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in-tua-deep · 5 years

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Inktober day two: Guns

Prompt list by @totallyevan, here ;3c

me, realizing I have consistently forgotten to put my work on tumblr and that a bunch of drabbles have been rotting in my google docs (though admittedly only up to 4th bc my weekend was hectic af - I’ll try play catch up with the others but HERE WE GO)

His hands are sticky. Sticky and wet and slippery. He wants desperately to wipe his hands on his shirt, on a towel, on anything - but then he’d have to put down the gun that is pointed shakily at the man who has his arm wrapped around Klaus’s neck.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was just supposed to be a dumb outing with his idiot brother so that he would shut up about waffles while he was trying to work. He’d gotten Klaus to promise to not bother him in his room for an entire week if he just went with him to the hole in the wall diner that Klaus insisted was the best in the world.

Who the fuck robbed a shitty diner?

It had been three guys, and Five had noticed them from the moment they entered, seeing the glint of sunlight on gunmetal. His first immediate thought was that it was the Commission, because who else would show up in this random place at a time that just happens to be when Five is present? And he assumes that the Commission doesn’t want too much collateral damage - they waited for the tow truck driver to leave and Agnes to be in the back room before confronting him.

It’s only three guys, not the massive hit squad that invaded the concert hall. There was to be some measure of subtlety if they don’t want to draw too much attention to themselves.

But he assumes wrong.

The lead guy swing his gun up and shoots at the ceiling, making everyone panic. Five reacts automatically, grabbing Klaus and bodily shoving him down under the table. Klaus gives a cry of surprise, and pain where he smacks forehead and elbows against the table and seat, but Five doesn’t care about that right now. He just reacts.

He jumps to the lead goon, and grabs the gun to wrench up and away. The butt of the gun slams into the guy’s face, bone crunching and blood flying. Five broke his nose. The guy stumbles away. Five doesn’t have time to address that before the second guy is on him.

The rifle Five has in his hands is big and dramatic, but not exactly handy for close quarter combat. To be fair, no guns are handy for close quarter combat, which was exactly why Five generally preferred to fight that way. But it’s at least handy as a weird shaped baton which Five slams into the stomach of the second guys and makes him double over.

The first guy recovered and Five bring up the rifle again to slam it into the guy’s face for a second time, making him stumble backwards with both hands over his face with a shout. With the extra room it’s easier to bring up the gun and shoot the second guy in the leg.

The first guy gets his hands on the gun and pulls, and Five doesn’t bother to try and overpower him. The dude is big and muscular, and Five is a scrawny teen. He’s well aware of his strengths and weaknesses. He fights smarter, not harder.

The guy stumbles back, not expecting the lack of resistance. Five takes this wonderful opportunity to grab one of the little diner forks that fell to the floor in the initial panic of the men entering. In Five’s opinion it’s a handier weapon that the gun - more versatile.

Five surges forward and lashes out, burying the fork into the leader’s shoulder. It has the added bonus of the guy dropping the gun with a howl, hand going to the fork and wrenching it out. Weaponized, the guy lurches towards Five.

And Five? He jumps. He snags another fork off a nearby table and pops up behind the guy and buries a second fork in the guy’s junction between shoulder and neck and twists before stooping and scooping up the gun again.

He points it at the two and they raise their hands in surrender, but then he hears a cough behind him and remembers that there were three guys.

Five turns, and the third guy has his arm wrapped around Klaus’s neck, a handgun pointed at Five’s brother’s temple with a hand that shakes.

“D-drop the gun!” The new guy shouts, voice cracking in his nervousness, “Or I shoot this guy!”

Five’s hands are covered in blood. It would be so easy to let the rifle slip from his fingers. The leader is crouched down with his two stab wounds and blood streaming down his face from a twice broken nose, the second guy is on the floor in a puddle of blood pressing his hands against the hole that Five put in his thigh.

The third guy’s hands shake, and Five watches the pointed finger twitch against the trigger with more attention than he’s given anything else today.

They’re amateurs. They’re three goons who are complete idiots for trying to rob a tiny diner in broad daylight. They don’t know what they’re doing.

Five would have preferred professionals. He knows how the Commission operates. He knows how professionals work, what they know their best options to be, what they’re likely to do next. These guys, Five can’t predict.

Five’s fingers tighten around the gun, and he doesn’t drop it.

“What?” Five calls back, arching an eyebrow. The tried and true method of being a brat. “Why would I drop my weapon? Why don’t you?”

“I- I’ll shoot this guy! You were sitting with him!” The guy sputters, looking very uncertain. Mercifully, Klaus stays silent. Whether that’s thanks to genuine intelligence or because the guy’s arm around Klaus’s neck is making it difficult to breathe is up for debate.

“You have one hostage.” Five says, nodding to Klaus, “I have two.” He gestures with the rifle towards the two goons who flinch away. “And both of these idiots are in need of medical attention, but if you drop the gun and don’t fuck with anyone else, then I don’t care what happens to you guys and I’ll stop attacking.”

“I have more that one hostage! I have the rest of the diner! I can just start shooting!” The idiot argues, taking the gun from Klaus’s temple to wave in the air to punctuate his point. It makes Five relax at least a tiny bit.

“A hostage is a person I care about saving.” Five tells the man bluntly, “There’s only one of those in here.”

Silence follows that statement. Some civilians are looking at him in shock, but honestly Five doesn’t care about them. He can’t care about them. If he looks too closely at people, he starts remembering bodies and trying to match faces to corpses. If he looks too closely, he starts thinking about the innocents he killed and the families and the bystanders and everything else he keeps locked inside of a little box in his heart.

He cares about seven whole people in the universe, and those people are his siblings and his mother.

It’s quick after that. The guy reads Five’s sincerity in his eyes, his lack of regard for the lives of the men behind him. Five only refrained from killing them because he was pretty sure they weren’t Commission agents and he didn’t want to have to deal with another one of Luther’s ‘murder is bad’ lectures. He surrenders, dropping the gun to the floor with a clatter and running over to his fellow robbers, pressing his hands against the wounds to keep pressure on.

Five doesn’t have time to wait for the sirens he can hear approaching. He hands his gun to the nearest civilian and jumps next to his brother.

“Come on Klaus,” He says urgently, tugging his brother’s elbow to steer them towards the back door. After seeing Five fight two adult men and stab one with forks, no one stops them.

Klaus follows easily. Way too easily. They make it all the way out the door before Klaus seems to reboot and bursts out with a loud, “You care about me!”

A quick glance reveals that Klaus is making the sappiest face Five has ever seen. He has to nip this in the bud. “No. I just don’t want to have to explain to Diego about how your idiocy finally got you murdered.”

“You said you care about me!” Klaus crows loudly, making Five hiss because quite frankly he’s still covered in blood and the only reason he isn’t just chain jumping home is because that would mean abandoning Klaus. “You said I was the only person you cared about in the diner!”

“I care about Mom’s disappointed face.” Five shoots back, dragging Klaus down another alley. “Though I’m caring less and less the more you open your mouth.”

“Hold up hold up!” Klaus cries, digging in his heels and bringing them both to a stop. He gives Five a critical once over, pursing his lips at the state of his brother. He looks like, well, like he’s been in a fight to the death with two armed robbers. “We need to do something about this if we don’t want to be stopped on the way home.”

Five scowls darkly. He really should just ditch Klaus and jump home, it’s the simplest and easiest solution. But for some reason, he can’t quite bring himself to let go of Klaus’s elbow that he’d been using to drag his taller sibling around by.

He startles badly when something brushes against his face, before realizing it’s Klaus scrubbing one of the sleeves on his black jacket over the blood splatter on Five’s cheek. Klaus hushes him, scrubbing harder.

It makes Five pull away, baring his teeth as he jumps and reappears a few feet away. He gets a certain amount of satisfaction watching Klaus almost overbalance - that’s what he gets for treating Five like a child.

Klaus huffs like Five is the one being unreasonable here.

Five is really giving some serious consideration to just jumping home by himself when Klaus starts stripping in the middle of the alley. Five gives his brother a face that clearly indicates his question of what the fuck.

This face becomes even more pronounced when Klaus thrusts his jacket out in Five’s direction.

After a solid minute of Five and Klaus staring at each other, Klaus sighs deeply. “Wear the jacket. It’s big enough to cover your shirt and hands which, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your entire torso kind of looks like you just auditioned for a shitty slasher film.”

Five can’t… exactly argue with that reasoning. He scowls, and snatches the jacket away and shrugging it on. It fits okay around the shoulders - Klaus is a skinny bastard - but it’s way too long and the sleeves go well past his hands. This is what they need, yes, but it makes Five feel like a little kid playing dress up which he’s not exactly appreciative of. He can’t even hike the sleeves up because, as Klaus so gracefully pointed out, his hands are covered in blood.

He deals with this by shoving his hands in the pockets, extra sleeve length and all, and vividly picturing stabbing Klaus in the face when he coos over his smaller brother.

“I hate you so much.” Five informs his brother, “Let’s just go.”

“Aw,” Klaus clasps his hands together and presses them to his cheek, gazing at Five like he just proclaimed his love for puppies. “I love you, too.”

