, sparking a connection that surges through your veins, setting every nerve ending on alert.

At any other time, in any other place, you might have straightened up, put distance between you out of respect for personal boundaries. But here, the rules of engagement seem rewritten by an unseen hand.

“Am I heavy?” You ask, though what you really want to ask is whether he can feel the racing of your heart, or if he knows just how much this moment means to you.

“Not even a little,�� he assures, his tone light. “Are you comfortable?”

“Never better,” you whisper, watching the fabric of his t-shirt ripple under your breath. “You make a surprisingly good pillow, Rogers.”

“Happy to be of service,” he pulls back just a little, so that you can stare into his handsome face. The close quarters strip away his larger-than-life persona, leaving behind just a man—Steve, who is so much more than just a caricature of red, white, and blue.

It’s a peculiar thing, you muse, how a simple twist of fate can pivot your entire existence. A malfunctioning elevator has become a crucible, forging a bond that feels almost as strong as vibranium, yet as delicate as the silence that envelopes you.

Your heart swells with a mixture of joy and uncertainty in his arms. You wonder if you’re just running on borrowed time, if this newfound intimacy is just a result of adrenaline and forced proximity, that maybe the doors would open eventually and reality would come flooding back in.

But you cling to hope that this is just the beginning. Steve gives you a small smile in the darkness, the weight of his arm around your waist reassuring as you realize you don’t just want more moments like these; you need them.

Taking advantage of your closeness, you carefully study his face: the slope of his nose, the spots of freckles that you hadn’t noticed before, and the curve of his lips, like a cartographer charting out the contours of newly discovered land.

For now, you allow yourself the luxury of believing it’s possible—that someone as magnificent and lovely as Steve Rogers could feel for you even a fraction of what you feel right now.

“Steve?” You say his name again, your voice barely audible, a whisper against the quiet thrumming of the lift.

“Yes?” And when he says yours in return, you fall in love a little with the way it sounds.

“Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“That… we’ll go get your coffee after this,” you lean back against his shoulder, keeping your voice light, but there’s a seriousness in your tone that you can’t hide. “I need to make sure you’re not just a figment of my caffeine-deprived imagination.”

“Cross my heart.”

« Chapter 7 || Chapter 9 »

Taglist — My taglist has been discontinued. Please follow @your-eternal-library and turn on notifications for all my fanfiction updates.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #summer’s fics

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dsaf-confessions · 1 day

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Henry and Dave had 'good' times and bad times, because Dave's not stupid, not even when he was young, he's hurt, he was quite literally physically weak from dehydration and hunger, and he'd never really been shown love before, but I truly think that despite all that he wouldn't of stuck with Henry if there was no mutual emotional connection there. And what do I think that emotional connection was, for the main part? Sympathy. Realised or not. Imagine Henry with this young homeless orphan boy, wide eyed, a quick learner, bubbly yet thick skinned, henry already a fair bit deep inside of the rabbit hole of his frankly deteriorating mind. I don't think there was entirely a net positive there, giving it a go to see if this child could help him bring back David and Martha, or atleast show the world what his intellectual prowess made him. I think there was an unrealised sympathy there that really this child had remarkable similarities to a young Henry, tired legs from pushing around that newspaper loaded bike all day and tired of all his fathers bullshit. Acting far too mature far too quick to stay alive. Hungry, physically hungry, because it wasn't easy to always have food on the table for himself as well. Atleast a bit of him recognised those memories in Dave. And Dave, it was a process, certainly, to realise that this blunt yet providing figure, who also entertained his desire for any educational enrichment long enough to keep him interested, wasn't truly ridgid and harsh. Dave knew he wasn't perfect, more of the metaphorical wire monkey as opposed to the cloth, only providing in the slightest bit to his emotional tenderness, yet I think there were events where he was caught being human. Being so ashamed of himself sometimes he'd drink like his father, and being a lightweight from his usual refusal of any alcohol, simply breaking down and being caught by Dave spilling his guts out about his traumas and past love. Facing an episode and letting his underlying and overwhelming neurotic fear of so much slip, even willingly mentioning Martha and david, atleast once. Things like these, from off the bat, Dave would process, and sympathise with. He would have faced loss, friends, people who'd shown care for him, even street animals hed bonded with, being shot, disappearing, over dosing, dying or changing or hurting, he knew what it was like to loose. He'd been loosing his wole life, and relying on shallow highs and a vigorous and animalistic need to keep on fucking proving he was worth something to get back on his feet again. Seeing this man who provided to daves basic needs and lust for knowledge, with an intellect and foothold on life, hurt like him, was nice. It was nice to know that the bad things would always be there, but he could grow around them. Yet he could still sympathise, and understand, and stick with him. I think Dave realised this, he was more emotionally mature than one would think. But the bad? I think Henry miller lobotomised Dave, and I think that greatly inhibited Dave's ability to consider and understand both himself and his emotions. The lobotomy was failed, so he wasn't completely placid and docile, more preserving this nagging emptiness where his humanity should of been, and having to haul mountains to work his way around emotions and emotional intelligence. Why did Henry lobotomise Dave? It was truly not completely thought out, Henry could provide a whole explanation however, yet the true reason was simply the machinations of a desperate and driven mind. Maybe this will work, maybe this will bring them back, maybe this will make it hurt less, maybe it'll make it hurt so much that I won't have to care any more. Even if it hurts to do it, tugs on the heartstrings a tad to turn this boy into a placid pet, doesn't everything hurt now? Dave was left agonised and neurotic with a hole to fill where his heart was (mwahaha) and an inability to truly make sense of much of his interpersonal relations or how to save his own ass in bad relations. His personality was still there, yet his cunning and freewill was blunted.