#inktober #tua inktober #tua #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy inktober #number five #five hagreeves #klaus hargreeves #some chaotic brother bonding #five wishes all people were professional bc at least then he could count on them not making idiot choices #you bet that five is going to reconsider his stance on killing people even if they aren't commission agents sorry @ luther #but like if he was allowed to use lethal force he would have slaughtered all three dudes in like a heartbeat #i bet you a hundred dollars that later patch shows up at their door to stare the entire family down #as she tells them eyewitnesses indicated a scrawny teenager who came in with a scrawny adult went full terminator on some robbers #all while staring five down #five has already washed all the blood off him and burned his shirt to get rid of the evidence #so he just sticks his nose in the air and denies everything #klaus was probably freaked out after the thing happened #but honestly fussing over five and teasing him does wonders for Klaus's processing #if five knew that he'd probably tolerate it a bit better #but also maybe not

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ticklishtimothee · 3 years

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our final night alive (simon kalivoda x reader)

summary: the reader and simon are in the bathroom together before it all goes down. and hey, since all their friends are going to “pound-town” as simon would call it, why shouldn’t they?

a/n: i just watched fear street 1994 on netflix and totally fell in love with simon, so i wrote this. i promise i’m working on the requests in my inbox as well, i just had to get this idea out while it was fresh.

words: 1,740

While Kate and Josh go into the girl’s bathroom, you and Simon figure it’s best to leave them alone. So, you follow Simon into the boy’s room, the clothes you’d snatched from the lost and found clutched tightly in your hands.

“Hey, I’ll trade you this Iron Maiden t-shirt for the cardigan,” Simon grins.

“You want to wear this thing?” you ask, raising a brow and holding up the blue knitted nightmare in your hands. You can already tell how itchy the fabric would be against your skin.

Simon nods. “I think it would really accentuate my shoulders. I’ve been told they’re my best feature,” he says, winking.

“Whoever told you that was a liar,” you reply, but toss him the cardigan anyway.

He catches it easily, then tosses you the t-shirt in return.

He wastes no time in pulling the white t-shirt over his head, and you’re thankful to see it gone. It was bad enough that he’d been wearing it for all that time, regardless of the blood stains. You avert your eyes as he strips off his jeans as well.

“Nice tighty-whities,” you mutter.

Simon snorts. “Sorry for putting practicality over fashion.”

“Says the guy putting on a girl’s cardigan to fight monsters.”

“Touché.”

You turn to face the wall, pulling your own shirt over your head, checking your torso quickly for any traces of blood. Finding none, you pull the new t-shirt on.

Out of the corner of your eye, you realize Simon still isn’t making an effort to get dressed. Instead, he’s checking himself out in the mirror, and you can’t tell if he’s goofing off or actually looking for any stains to wash off of his skin.

“You have some blood on your back,” you tell him. “Can’t tell if it’s Sam’s or yours, but better safe than sorry.”

Simon looks in the mirror, tilting his head to catch a glimpse, and furrows his brows. “I don’t see it. Help me out?”

You grab a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them under the sink. “Turn around.”

He does so, and you find the blood in question and wipe it off.

He jumps under the touch. “You couldn’t have used warm water?” he asks, difficult as always.

“I could let this sink run for five minutes and it’d be warm at best,” you reply. “You think this place has the budget for hot water?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so.”

There’s a pause, and you’re still standing behind him, your eyes scanning over the pale expanse of his back, taking in each freckle. His shoulders were pretty nice, actually.

“You know you’ve gotta change your pants, too,” he says.

“Oh, right,” you say, cheeks burning. You go back to the pile of your things. When you look up, he’s watching you. “Am I allowed a little privacy?” you ask.

He smiles. “You could go into the stall.”

You roll your eyes. “Or you could turn around and not be a pervert.”

“Hey, you already saw me in my underwear,” he points out.

You scowl at him, then hook your thumbs into the waist of your pants and pull them down in a quick, fluid motion. You toe off your shoes to take them off entirely, leaving them on the tiled floor. “Happy?” you ask.

His smile fades. “What happened to your thigh?”

You look down and see the injury he’s referring to. Honestly, you’d been so caught up in everything going on, you’d barely noticed the shallow gash in your skin, but now that it was brought to the forefront of your mind, the dull ache began to settle.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “I guess one of those psychos grazed me.”

Simon takes another wad of paper towels. “May I?” he asks.

You nod, and he dampens them under the faucet. “Come put your leg up to the sink.”

You do as he says, wincing at the first contact he makes with it.

“Sorry,” he practically whispers. “I don’t have anything to bandage it up with, but the least we can do is get it clean, okay?”

“Okay.”

His face is close to your bare leg, making goosebumps rise where his nose and lips brush the skin. He’s gentle with you, one hand holding your leg steady while the other dabs at the wound tenderly, and you watch as the red mess slowly begins to clear up, leaving the wound still open but no longer bleeding.

“There, that should be better,” he says. “When we find the others, maybe they’ll have something to patch you up with.”

“Thanks.”

You place both feet back on the ground, standing before Simon, both partially undressed (him more than you) and trying to hide the feelings of terror in both of your chests.

“Do you think Deena and Sam are gonna make up?” you ask. “Oh, I think they’re probably fucking as we speak,” he replies.

You give him a light smack to the back of his head. “You’ve got such a dirty mind.”

“I’m serious! Kate and Josh are probably doing it, too. The whole last-night-on-earth thing gets people horny, don’t you know?”

“Oh, so we’re all gonna be killed by some freaks, so we should be banging?” you ask.

“Are you asking in general, or about us?”

You pause. “Both.”

His cheeks flush pink, and you swear it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him embarrassed. “In general, yeah, I think it’s human instinct to seek out some pleasure before the end. As for us, well...If you’re down, I’m down.”

You stare at him for a second. “Really?”

“Only if you want to, I mean—”

You grab him by the shoulders and kiss him, effectively cutting off his rambling.

In no time, he’s pushed your back against the cool, tiled wall of the bathroom, kissing you back fevertently. You thread your fingers through his blond curls, and he sighs against your lips.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and he brings a hand between your legs, fingers running over your underwear teasing, making you shiver.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Yes,” you reply.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says, unable to meet your eye. “But I have a pretty good idea of what to do.”

“Me either,” you tell him. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

He nods and pulls you in for another kiss, this time rubbing you through your panties. You whine softly into his mouth.

“Does that feel good?”

“Try doing it a little gentler—oh, yes, like that…”

You can feel his hard cock against your belly as he reaches his hand down the front of your underwear. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, yes, it’s fine.”

Carefully, he finds your hole and presses one finger inside, making you clench nervously at first.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Try to relax for me,” he all but coos in your ear, and you do so.

He lets his finger slowly curl and uncurl inside you, stretching you out.

“Do you want to…?” you ask.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says, knowing exactly what you were going to ask.

“Well, if you get me pregnant, we’ll probably be dead before it’s even got arms and legs.”

He chuckles, and you appreciate that he’s able to find humor in the fucked up things, just like you.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He yanks down his underwear, and while you’d teased him about it before, the tight, white fabric didn’t leave much to the imagination. Simon wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you up, bringing you over to the sink and sitting you down on the brim of it.

“There’s no way this thing is gonna hold us,” you say.

“If we break it, we’ll be dead before they make us pay for the damages,” he replies, and you laugh.

He makes quick work of pulling your panties down, and they fall to the floor as he parts your knees. “Please tell me if I hurt you,” he says. “I want it to feel good.”

You nod. “I promise.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, pushing his hips forward. He misses the first time, sort of poking the head of his cock into the crease of your thigh, and you both chuckle awkwardly at the mishap. The second time, he gets closer, but his cock slides upward and between your folds, making your legs jerk in surprise.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

The third time, he succeeds, and the initial stretch of his head entering you makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Should I stay still for a sec? Let you adjust?”

You nod, and so he does.

“You can move now.”

Slowly, he rocks his hips forward, and you manage to take more of him. Without you asking, he waits again, letting you get used to the feeling.

Your nails dig into his back. “You can go, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Simon, I’m sure,” you reply.

“Alright, I’m just double-checking!”

He fucks you carefully, his own movements a bit robotic at first, but when you pull him close to lock your lips together once again, he falls into a rhythm, and your ass hurts from sitting on the stupid sink, but he feels so good, his hot breath tickling your neck as he fucks you.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I’m already—”

“It’s fine, don’t apologize. You can come, just try to pull out,” you say.

He nods, and you can see him scrunching up his face, trying to gain some control and keep from cumming. It doesn’t make him last much longer, and he pulls out just in time, and you scoot to the side in a hurry, his come landing in the basin of the sink.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I can try to finger you again, or something.”

You laugh. “Simon, it’s fine. Some dudes would have come just from seeing me in my underwear. It’s fine.”

He nods, and his forehead is slightly sweaty, hair sticking to it, and his cheeks are flushed.

“I feel bad if you die and I didn’t give you an orgasm,” he says.

“Well then let’s both try our hardest not to die, and you can give me one another time. Deal?”