And yknow, he was springlocked and all too.

-the pink anon

#dsaf confessions #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #dave miller #henry miller #pink anon

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justrainandcoffee · 3 days

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Against all odds (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) Part 5

Crossover Peaky Blinders - Hunger Games

Masterlist. Parts: One - Two - Three - Four

Summary: Seven months before the 65th games, Rose discovers the other side of the Games. A dark, corrupt and disgusting world. And yet, wherever she likes it or not, she's part of it because Snow wanted that. Because he's still in charge. || In his house back in district 9, Alfie thinks about the past and future. || Five years pass. Next stop the 71th Games, but before that something happens between him and her.

Warnings: Mentions of pedophilia, rape, sexual trafficking. A corrupted upper class. Snow is dick, but a very smart and manipulative one.

Words: 3.4k || Alfie x Rose Masterlist

The Capitol.

Rose looked at herself in the mirror. The beautiful green dress she was wearing was definitely a good choice for her first attendance at Snow's mansion. It was winter now, so she completed her attire with an expensive coat.

Last victor, the girl from district 2, was about to start her tour across Panem and in the Capitol the celebrations were about to start as well.

"You shouldn't go," Lawrence said entering the bedroom.

"I will. He's expecting me. Do you want to upset our president? Because I don't."

"No, of course not."

"Then move on."

"Rosebeth, I… I need to tell you something about those gatherings. There I -…"

"I know, Lawrence. You pay for having sex with victors. We haven't had sex in years, I assumed you were calming your urges somewhere else. Snow confirmed it to me."

"You're not upset." Lawrence seemed surprised.

"No. I feel nauseous looking at you. They're kids."

"They're gods and goddesses. They bet the death and they transformed themselves. They're not longer humans, Rosebeth, they're spiritual beings. And I'm not having sex with them, I'm giving them my soul."

"Through your cock?"

"It's a divine connection."

Rose wanted to puke. Her husband was always an idiot but hearing him now, it seemed he joined a cult that was making them believe those ridiculous ideas.

"I understand," she said covering herself with her coat "I'm going to do the same."

"Are you going to join us?"

God. The idea of her doing the same as him, made her feel sick, but looking at the situation from other perspective, she was doing exactly the same as him: she was paying for the company of a victor. Even if that victor was the love of her life. Rose didn't want to think about it, she didn't want to be part of it… but for Alfie, she was ready to do anything.

"Yes."

"Oh, Rosebeth! I never told you because I thought you'll be disgusted. But if you're one of us now…"

Rose understood that same moment that Lawrence Evert was a rich powerful man living in a parallel reality. He truly believed he wasn't raping minors, but giving them his soul. And that was dangerous. How many of them believed the same? Who was the one who started this cult? Because that was a cult. They grew up believing that was a normal behaviour and even if they knew it was wrong they were willing to keep doing the same.

"Yeah… I guess, so," it was the only thing she said.

She couldn't wait to tell Alfie about this new revelation.

"You can use as many money as you want, Rosebeth. For the victors we have to do anything."

She nodded. The whole situation, even for the persona she created, it was too much.