He grins. “Deal.”

#simon kalivoda #simon kalivoda x reader #fear street 1994 #fear street #simon fear street #fear street netflix #horror movie imagine #horror movie reader insert #horror movies #horror reader insert

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xutokawa · 3 years

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s/o finding scratch marks on their back

pairings: atsumu x reader, oikawa x reader

genre(s): angst, fluff in beginning, cheating s/o

warnings: langauge, cheating, allusions to smut, mentions of alcohol

wc: 1.6k

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a/n: i feel like writing some angst and nothing says angst like an s/o finding out their partner is cheating :’) send requests for other haikyuu characters if you want some more! i already have a couple drafted up hehe

osamu and iwazumi ver.

kuroo and sakusa ver.

suna and bokuto ver.

akaashi and hinata ver.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Atsumu

Curling yourself into a ball, you tightly clenched at the blanket, trying to imagine Atsumu’s warmth surrounding you. You dearly missed your husband, touch-starved from not seeing him for two days. A smile spread across your face knowing that he would be in your arms again in a couple hours.

You knew dating a pro-volleyball player would mean nights alone in your shared apartment. It was hard at first, but you slowly got used to it, knowing he would walk through the front door and come back home to you.

Later that day, you were quietly humming to yourself while cooking dinner for Atsumu and yourself when you heard the doorknob jiggling followed by the sound of keys. Excitement and anticipation coursed through your body as you quickly went to greet your husband at the door. As soon as the door opened to reveal the blond setter, you rushed into his arms.

“Y/n,” Atsumu breathed into your hair, holding you tight, “I missed you so much.”

Snuggling into his chest, you replied, “I missed you too.”

Pulling away, you looked up at him, “Dinner’s almost ready. Go wash up first.”

Atsumu placed a quick kiss on your forehead, muttering a quick I love you before picking up his bags and heading towards your bedroom.

Hearing the shower turn on, you returned to cooking. Hands dry from washing the dishes, you decided to go grab some lotion, heading into the bathroom. You stopped dead in your tracks, however, when you glanced at Atsumu.

Back turned towards you, the setter was unaware of your presence in the bathroom. Red, angry marks lined his broad shoulders as hickeys were dotted across his neck. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until your vision started blurring. Quickly slipping out of the bathroom, you went into your shared bedroom, packing a small bag with your belongings. Silent sobs racked your body as you imagined Atsumu’s breath on another’s neck, whispering sweet nothings into their ears as he gave himself away to them.

You couldn’t believe it. Your husband, your Atsumu. More than anything, you wanted to know why? What did you not give? Was your marriage worth nothing to him? Texting your best friend, you told them you’d be staying at their house for the night, not offering further explanation.

Did he mean it when he proclaimed his love earlier? You couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this. How many times has he betrayed your trust, indulged in another person as you patiently waited for his return. Scoffing in anger, you hastily pulled your ring off your left hand, placing it on his bedside table along with a note. Anger surged through your body as you stared at the diamond gleaming at you, memories of the day Atsumu got down on one knee as he asked to spend the rest of his life with you flooding back. That day, you left, never turning back, putting the past five years with Atsumu behind you.

The apartment was noticeably colder when Atsumu finally stepped out of the shower. Quickly changing, he walked out to the kitchen, craving your embrace. He couldn’t wait to sit down and just talk, maybe cuddle and watch a movie until the both of you fell asleep in each other’s arms. The setter missed you dearly during his time away, and he wanted to make up for lost time. However, you were nowhere to be found. He searched through the entire apartment only to be met with silence.

Maybe she went out to buy something, Atsumu thought to himself. His thoughts were interrupted, however, when he noticed a note on his nightstand.

‘I’ll be gone for a couple of days. I’ll eventually come back for the rest of my stuff, but I just can’t bear to see you right now. I hope it was worth it. Glad to know our marriage was worth dog shit to you. Don’t come looking for me, the last thing I want to see is you right now.’

The note in the setter’s hands began to shake as he glanced at your wedding ring on the table. He thought he heard the door open in the shower earlier, but didn’t think much of it. It was only when his shampoo ran down his back that he realized he had marks on his back. Atsumu knew he messed up as soon as the deed was over. Your comforting smile continuously flashed through his mind as he pulled his shirt back over his head. He felt sick to his stomach opening his phone to find a text from you telling him to take care of himself when another person’s scent lingered on him.

He couldn’t lose you. He needed to find you, tell you it was all a drunken mistake. It was the alcohol, not him. The thought of you despising him made the setter choke out a sob, rushing out the door in hopes to catch up to you. It didn’t mean anything to him. It was getting too lonely without you, and he indulged in alcohol in hopes to fill the void. His eyes searched frantically, legs and lungs burning from running down countless flights of steps, hoping to catch a glance of you and bring you back him.

But it was too late. It was over. Atsumu already ruined everything.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Oikawa

Frustration boiled through Oikawa as he rubbed his hands over his face. He didn’t mean to lash out at you, after all, you were just being a caring partner. Concerns for the setter’s health turned into a full-blown argument resulting with you in tears and Oikawa at a local bar, drowning his misery in liquor. His state of mind grew foggier with each shot he downed. So when the scent of perfume engulfed his senses as seductive whispers filled his ears, he gave in.

You were waken up by the sound of a clatter coming from the kitchen followed by a loud ‘fuck!’

Groggily, you glanced at the alarm clock on your nightstand.

12:47am

Heading towards the source of noise, you found your boyfriend curled in a ball on the ground. The stench of alcohol overwhelmed your nostrils as you attempted to get your boyfriend to stand.

You couldn’t help but smile at the ‘I’m so sorry, y/n’s and the ‘Please forgive me’s coming out of your boyfriend’s mouth, assuming he was referring to your earlier argument. Sighing, you laid him down on your mattress, walking towards his closet to grab his pajamas. With great struggle, you successfully peeled the shirt from Oikawa’s back before he flopped back down on the mattress. Preparing to shove his night shirt over his head, your movements froze as you took in the claw marks running down his back. Blood running cold, you glanced at the setter’s face, seemingly peaceful as he slept.

Anger coursed through your veins at the thought of him running into another person’s arms when your relationship got a little tough.

Pathetic.

You scoffed as you threw his shirt on the ground. Blinded by rage, your mind didn’t register your hand coming in contact with his cheek.

A loud smack sounded through the empty night as Oikawa’s eyes shot open.

“You piece of shit,” you venomously spit out.

Confusion visible clouded Oikawa’s eyes as he began adjusting to his surroundings, obviously sobering up.

“Y-y/n, what was that for?” Oikawa began sitting up, eyebrows furrowed together.

“So what, we have one argument and you decide to go fuck some random person?” You raised your voice at the man sitting in front of you.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t-”

“Cut the crap, Oikawa,” ignoring the pain flashing through Oikawa’s eyes at the use of his last name, “The hickey on your neck and scratch marks are more than enough proof that you cheated on me.”

Panic flashed in Oikawa’s eyes as he realized what was happening, the gravity of the situation registering in his mind. He cheated on you.

“I-” Oikawa stuttered, words getting stuck in his throat at the thought of losing you. He couldn’t even make excuses, knowing he had been caught red-handed in his infidelity.

“I’m staying in a hotel for the rest of the night. I’m coming back tomorrow afternoon, and your shit better be out of here by then,” your eyes hardened as you turned around, beginning to pack a small bag with essential belongings. Panic rose in Oikawa as he scrambled to stop you.

“Wait, y/n, let’s talk this out,” Oikawa pleaded, tears welling in his eyes, “We can fix this, right? You can’t leave me, I love you!”

The setter’s heart shattered as you flinched away from his touch, as if it physically hurt you to be near him.

“If you truly loved me, you wouldn’t have cheated on me,” you managed to choke out, zipping up your bag.

“I do love you, y/n! Please, believe me,” Oikawa desperately pleaded, sobs racking his body, “I didn’t mean to! It didn’t mean anything, y/n, I can fix this, I promise!”

“You seem to have a habit of breaking your promises, Oikawa,” your voice audibly weaker. You needed to get away from him, away from the source of your heartbreak.

“Y/n, wait! Please-” Oikawa’s voice was cut off by the slam of the front door.

It wasn’t until 47 missed calls, 118 messages, and 32 voicemails later, that Oikawa realized you were never coming back to him. You had walked out of his life forever, and it was all his fault.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

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gucciwins · 3 years

Note

ahh are you angel was so good!!! is it possible for you to do a follow up where he gets released from the hospital and they go back to her house and she fusses over him a lot and takes care of him and he's like really stubborn and insists on doing things himself and walking about when he really shouldn't? I LOVE YOUR WRITING BTW!!! so so so good!

Hello lovely, thank you for such a kind message. I was writing and I wanted it to be sweet but there's actually a pinch of angst involved. Anyways, if you take the time to read this I hope you enjoy firefighter harry being stubborn at home. This is a follow up to Are You Angel?

Word count: 3331

Trouble Follows

Are You Angel?

_____

Harry was living in bliss.

Although he was injured and healing nicely, the doctors have told him. He enjoyed it because he was living with his girlfriend, who cared for him and made sure he didn’t overdo it.