Men and women from the upper class were there. Rose knew some of them but others were the first time she saw them. They were talking and giggling, the canapes over the table were disappearing and new ones were arriving. The little glasses containing the beverage that provoked vomiting were all over the place, too. In a month, several of them will be there again for the arrival of the girl of district 2, this time as a victor. And today Rose was going to witness those who were ready to spend a night with her.

"You're doing this for you and Alfie," she repeated to herself once and once again.

Rose was staring out through one of the windows. The green gardens that Snow had were beautiful and the infinite white roses were illuminated by the moon. It was a beautiful garden in the domains of an awful person.

"You're new," an old woman that Rose didn't know, approached her. She was at least 65 years old, maybe more. Her makeup was extravagant and clearly she had several aesthetic surgeries.

"I am."

"Don't be nervous, Darling. We don't judge here. Did you see the catalogue? You can see their prices."

"No? I didn't know there was a catalogue" Rose said.

The old woman offered her something similar to a magazine with the Capitol's logo in the front page. When Rose opened it she saw in the first page the face of the last winner.

"The older they are, the cheaper they're, too" the woman said as Rose was examining the rest of the pictures "people here desire the youngest ones. Not all of them are lucky and not all the youngest are desirable."

Rose forced herself to smile "I prefer those who are a bit older than 18," she said.

"I used to have the same thoughts, sweetheart. But one day I decided to try something new and I never regret it! It was long time ago. But never until recent times, I could be with the lastest victor."

"That probably was… memorable."

"It really was!" The woman said and it sounded like she was proud if herself "young men can be really passionate."

'Kids' wanted to correct Rose, but she kept staring at the woman.

"…it was 11 years ago. The one who won the 53th edition: Alfie. Do you know him?"

Rose's heart stopped beating in that moment. Her hands held the catalogue with such strength that wrinkled one page but the woman didn't notice her reaction.

So that woman was his rapist. That fucker old woman who was talking to her like a friend. She didn't know the trauma she caused in Alfie, she didn't know about his nightmares, his distrust on people. One night Alfie confessed to her that it was her, Rose, the one who helped him to cope with his fears. Behind the mask of rude man, was a broken person. And that old woman there caused several damage on him.

"He's still young," the woman continued "he's not even 30 yet. But I'm not into it anymore. Yet , I love to come here and see my friends. And it's good to see new blood like yours following our steps."

Rose didn't answered. She excused herself and ran towards the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and finally all her sickness got out of her body. Kneeling in front of the toilet she was still trying to catch her breath. She was crying. Rose didn't know who were the kids that Lawrence touched, she didn't want to know but the revelation this woman gave to her, it was too much.

She was the one who hurt the man she loved. Her Alfie. Rose wanted to kill her for him. For what Alfie suffered. But his voice was in her head.

"Let it go, luv."

Rose got out, fixed her dress and hair and walked where the rest were.

They were already reunited at the main table waiting for the dinner. The seat in the head of the table was empty, waiting for the host. Snow wasn't there and probably it was the reason of why they weren't eating yet. Rose sat down next to her husband who was talking and laughing with a man around his age.

Snow appeared not long after she did and all of them stood up and clapped. Snow was smiling and he gave a brief speech for them. All the guests paid attention to him.

"May the odds be ever in your favour," he finished.

"May the odds be ever in your favour!" the rest, including Rose, replied. They raised their glasses and cheered.

The dinner was delicious. Lamb and several salads were served, along with fresh bread. Even when she wasn't hungry, she ate anyway.

Rose also could swear that Snow looked at her more than once, but she pretended to talk with another woman.

It was late at night when the dinner was over, including the desserts. Except Snow who disappeared, they all walked into a different room and Rose saw it was like a little theatre. A young woman gave her something similar to a remote control with a number on it. Hers was the 44. Rose imagined it was for a register.

The anthem of Panem was sounding in the background and it was a flag on the stage, next to a tall man.

Darius Armstrong was a man in his forties. He had a long blond braided hair and was wearing a white suit. Darius Armstrong was the auctioneer, he already had the hammer in his hand and was waiting the moment to start his job.

This time, Rose avoided her husband and most of all, she avoided Alfie's rapist. Part of her mind was still telling her that she was doing the same as the old woman even when it wasn't true. She choose a distant seat and waited.

"Welcome!!" Exclaimed Darius capturing the attention of those who were still talking. "A new year together. I'm full of happiness, aren't you? Once again our beloved president gave us a marvellous dinner and also offered us this place where we can see our incredible victors once again. And if we're lucky, we can join them in their greatness."

Except Rose, all of them cheered excitingly and started to clap.

"Do you want to start?" he asked and once again, the public shouted enthusiastically.

A 3D projection appeared on the stage. It was so realistic that for a moment Rose believed it was a real victor. It showed an old man from district 1, winner of the 9th Hunger games. His price started on 20 dollars. Of course no one wanted him.

Rose understood that it was their obligation to show all of the victors including those who weren't desirable. It was an actual auction… but with human beings.

"Renata Farrell!" exclaimed Darius several minutes later "our victor from district 8, 40th Hunger Games. Her initial price is ten thousand dollars."

The price difference between this woman and the poor old man was abysmal and they weren't even close to the newers victors. Fortunately for Renata, no one paid for her either.

From where she was sitting, she could see her husband talking with other two men. One of them said something that caused some smiles between them.

Alfie's turn was closer than ever before. By the time Darius announced the man who won the 50th games, her heart was beating that fast that she felt she was about to have a stroke. Then it was the turn from the women winning the 51th and 52th. A man offered fifty thousand dollars for the last one.

"The night had officially started!" Darius commented smiling after the first offer of the night "now we have our 53th victor, Alfred Solomons from District 9. His initial price is sixty thousand dollars."

There he was in front of her. Again, the projection was so real that Rose believed she could cross the hallway and could hug him. His grumpy expression, his beard. It was him but at the same time, he wasn't. Rose pressed the button.

"A new offer!!" Darius pointed with his hammer towards Rose "how much are you offering?"

"Seventy thousand."

"Seventy for him! Who offers eighty? Eighty thousand anyone? No? Seventy thousand… 1. 2. 3. "Alfred Solomons, sold to our highest bidder. You can gave us the money once this auction is over," Darius commented.

Sold. He said sold. Like a piece of furniture, like an object. Rose avoided to look at anyone. Everything it felt like she was doing something illegal.

Rose never talked to him, but the next one after Alfie was Thomas Shelby. Sixty-five thousand dollars was his initial price. And people seemed to be willing to pay for him, despite he wasn't one of the lastest winners anymore. The highest bidder paid a hundred thousand dollars for him. It was one of Evert's friends. Rose didn't want to think what kind of perverse mind he had. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the young man.

Back in district 9 Alfie Solomons was contemplating the night. It was cold and it was clear that winter was almost there.

He used to enjoy the winter. When he was a boy he used to play with other kids in the snow until his nose was red. His childhood wasn't that memorable but being an only child it helped to keep the things easy for his mother. He was feed every night and every night too she tucked him in bed. When he was 12, his name was only once in the bowl, he hadn't need to ask for any tessarae. Same as he was 13 and 14. But that was the last year of peace. His mother got sick so she couldn't work anymore. Alfie spent his days studying but also working in the wheat fields but it wasn't enough so he started to ask for food and also medicine. The boy who only had three papers in the bowl suddenly had 30. And it was 55 the next one. And it was over 80 when he was 17 and finally was reaped.

That was also the last year he enjoyed the winter. The Arena, the frozen forest, caused such trauma on him that he couldn't bear it anymore. The snow was synonymous with dead. Instead of the pristine white surface, he always saw snow covered in blood. And it was usually the blood of his victims. Seven deaths and one was so severely wounded by him that it could be eight but the Gamemakers blamed that death to the hypothermia. Alfie knew it wasn't the weather. But, officially were seven.

And eleven years later that didn't change. Alfie dreamed of a different place, maybe next to the sea. But that was an impossible dream. He was used to district 9, it was his home but… Alfie sighed and approached his chimney. He was lucky not many people had one and not many people could afford to buy logs for the fire.

Or maybe keep living in district 9, he thought drinking tea, but with Rose.

Over the table was the ridiculous toy she gave him months ago. Wheaty. Its goggly eyes seemed to be looking at him its blue hair reminding him to the blue dresses he saw her wearing in different occasions.

In a couple of weeks they're going to be reunited again. Not the best circumstances. She was paying for him after all, but it was a legal way to see each other more often.

And he couldn't complain about that.

Maybe her company could make the winter more bearable.

The girl from district 2, the lastest winner, was beautiful. Her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders and her blue eyes seemed to bright with mischievous.

The same girl who won the games by killing 3 other kids, including the one from her own district.