It’s been two weeks, and he swears he couldn’t love Y/N anymore, but it grows every day. He adored her and was so thankful for how she was caring for him. She’d make him breakfast, and they’d either share it in bed or on the couch. She made his coffee just how he liked it and left him different baked goods every few days. He’s happily putting on weight from all the treats she makes.

Then after seven-thirty, she would head to work and, like clockwork at twelve, would be making her way into the house. She’d remove her sneakers and set up the lunch she stopped by to pick up, and then she’d wake him up with soft kisses all over his face, helping him sit up because of his bruised ribs. Y/N would let him sit at the table the only time. They’d chat about how her day was going too far; then, he’d discuss the book he decided to read. He is currently reading Normal People because Y/N wanted to watch the show, but Harry said she had to wait for him to read the book so they’d be able to discuss both. Y/N thought it was the sweetest thing and smothered him in kisses. Harry likes it when she does that.

After lunch, she’d tuck him to the couch and let him rest while she made her way back to work. Then Harry spent those last few hours at home sleeping, watching Survivor, another thing Y/N got him hooked on. Harry even upgraded her Hulu because he could not deal with the commercials. He didn’t have the patience for that. Y/N told him she wanted to apply to be on any of those shows but didn't know if she’d do well; Harry doubted that. He knew she could do anything she put her mind to. Instead, she told him they should look into applying to do Amazing Race together, which he has not ventured into yet but surely will soon.

Y/N would finally come home around five, and Harry would be in the bedroom either getting ready to shower or lying in bed. He would honestly wait for her because he liked it when she helped him undress, then she’d join him in the shower where she’d let him kiss her all over. He’s honestly dying for a taste of her. The problem is the doctor does not clear him, so it’s a no to sex from her.

Honestly, the shower was part of his favorite day, he’d get to stand, and she’d just let Harry hold her. He’d whisper how he missed her. Then he’d try to tempt her by whisper sweet nothings in her ear about how he missed the taste of her on his tongue, how she could just as easily ride his face, and the one he knows that almost always gets her is how he missed being close to her, as she squeezed him tight when he slipped inside of her. She always took a step back, avoiding eye contact because she knew if she looked at the look in his eyes, she’d give in.

Y/N would look at his chest, her eyes scanning over the scars on his skin until she landed on the purple bruise of his ribs. “Not until that is healed.” She’d half-smile at him.

Today was different. He went to the doctor’s with Mitch, Y/N not being able to get out of shift as they were full of patients for the day but promised to come straight home so they could cook dinner together. He squeezed her tighter before she left this morning, hoping for good news.

Harry walked into the hospital with a smile, greeting the staff. He didn’t have to wait long until his name was called, Mitch staying in his chair, looking at a magazine of National Geographic. Harry fixed his hoodie, walking towards the nurse who guided him to room 205. Carla, the nurse, checks his blood pressure, his height, and weight letting him know he gained five pounds that the doctor would be impressed. Harry smirked, knowing he’d tease Y/N for helping him put on weight. Carla smiled and told him the doctor would be in shortly and informed him to change into the gown provided.

Dr. Vazquez walks in fifteen minutes with a knock on the door.

“Mr. Styles, good to see you.”

“You as well.” He smiles.

“Right, well looking over your charts, everything looks good but still got to look you over.”

“Go right ahead, doc.” Harry sighs with a slight grin.

Dr. Vazquez washes his hands then gloves up. He walks over to Harry, standing right in front of him. First, he looks at Harry’s arms seeing that the burns healed, with minimal scarring. Then he moves over to the gown, seeing there are no longer bruises on his leg. Harry had to do physical therapy for a week as a precaution, but he aced all the drills and then was cleared. He lifted the gown to expose his stomach.

“Does it still hurt, your ribs?” Dr. Vazquez asked as he felt around the area of the bruising.

“No.” Harry lied.

“Hmm…” Dr. Vazquez touched Harry gently on the bruise, and Harry hissed. “Think it still does. It looks like you will need that extra week to recover at least until the bruising goes away.”

“Another week,” Harry repeats.

“Yes, I want you to heal properly.”

“But my job,” Harry exclaims, not believing he has to be out for another week.

Dr. Vazquez sighs, “You’re going back to the job Harry. I understand how much it means to you. If I let you go back early, you could break a rib if you aren’t careful. Now, I want you to go home and keep doing what you’re doing. You’re in great health overall.”

“Except the bruise,” Harry mutters.

“I’ll let you get dressed. See you next week, Styles.” As Dr. Vazquez is turning the knob, he turns around. “Thank Y/N for the oatmeal cookies. They were delicious.”

Harry nods and hops down from the bench wanting to get dressed and go home.

Mitch drives Harry home; it’s silent all the way there until he parks in front of Y/N’s house, which is technically his. He’s not sure, but it feels like home, at least with her, it does.

“You alright, H?” Mitch asks, shifting to look at Harry.

Harry sighs, leaning his head back against the seat. “No, got another week and another checkup.”

“That’s alright; you need to heal properly,” Mitch responds.

Harry shrugs, “I guess.”

“We still on for dinner at seven?”

“Yeah.”

Harry gets out and makes his way to the front door. He sits on the couch, and the more he sits there, the angrier he becomes. He’s not mad at anyone, just the situation. Harry isn’t sure how long he sits there, letting his anger simmer, but it’s been a while because he hears the front door unlock and Y/N enter.

“Hi darling,” She greets from the door, where she slips her shoes off and sets her purse down.

Harry doesn’t answer, continues to sit there, too lost in thought.

Y/N smiles seeing him sitting there.

She hurries over him, desperate to hug him. She sits next to him on the couch, carefully slipping her arms around his waist as not to hurt him.

“Missed you.”

Harry sighs, kissing her head softly. “Me too.”

“Going to make you a tea, Ms. Waters was telling me it strengthens your bones and to make it even better, it smells like lavender although she said it might need some sugar if you don’t want it to be bitter.”

Y/N isn’t worried. Some days she comes home and does all the talking because he had a few rough days, and sometimes she’d be quiet, and Harry would cuddle her, commenting about everyone’s gameplay in Survivor.

This is the most stable relationship she’s been in. Yes, it is insane for Harry to move for the time being, but she’s not opposed to him moving in so soon. She loves him, and that means she sees a future with him. It may or may not end in heartbreak, but she wants as much time with Harry that she can get.

Harry was just as thrilled. Most of his clothes could already be found in the drawers she opened up for him. She has uniform shirts hanging in her closet. She buys his favorite fabric softener. They’ve been domestic from the start.

This is love, and she wants it for as long as Harry will give it to her.

Y/N came out with the mug, placing it on the coaster for Harry.

Harry stared at Y/N, thinking about every single thing she does for him. He was thankful he really was because he loved her, and this was showing him just how much she loved him, but he could do things independently.

Harry goes to sit up, and Y/N is there instantly to help him. Harry isn’t sure why, but it bothers him.

This seems to be the last straw after the day he had, and Harry shrugs her off.

She steps back, not a word is said.

“Y/N,”

A frown on her face, he called her by her name, not one of the sweet nicknames he has for her.

“You’re suffocating me. I can do this on my own. I’ve been hurt before, and I didn’t need you.” Harry says harshly.

Y/N flinches, taking a step back.

Harry instantly feels the guilt seeping in.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re feeling this way,” She says as she takes small steps back to increase their distance. “I’m going to go for a walk.” Shoes in hand, she opens the door and walks out before Harry can say anything.

Harry sighs because he didn’t mean to make her upset. He really is a dick.

Now she’s outside and upset. Harry hates that he drove her out of her own home because of his stubbornness.

He’s not sure how to apologize, but in the meantime, Harry can think about it before she comes back.

_____

It’s been over an hour, and Harry knows she should be home soon. He tried calling and texting her, but she’s ignoring his cars, rightfully so. He feels time goes by slowly now that she isn’t there to keep him company.

Harry wants to apologize and hold her close. He misses her and her sweet smile that’s reserved just for him. He feels awful because he’s not even sure if she took a jacket, and it’s a cold night. He did this and just wants her home, even if it means her being upset with him.

There’s a knock on the door, and he rushes over to open it but frowns when he sees Mitch and Sarah.

“Well, what a welcome,” Sarah says sarcastically at his expression.

“Sorry, thought you were Y/N,” Harry sighs, moving back, allowing them to enter.

Mitch and Sarah share a look, “Shouldn’t she be here?”

“She should, but I’m a dick, and she went on a walk to get away from me.”

“Harry,”

“I know, I felt awful right away, Fuck, I’ve never yelled at her-- we don’t fight. It’s not us, and now she’s not answering my calls.”

Sarah looks around the room before her eyes land on the bag next to the mushroom key holder. “The phone that is sitting next to her bag.”

“Fuck,” Harry frowns. He picks it up, seeing all his missed calls. He scrolls then stops when he sees Frankie’s name.

With Frankie, will be home soon.

It was sent fifteen minutes ago.

“She’s with Frankie.”

Harry leans against the wall, sighing in relief. “Should we be here when she gets back?” Mitch asks.