The last victor of the night. Her initial price was 250 thousand dollars. But they paid for her 800 thousand. Divided in four men. One of them was Lawrence Evert.

"They're Gods and Goddesses"

Rose remembered Lawrence's words and felt sick again. He was now 48 years old, the girl was 17. And Rose couldn't do anything to help her. Same she couldn't do anything to help Tommy Shelby or the victor from the previous year, or any other apart from Alfie. It was that impossibility of helping them from being raped that was destroying her mind. She and Alfie were about to be happy together, to enjoy the mutual company and the love they had for each other. But for the rest of the victors that was the beginning of a new nightmare.

No one deserved that. No one deserved to be used by other people.

The stage was empty now. Someone turned the lights on and she could see the rest of them. They were smiling, patting each other shoulders. Of course they were. The upper class were celebrating a new year as the real winners of the Hunger Games.

Lawrence, his friends, the old woman who paid for Alfie when he was a kid, the one who bought Tommy's freedom… those were the real winners of the games. Not the victors. And how Rose could feel different from them when she was doing the same?

Far away in district 8 once existed a girl who believed that the games were a fucked up form of entertainment. Now existed a woman who believed the same but realising that even when Snow was the head of Panem, the rest of them every single one present there, were the engine who helped the killing machine keep going.

Including her.

Her seventy thousand dollars probably were going to help to install a trap who could help to kill a tribute or two.

While she was going to be making love with Alfie, her money was going to be part of new crime disguise as show. A mother was going to grieve her child because of Rose.

And the saddest part of it was that if someone asked her if she wanted to pay another seventy thousand dollars to enjoy Alfie's company twice a month the answer was going to be affirmative.

Because it happened. When she approached a desk and officially paid for Alfie, the man behind the desk, offered her the option to spend even more time with him. And she accepted.

A kiss, a hug, his comfort… in exchange for a new murder next year.

Snow, not far away from there, looked at her. Of course he could see beyond the obvious. He wasn't stupid. That young woman never liked him as she tried to pretend. She wasn't like her brainless husband. There was a rebellious spark in her eyes. And Snow hated rebels.

But he didn't want to kill her like he did with Lucretia Gold, wife of Aberama Gold, years ago. Snow wanted to destroy her soul and rebel spirit. The best way he found was offering her the only thing that Mrs. Evert couldn't reject: true love. Alfred Solomons was the only valuable thing she had and Coriolanus Snow knew a thing or two about true love. And again, he was right.

The rebel spirit of Mrs. Evert corrupted by his own system. Snow knew that paying for Solomons and seeing what her husband and the rest of them were doing with the victors was too much for someone like her. And breaking people made him happy.

Snow won once again.

A month later, a peacekeeper knocked on a distant house. Rose had rented a house in a small private village of the Capitol. Surrounded by gardens and trees. Colourful flowers genetically modified to survive the cruelest winter decorated its surroundings. The peacekeeper arrived with Alfie who was handcuffed, probably to prevent a escape.

"That's not necessary," she said to the man.

"It's the protocol, ma'am," the guard said, finally freeing Alfie. "I'll be back Monday morning."

"Okay," she said letting Alfie in and closing the door on the other man's nose.

Alone, both of them looked at each other for a few seconds before kissing.

Six months without seeing each other. Less than the previous years and yet the longing was the same.

While they were already in bed, naked and moaning, the gamemakers were designing the new arena. A salt desert this time, dry and deathly. Her money helped them to make a suffocating pit. In six months, when a new edition start, she was going to see the girl from district 6 and the boys from 12 and 11 die there.

All in name of love.

And the years that followed this one, little and nothing changed. Rose kept paying for him and Alfie was 'forced' to go to the Capitol every time. Every year that passed, his price decreased. New and younger victors were occupying his place. But not for Rose.

The games only showed them that keeping his kids alive was impossible. No one survived.

The only thing changed was that their love increased.

It happened after the 70th games. They were alone when Alfie did the question and she laughed not believing him. But Alfie wasn't joking. Ten years ago they've met for the first time. Both were 33 now.

"It's symbolic, private and not legal at all but I love you, sweetheart."

And she nodded. Symbolic or not, she belonged to Alfie in a way she never belonged to Lawrence.

For the rest of humanity, she was Mrs. Evert… for the two of them, she was Mrs. Solomons.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie x rose #hunger games au #peaky blinders #tom hardy

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