“No, we need to talk. Raincheck?”

Sarah nods, “Of course. Keep us updated.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Mitch walks out first, then Sarah before they share a look. Sarah sighs, turning to look at Harry. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but Y/N loves you. I’ve known her as long as you have. From the way Y/N has spoken about you to Frankie and me, it’s like you hung the moon and stars for her. It might be easy to treat her as a target but know this; she will never stand to be mistreated because she knows her worth. So, swallow your pride and fix this with your heart and not your ego.”

Sarah walks away before he can respond. Harry is about to shut the door when a car pulls up; he recognizes it as Frankie’s, a red pick-up truck.

He smiles; she’s back.

Y/N gets out of the car, greeting Mitch and Sarah with a hug. She frowns when Harry assumes they tell her they can’t stay for dinner. She pulls a bag out from the passenger seat and hands it over to them. Harry feels himself soften because even though she was upset, she still passed to get dinner.

Heart of gold she has.

She’s absolutely perfect, and he might have messed it all up.

Y/N hugs Frankie before moving towards Harry, a bag of food in her hand. She doesn’t meet his eyes but walks past him into the house.

Harry closes the door behind him and watches her set the bag of food that he can now see is Thai food from his favorite place three blocks away. She stands there, nervously playing with a robin ring on her index finger, slipping it on and off.

“Uh…you’re right, I’ve been suffocating,” she says softly.

Harry sighs, “No.” But it’s like she doesn’t hear him because she keeps going.

“I can stay with Frankie for a while, this is your home as well, and I won’t kick you out. Or, if you want your own space, Mitch said he could drive you over to your apartment. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Harry feels the tears coming, god he doesn’t deserve her or her sympathy let alone her love.

“You don’t need to go anywhere. I want you right here. Need you right here.” Harry takes a small step toward her hoping she won’t back away.

Y/N doesn’t, but she also doesn’t look at him either. It breaks his heart.

“Will you please look at me, angel?” He pleads.

She lifts her head, eyes red and swollen. He did that. He made her cry.

Maybe he does deserve to feel this hurt.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean a word I said. I was upset and angry, and I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have. It’s not an excuse for what I did, and you don’t have to forgive me, but I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you upset?”

“Ribs aren’t fully healed, and I was ready to go back to work.”

Y/N nods because she knows what he means. He was ready to go back to work because he has been spending so much time with her.

“Right, because you need to be away from me. I got it.”

“God, no. Baby, no.” Harry cups her face. “Not at all.”

“Then what, Harry!” She tries to shout, but it comes out soft as tears begin to fall down her face. “I love you, but you’re not making any sense.”

Harry sighs, “I’m afraid that if I don’t go back soon, then everyone will see me as weak, that you’ll see me as weak.”

“Harry,” she whispers.

“I know, it’s ridiculous. I love how you care for me but me not being able to do the same kills me.”

“But you do,” she smiles; it’s the first one since she came back. “You watch my favorite shows and read books I’ve read because you want to discuss them with me. You try all my desserts without a complaint. You let me take care of you. You love me because you smile at me every morning and without fail greet me with a kiss.”

Harry lets his tears fall, wanting to soak in her words. “You love me in the little moments as well as the big. I’m sorry, I left. I wanted to give you space, clear your head as I did the same without upsetting each other more.”

“I’m sorry, I pushed you out of your house.” Harry presses a kiss on her cheek. “Will you forgive me?”

“Course, H.” Y/N wraps her arms around his waist. “Don’t like fighting.” She tells him as she nuzzles her face in his chest.

“Me either.” Harry sighs in content, happy to have her back in his arms where she belongs. “Were you serious about me moving in? I mean, we’ve only been together five months now.”

“Said it in the heat of the moment.” Harry nods, not letting her see his frown. “But it doesn’t mean I didn’t mean it. Five months may seem like little time, but with everything we’ve been through, it feels much longer.”

Harry smiles, “Yeah, I hate when people say this, but I do mean it. It feels like you’ve been a part of my life from the start.”

Y/N nods, knowing what he means, “Let’s make this our home. I want you to leave your shoes by the door and help me do laundry on Sundays. I want it all with you.”

“Getting to wake up to you every day and come home to you every night, there’s nothing I want more,” Harry confesses.

“I love you, Harry.”

“And I love you, my angel.”

Harry pulls her in for a final hug, not wanting to stop touching her, just needs her in his arms for the rest of the night.

“Dinner time?” He asks.

“Yes, please.” Y/N goes to pull away, but Harry holds her tight.

She looks up at him, eyes red but no longer sad. “Kiss, please?”

Y/N smiles at him fondly, giving a slight nod. Harry leans in, brushing their lips together softly, nervous she might pull away, but she doesn’t; instead, she presses herself closer to him. It’s a kiss that centers him, that reminds him he didn’t mess it all up, that at the end of the day, she came back to him. The kiss is soft, and Harry feels all the love she’s pouring in, and Harry hopes she can feel it from him as well.

Harry pulls back, pressing a final kiss to her lips.

“Now, dinner or shower first.”

“Shower want to hold you, angel,” Harry confesses.

“Alright, but no funny business.” She teases.

Harry gasps, “I would never.”

She giggles, making her way to the bedroom, with Harry following behind.

Harry leans against the doorway, watching Y/N set her clothes for the night on the bed, then going to his drawers to do the same. He wants this forever; he wants her to fluff his pillows, to warm his blanket, to run her fingers through his hair, to massage his back, relieving all the tension he has built up. He’s decided he’d let her shower him in love and bask in it because it doesn’t mean she sees him as weak; it’s her way of showing she wants to take care of him and who is he to deny her of that.

Harry feels his heart grow when she heads to the bathroom but stops turning to him with an outstretched hand; he steps forward, intertwining their fingers.

Yeah, he’s going to love her for a long time.

_____

Here's more firefighter harry because this wrote itself and in a matter of two days. will eventually write more for firefighter harry but will be focusing on other work :)

#harry styles #requested #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles au #firefighter harry!#harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles Drabble

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magniloquent-raven · 2 years

Note

Shower — Needy — Biting

some excellent prompts 👀 here's hoping i did them justice lol enjoy

tag list peeps! @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful

the first thing he hears when he walks in is running water. their janky showerhead, hissing and rattling loudly through the thin walls. steve’s asked him a million times to take a look at it, tighten up whatever’s loose or clean whatever’s clogged, or something to make it sound less like demons are manifesting in their walls whenever someone tries to take a shower.

he always says he’ll do it later but they’ve lived here for five years and he hasn’t done a damn thing.

it still works, see. it’s fine. and one day it won’t be, so. he’ll fix it then.

or he’ll call the building’s super. maybe the bastard will actually answer the phone if half the floor’s flooded.

billy sighs, and drops his jacket on the hall bench where they keep their winterwear haphazardly piled. a glove flops onto the floor, dislodged from somewhere. he’s pretty sure it’s half of the pair max kept whining at him about losing. he swore up and down he hadn’t seen them.

he tucks the glove into one of steve’s coat pockets.

then on his way to their bedroom he stubs his toe on the threshold, the stupid splintery piece of wood nailed to the flood that steve always gets his socks caught on, and it’s just one thing too many. he’s been at work all day and he’s tired. his shoulders ache. he spent half the day on a project and then five minutes from finishing it get got told the client didn’t want it like that, and he spent the rest of the afternoon taking it apart piece by fucking piece.

he stands in the doorway, hand on the wall, head bowed, and doesn’t move for a second. two. the pain fades quickly but his eyes burn with frustrated tears that he spends far too long trying to blink away.

on autopilot, he turns, already unbuttoning his shirt, shedding it in the hallway before he’s anywhere near the steam curling out from the propped open bathroom door. his jeans trip him up a little, and he hops awkwardly trying to peel them off, dropping them to the damp tile floor with a heavy thump once he manages it.

“billy?” steve’s voice is muddled by the white noise, but still, the familiar sound settles something in billy’s chest. “are you coming in, or—oh,” he grins at billy the second he sees him slipping around the curtain, squinting through all the water dripping from his eyelashes but radiating warmth. “hi.”

he has a response, ideas blooming into words, into something, but they stick, catching in his throat, and his breath stumbles over them, hitching, stopping, and when his lungs fill again the words are gone. he’s left standing, shivering in the tub, silent and staring.

there was a time when he would’ve gone digging for them, clawing at his throat til he’d made space for them to spill out in blood and bile. but he doesn’t have to anymore. so he leans forward instead, crowding into steve’s space.

“oop, okay, this is what we’re doing. okay.” he’s quick to wrap his arms around billy, tucking his elbows in against billy’s sides to keep him pressed close and drawing aimless circular patterns up his spine with gentle fingertips. he kisses billy’s temple. “shitty day?”

billy breathes him in. the soft musky scent of his skin. the remnants of his woodsy cologne. he hasn’t washed yet, and billy’s grateful for it. he tucks his nose more firmly against the crook of steve’s neck. as much as he loves the subtly floral soap steve uses, this, right here, just him, smells like home.

he makes a noncommittal noise, more focused on the solid weight of steve’s chest against his, flushed, warm skin, the soft give of steve’s waist under his palms.

steve presses another kiss into his half-damp curls. “that bad, huh.”

the hot water rains down on them in an uneven spray, leaving half of billy’s back cold, exposed to open air, but he’s settled in steve’s arms. comfortable. if he presses in close he can almost hear steve’s heartbeat over the drum of droplets against tile and the creak of old pipes.

but after a few minutes steve stirs, pulls back a fraction, and billy’s lizard brain panics. he reacts, unthinking, and bites down on steve’s collarbone to keep him in place.

“hey,” steve hisses, half in pain, half surprised laughter, “we can’t stand here forever, the hot water’ll run out.”

he readjusts his grip, shifting closer, petulantly, nipping at steve’s neck again.

steve’s dick twitches against billy’s stomach.

“billyyy…” he groans, exasperated, “i gotta…i gotta wash my hair, and…” billy feels steve’s fingers twitch and his breathing quicken, as billy sucks at the soft skin at the base of his throat, pressing his teeth in just hard enough to know it’ll bruise. “you’re a little minx you know that.”

billy snorts, grinning into the crook of steve’s neck.

“jezebel.”

he slides a hand into steve’s hair, fingertips grazing his scalp, and curls a fist around the damp locks, tugging lightly.

“...harlot.”

kissing up to steve’s jaw, he nuzzles behind his ear. nips his earlobe. “steve…” he murmurs. “need you…”

“shit.”

steve turns his head and seals their mouths together, kissing him sweet and tender, already breathless and determined to take billy with him.

so determined, in fact, that they lose track of time. the water is running ice cold by the time they finish up, but they both leave the tub grinning to themselves.

#stranger things #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #a raven's writing desk #this one i managed to keep shorter fglhkjfkl #and i was half tempted to make this a sequel to my last ficlet tbh #but i had THIS idea that i wanted to write so #here's this

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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 3 years

Note

Y/N gets attacked and Chishiya is sure she will handle everything but when he sees her later there's blood everywhere, later he finds out that attackers actually cut her cheek really deepy and she will probably have a scar. He feels guilty and try to make it up by bringing something special (like cute pictures of cats bc he remembers when she quietly told Kuina that she loves cats) and from that day he is always trying to make sure that Y/N is doing fine. (2/2)

Of course! Here you go!

A Ginger Cat | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Characters(s): Chishiya (ft. Kuina, OC, Ann)

Summary: You get hurt during a game, but Chishiya thinks that you can handle it yourself. Later when he discovers that you were injured more worse than he thought, he brings you something to cheer you up

Warnings: swearing, blood

Word Count: 4.6k

*reader is female

The registration room had an eerie aura, you swore you could’ve heard a pin drop in there. Nothing was moving except the occasional piece of dust flying past in the breeze. You stood with your back to the wall, glaring up into the bright florescent light that had seemed to become an all too familiar ongoing theme of these homicidal games.

The wall was cold and rigid along your spine, but you put up with the small sharp pain. There was nowhere else to wait, besides on the disgustingly dirty floor. You had to gain as much rest and strength before beginning the game.

Kuina sighed heavily to the right of you, glancing at the game phone she had picked up a few minutes prior and rolling her head back against the wall in boredom. Chishiya stood next along from her, earbuds lodged in his ears and blasting loud music while he held his gaze strictly on the ground in front of him.

“Come on,” Kuina groaned, stretching her hands above her head. “When is this game starting? We’ve been here for a solid half an hour.”

She walked to the entrance of the registration room and peeked her head out the door. “I’m surprised no one else has come. Maybe it’ll be just us,” she suggested, turning back to you and Chishiya.

“That sounds great, until it’s a game of hearts,” you bluntly stated, fiddling with the fabric of your shirt. Chishiya and Kuina both turned to you, sudden concern on their faces at your accusation.

The room fell quiet once more, until a familiar voice echoed through the room from all your phones simultaneously.

“Registration is now closed,” it spoke. “Game: Mice, Cats and A Dog.”

You frowned at the strange game name, having heard nothing like it before. You felt a feeling of relief wash over you as a five of clubs card conveyed itself on your screen. You were anxious you had accidentally manifested it to be a hearts game with your sly comment earlier.

“Rules: Players are the Cats. There are three live Mice to catch, each hiding in different areas around the building. Once found, the Mice must be killed using your own preference of weapon that is available on the table in the registration room.”

All three of you glanced towards the small table positioned next to the phone table that was scattered with small weapons that would hardly be enough to hurt a human. You had been wondering why they had offered such shitty weapons.

“Although, you must avoid the Dog’s gaze, for it will kill the Cats on sight.”

Your heart dropped at that last statement. You were to be hunted.

“You have an hour to kill all three Mice and return to the lobby with the bodies. If you fail to do so, all exits around the building will be closed and several more Dogs will be released and finish off the remaining players. You have ten minutes to position yourself in the building before the Dog is released.”

The list of rules on your phone screen shifted to a timer for ten minutes, already beginning to count down. You turned to Chishiya and Kuina.

“Any strategies?” Kuina asked, looking between you and Chishiya.

You pursed your lips in thought. “Split up. That seems like the most logical option. It will be quicker to find the Mice then,” you proposed, crossing your arms over your chest and scanning over the small map nearby that disclosed the layout of the deserted hotel the game was taking place in.

“But then the “Dog” will have more of a chance to find us if we split up,” Kuina argued. Kuina always focused on the safer route to ensure everyone’s survival rather than the easiest.

“No, it will be worse if we’re together, cause it can kill us all at once,” you retorted, walking over to the weapon table and starting to scan your options.

“I agree with Y/N,” Chishiya spoke up, pushing himself off the wall and strutting over to stand next to you and help pick a weapon. “I played a game very similar to this one. The best option is that we separate. Only then do we have a chance of finding the Mice in the time limit.”

Just as he said it, the phones all announced you had nine minutes left until the hunter began searching for you.

“One mouse each, and if you find yours early, keep searching so we can speed up time.”

You nodded at Chishiya’s command, snatching a small hammer and a pocket knife from the table for your weapons. You all walked out of the registration area (the front desk of the hotel) and into the empty lobby, watching as the hanging chandeliers glistening against the moonlight shining through from the obnoxiously big windows.

If anything could have gotten worse, you had to find tiny mice in a huge hotel in the complete darkness of night.

***************

You took to the upper bar.

The area in itself didn’t seem that big. But when you found it, you realised that it would be incredibly hard to find a single mouse in the cracks and small spaces between all the furniture. The eerie aura didn’t help much.

You sighed in frustration after searching underneath yet another couch. “What the fuck is this game? How the fuck am I supposed to find a rodent in a huge place like this?” you whispered angrily, flopping down on the couch dramatically.

It had been around forty-five minutes since the “Dog” had been released, but you have always been quite confident in your escaping and hiding strategies, so you weren’t too worried. The only thing you were concerned about was finding a mouse. Chishiya and Kuina had to have caught theirs by now.

A small scuttling noise cut you from your thoughts. You snapped your head towards the bar, where the sound was emitting from. A wave of excitement filled you, becoming hopeful that the noise was the mouse you were searching for.

You stood from the couch and quickly walked towards the bar, making sure not to make too much noise in case you alerted the rodent. The noise seemed to have come from behind some bottles beneath the counter. You crouched down on your knees and looked along the shelves, scanning for any sign of movement.

“Come on little mouse,” you taunted, becoming frustrated. When you noticed the flash of illuminated eyes staring holes into you through the glass of a tequila bottle, you quickly snatched the neck of the bottle and pulled it from the shelf, locking eyes with a desperate mouse with it’s back half stuck in a mouse trap.

The mouse shook violently against the trap, letting out small squeaks of pain and glaring at you with fear in it’s eyes. Although, it’s most noticeable feature was a large cross that almost seemed burned into it’s lower back. The cross had no fur or skin along it.

“This has to be one of them,” you reassured yourself, reaching to pull out the small pocket knife.

You picked up the mouse trap and hissed as the mouse managed to nip a part of your finger in defence. “Little shit,” you muttered, before pressing the point of your knife against the mouse’s back and pushing in harshly to kill it.

You hoped that you would just end it’s life and that would be that. But of course, the game had to throw in some sort of twist.

As you stabbed the small rodent, a impossibly loud screeching sound emitted from it’s tiny throat, making you drop the creature in shock and cover your ears.

The animal screeched and screeched, pain dripping from it’s cries that echoed across the room angrily. You began to panic, realising that there’s a chance the hunter could hear you. But maybe that was the point.

“Shut up!” you yelled over the mouse’s cries. You pulled the knife swiftly from the mouse’s fur and continued to repetitively penetrate it’s skin, mercilessly making it shut up while blood splattered across your angered face.

You breathed heavily once the room had fallen silent once again, staring down at the mutilated dead rodent. For a short moment, you felt bad for ending it’s life so unpeacefully.

Your head snapped up to look over the bar when sudden heavy footsteps made their way down the hall outside the bar. Your heart leapt to your throat and you turned to press your back against the bar, keeping your head down so whoever it was couldn’t see you.

You cringed as you picked up the remains of the mouse, holding it tight in your hand so you wouldn’t drop it. If Chishiya and Kuina had finished their halves, all you had to do was get to the lobby and you would be fine.

You placed your spare hand over your mouth to quieten your breathing, listening to the footsteps of the stranger who brought themselves into the room. The rapid movement of their feet made you anxious. You had never encountered a hunter that could run as fast as that.

You heard them flip a few tables over, hearing glasses smash against the walls aggressively. You closed your eyes tightly in realisation. The attacker was trying to make it harder for you to leave quietly if you were in there.

When the room fell quiet, you slowly peeked your head over the top of the bar. You managed to catch sight of the hunter themselves.

They seemed to have resembled the body of an older male, fit and tall. They had long, baggy pants, a black t-shirt while holding a machete that easily was as long as your arm. But most oddly, they wore a mask that conveyed a snarling German Shepherd.

The hunter was preoccupied over by the lounged area, looking behind the back rests of the couches and underneath coffee tables.

‘If I stay here any longer, they’re guaranteed to find me,’ you thought to yourself.

You decided you were going to attempt to leave. You had more of a chance of surviving by running than hiding.

You lifted your legs and trudged towards the edge of the bar, ducking underneath the table that was placed at the end before slowly rising to your feet. A quick glance down at your hand was enough to reassure you that you hadn’t dropped your ticket to a few more days of staying alive.

You kept your eyes locked on the hunter, making sure they didn’t turn their back as you were trying to leave. You thought you had almost made it before you miscalculated your step and tripped over a shattered glass on the ground, making you stumble forward and a loud noise erupt from the impact from your shoe to the glass.

As soon as you regained your balance, you didn’t even bother checking if the hunter had heard, you knew they did. You immediately took off running, holding your pocket knife in one hand in fear. You weren’t even halfway down the hall running towards the lobby before you heard the Dog’s footsteps behind you, trailing close and fast.

“Chishiya! Kuina!” You screamed out, picking up your pace and holding the body of the dead mouse close to your chest to make sure you didn’t drop it.

There was no way they were going to help you now, especially against someone like that. You were on your own for now, so you put faith in your own legs to carry you all the way down to the lobby.

Your heart was racing as you almost fell down the flights of stairs, so desperate to get away. At some point, you glanced upwards and saw your pursuer on the flight above you, making you feel sick.

“Fuck,” you gasped out, quickly scrambling down the darkened stairs. The blood of the mouse’s corpse seeped through your fingers as you held it in a tense fist, dripping down your arm grotesquely.

As you neared the ground level of the hauntingly big hotel, you stumbled as you jumped the few remaining steps and saw a sign that had an arrow labeled “Main Lobby” pointed to the left. You took in that direction, glancing behind you to see the “Dog” hot on your tail.

But unfortunately, you took too long to look at the sign. The “Dog” quickly caught up, grabbing an aggressive fistful of the back of your shirt and yanking you backwards towards them. You were too scared to scream. The air was forced from your lungs as you were pulled back, landing on the ground with the “Dog” suddenly standing over you, feet planted on either side of you.

Before you could even think, their machete plummeted down towards your face, making you flinch your head to the right, narrowly avoiding the blade. Although, the edge of the sharp metal managed to graze your cheek, creating a long gash along the side of your face.

The “Dog” continued to attempt to stab you in the face, stumbling above you as you attempted to kick their legs out from underneath them. In a sudden desperate attack, you kicked with all your might at their locked knees and they let out a yelp of pain as their knee buckled harshly backwards. You took the opportunity to run, not even giving them a second glance. You knew they’d already be back on their feet, after you again.

As you neared the humongous room that was labeled the lobby, you saw Chishiya and Kuina by the big doors that led inside. They seemed to have been banging their fists against an invisible force, separating you from them. The game must have locked them in when they placed their dead mice in the box that was located in the centre of the huge hall.

Their faces changed their hopeful expressions when they saw your pursuer, the blood running from their cheeks, making them pale. As soon as you entered the lobby, passing through the invisible force with ease, they followed behind you quickly.

“Hurry! Throw it in!” you heard Chishiya cry to you desperately behind you. You glanced back to see him slowing down, holding out his taser towards the “Dog” in case they managed to reach you. The electric light of his taser lit up significantly in the darkened room.

Once you reached the small white box placed on the table in the centre of the room, you shoved the disgusting remains of your victim inside, watching as it landed on top of two other mice.

Everything froze. The “Dog” immediately stopped running, dropping to their knees and face-planting onto the ground in front of Chishiya. All three of you stopped in shock, heavy breaths filling the air. Had you done it?

“Game Clear. Congratulations.”

The collar around the “Dog’s” neck exploded, blood splattering the walls and coating the gorgeously patterned carpet with it’s own artwork. You had seen it many times before. Once more couldn’t hurt.

“Took you long enough,” you heard Chishiya smartly remark. You glanced towards him, raising an eyebrow. He looked smug, as always. Not a single scratch on him.

“Give me a break, I had to face someone three times the size of me,” you remarked, rubbing your face tiredly. Your adrenaline had calmed, and now the pain of your deep gash on your cheek settled in. You hissed as your palm grazed it, pulling back and looking at your hand to see blood across it.

“Shit,” you rasped out, wiping your hand on the material of your pants.

“You okay Y/N?” Kuina questioned, walking over to you. You shook your head, dismissing her. “Yeah I’m fine. Just a small gash. It’ll heal soon enough,” you reassured.

“Are you sure? That looks quite deep,” Chishiya commented, strutting over and using his hand to push your chin to the side so he could look more closely at it. The feeling of his hand placed so gently on your skin made your heart suddenly race, and you panicked and pulled your head away before he could even see your wound.

“No, it’s fine,” you insisted, attempting to hide your embarrassment. “Let’s go back. It’s getting late, and I’m tired and hungry.”

***************

You stood in your bathroom, attempting to wash your clothes that you wore at the game earlier. You were soaking and scrubbing them in the bathtub. No matter how much blood seeped from the fabrics, it never seemed to be clean enough.

You grunted, annoyed and tired. Kuina said she was going to spend some time out nearby the pool with Arisu and talk to him about his game. Chishiya didn’t say where he was going, but you assumed it would be the roof or something away from everyone else.

A wet feeling along the side of your neck made you suddenly flinch and hit your skin, worried it was a weird bug of some sort. But your eyes widened when you brought your hand back and saw the concerning amount of blood spread across your palm.

You stood up from the side of the bathtub and leant against the sink, looking to the large mirror. “For fucks sake,” you sighed out as you caught sight of your large gash again. “This has been bleeding for hours. How do I make this stop?”

You winced as the moist towel you used earlier was once again dabbing along the skin of your face, collecting up the annoyingly large amount of blood percolating from your cheek. You were becoming afraid that it wasn’t going to stop at all, but you were too stubborn to go to Ann for medical help.

You’ve seen her weird dissection obsession, so you felt uneasy putting the trust of your health into her hands.

The blood dripped quicker the more you attempted to clean it up. Soon, there were miniature blood puddles scattered around the sink as you kept trying to clean them.

*********** “Hey Usagi, have you seen Y/N?”

Chishiya was making his way around The Beach searching for you. He usually liked spending his late nights having a drink with you in a quiet corner of the ground floor pool. Although, he hadn’t been able to find you and he was getting worried. You usually were either down in the lobby or with Kuina after games.

“No, I haven’t. Sorry Chishiya.”

He huffed annoyed, thanking Usagi and walking away from the dance floor. He thought he should check in your room as a last resort, but if you weren’t there, that’s when he would really worry.

He slowly made his way up the multiple flights of stairs, passing by a few people on the way. During the walk, he zoned out in his own thoughts, his mind filing with you.

How would he ever tell you how he felt? He believed you only saw him as a friend, an annoying one at that. Especially since you happen to banter a lot with him. The thought made him smile, he loved that you didn’t take his bullshit seriously and treated it like a game.

‘How do I let her know that I truly do care for her?’ he asked himself, fiddling with the drawstrings of his white hoodie as he strolled down the brightly lit hall. He hadn’t ever been the best with emotions, so how could he show that he was genuine about his romantic feelings towards you?

When Chishiya reached your room, he lifted his fist to knock on the rotting wood, freezing suddenly. Why was he hesitating? He’s done this so many times before, why was he suddenly nervous? He shook his head, embarrassed for catching himself in these thoughts. He had worked himself up again.

He knocked on your door loudly three times before calling out to you. “Y/N? You in there?” The silence that followed his call made him anxious. He knocked again, this time more persistently.

“Coming!” he heard your muffled voice call through the door. He stood back from the door as you opened it, giving you a small smile. But it soon disappeared from your face when he locked eyes with the bloody tissue that you held to your cheek.

“Hey Chish,” you groaned out, lazy eyed and turning back into your room, leaving the door so he could come in. Chishiya rushed to you quickly. “Wait, Y/N. What’s going on? Why are you hurt?” he asked frantically, pulling on your shoulder to get you to look at him.

You brushed his hand off of you. “It’s fine. Just a small gash from the game earlier. It started bleeding again,” you said, giving him a stare.

Chishiya shook his head and cupped your face, avoiding your cut, to have a closer look. “No Y/N, that doesn’t look okay. It’s bleeding way too much.”

You stayed still as he replaced your hand holding the tissue on your face with his own, being as gentle as he could as he cleaned the blood gathering around the gash.

“Here, sit down on the bed,” he muttered, indicating towards the end of your bed. You both shuffled over and sat down, Chishiya still holding the tissue on your face.

You could feel his hot breath against your lips as he examined your wound. His dark eyes glistened in the dim light of your hotel room. He looked ethereal. But he took a quick glance towards your eyes, snapping you from your daze. You hissed as he caught a bit of the gash on the tissue. “Sorry,” he apologized, moving his hand to your chin to readjust your position.

He then sat up and walked towards the bathroom, walking quickly so the blood of your injury didn’t drip too much. As he was there, you heard a soft gasp. He probably had found the blood-covered sink and towels.

He returned back with a clean towel that he found in your bathroom cabinet. He held a somewhat annoyed expression on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me this? If I knew it was this bad, I would’ve helped you out.”

You shrugged your shoulders. To be honest, you weren’t too sure why you didn’t tell Chishiya or Kuina. It just didn’t seem that big of a deal.

“You’ll need some stitches,” he concluded, holding a clean towel underneath your cut. “Also, stop using tissues to clean the blood. They flake easily and can stick to your injury.”

You nodded, looking down in embarrassment. You wish Chishiya didn’t find you like this. You hated making anyone else worry about you when it wasn’t entirely necessary.

“Look at me,” he demanded, bringing your head up with a gentle hand on your neck. Your breath got caught in your throat as he wiped around your cheek, cleaning up any excess blood.

“Come on. Let’s get you to Ann,” he said, standing up and holding his hand out for you.

You took his hand and he pulled you up playfully, making you almost stumble into him. You glared at him. “Wow. Even when I’m injured you’re still a bully,” you teased. Chishiya smirked and winked at you, making you roll your eyes.

And yet, the whole way to Ann’s medical room, you didn’t let go of his hand.

***************

You woke as the sun hit your eyelids, illuminating your room with bright rays of light. The sun was strangely gorgeous that morning, so you woke up in a good mood.

You sat up and stretched, letting out a large groan as your bones popped in your back. Although a wince made its way onto your face as you yawned, making the skin of your treated gash stretch.

Chishiya had told Ann to place a protected medical patch on your cut, since he thought it would be better than just leaving it in case of it getting infected or worse during your next game. So for the time being, you had a flat piece of cotton taped on your face. Ann said to only leave it on until it had certainly stopped bleeding through, as well as to change it around two or three times a day.

When your eyes finally adjusted to your surroundings, your sight landed on a strange scene in front of you.

At the table on the end of your bed, there was a small plushie of a ginger kitten. The makeshift fur on the stuffed toy was slightly dirty and it was missing a bead for an eye, but it still remained strangely comforting.

You crawled to the end of your bed and reached out to grab the plushie, bringing it close to you and looking over it for anything. Who knows? Someone could have put it in your room as a trap.

But it was proven safe when you noticed the small, neat writing on the end of the kitten’s tail, which read ‘Chish’.

You chuckled at the childish toy, realising Chishiya must have snuck it into your room while you were asleep.

“Idiot,” you laughed, “Can’t tell me he likes me as his friend but he can put enough effort into finding a stuffed cat in the Borderland for me.”

It felt special, because you knew Chishiya would have had to go into deserted Tokyo to find such a gift for you. You looked on the table and saw a small piece of paper. You frowned and reached out for it and opened it.

‘Here’s a stupid plushie for your troubles. Kuina said you liked cats so I thought you’d feel better with this xx’

You laughed at his half-hearted message. Chishiya never was that good with words, but he didn’t have to be in order for you to understand how he felt towards you.

Although the plushie was a bit beaten and battered, it still brought such a sense of home to you.

***************

You sat in the lobby, watching everyone scuttle around. Your usual drunken party group passed through every now and then, which was always good entertainment.

You jumped as you felt a pair of hands suddenly grip onto your shoulders, quickly moving to your eyes and covering them.

“Guess who?” the stranger asked cheekily, making you relax when you recognised their familiar, cocky voice.

“Get your hands off me Chishiya,” you giggled, pulling on his hands and turning around so you would face him. His face held a big smile across it, which was so unlike his usual neutral expression.

“What’s got you so happy?” you questioned, raising your eyebrow. Chishiya pulled away from your face and jumped over the back of the couch so he was then sitting beside you.

“Nothing, I’m just happy to see you,” he admitted, laying his head on your shoulder comfortably. His boldness was rather prominent then more than you had ever seen.

“How’s your cut?” he asked, looking up to examine the patch on your cheek. You shrugged it off. “It’s fine, not too bad now.”

Chishiya smiled, and suddenly leaned forward and left a lingering kiss on your good cheek, making your eyes widen at his action. “That’s good,” he gushed and continued on like he didn’t do anything.

“Yeah. Um...” you muttered awkwardly while rubbing the spot on your face where he kissed. “I wanted to say... thanks for the gift earlier,” you said, placing an arm around his shoulder comfortably.

Chishiya beamed happily, but tried to hide his blush by turning away from you. “No problem,” he mumbled out, trying to sound like he didn’t care.

You laughed at his response. Chishiya may have not been that good with words, but he didn’t need to be for you to notice that he really loved you.

562 notes · View notes

lailannajacobs · 3 years

Text

Heart of the Night

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky finds you after a mission that didn’t quite go as planned.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: lil bit angsty

A/N: This is my submission for @wkemeup 9k challenge, it’s not quite as edited as I would have liked but the end of the school year is always super busy so here it is! Congrats Kas, you are such an incredible writer, your talent absolutely blows my mind, it’s just unbelievable and I hope one day to have a tenth of your skill! You deserve everything great and more! <3

The needle trembled, metal glinting off the fluorescent light in your bathroom as it hovered just above the skin of your abdomen. The air reeked of copper. The pristine sink was marred with the dark red streaks of failure. You tried to swallow, but it felt like you were choking on your own throat.

The needle approached the bloody canyon made by a knife you’d been too careless to avoid, and hovered there, trying to find its mark. The world swayed. You’d lost too much blood already. The needle clattered into the sink, black thread trialing behind it like a broken tether. You were somehow conscious — delirious? — enough to think you were lucky it hadn’t gone down the drain because you didn’t have time to call a plumber. Wait no. You’d just have to get a new one from the cabinet. You tried to reach for the needle. Your body didn’t react. Instead, it swayed dangerously, only your fighting instincts keeping you from tumbling to the floor by gripping onto the edge of the sink. At least there were some things blood could wash off from.

“YN!” that familiar voice burst into your apartment, “pool table. Five minutes. I swore to Sam that this was the day we finically beat Vision and his perfect calculations.”

You swore at the joyful ness in his voice. You couldn’t match that tone right now if you tried. But you had to. The mission had gone well. You’d done what you’d set out to do. Only you, the ever-present failure, had gotten yourself stabbed along the way. The only mercy was that no one else had noticed and you’d disappeared to your apartment without drawing suspicion. That was, until now if you couldn’t pull yourself together. You willed your body to close the bathroom door, but it wouldn’t move. If anything, everything only spun even more.

“Where the hell are...”

You felt his presence in your doorway. Felt his gaze like a physical thing. You were always aware of him. Even now was no exception. Maybe if you pretended he wasn’t there, he’d go away. Right. And the three-inch gash in your stomach would stitch itself up. You turned your head, not realizing how many abdominal muscles it took to look over your shoulder. Your pride and the death grip your slick fingers held on the porcelain were the only reasons the spinning didn't send you tumbling to the ground.

When your bathroom came into focus again, the only thing you really saw was Bucky taking up most of the doorway. And he was seething. His normally cool eyes were raging hurricanes, framed between hard lines of frustration on his face. They scanned you from top to bottom with deathly calm, from the sports bar you had on that exposed all your skin and the bruises you garnered during the mission to the sweatpants you’d changed into. An X-ray would have been less intrusive. You shivered. It was probably the blood loss.

You wanted to make up some excuse for your failure, but his anger was justified. You were a liability on the field. They were bound to have figured it out eventually.

He said nothing as he stalked over in a few brisk strides, fury emanating from him in waves. He stopped beside you, the pleasant smell of his freshly showered body chasing away the tang in the air. You closed your eyes. It was a coward’s move, but you’d take any peace you could get before everything you’d worked so hard to keep got taken away from you.

“Sit,” he ordered in a low, almost growly voice, “now.”

You went to sit on the toilet but tipped backward before you could make it. His arms gathered around you, easing you onto the closed seat. Your head lolled back and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.” He decided, “I need an explanation. Talk to me.”

It seemed like too much work. All you wanted to do was go to sleep.

“No,” he ordered as if you’d spoken the words aloud. Maybe you had.

You opened your eyes, caught in the crossfire of his icy stare, “Hydra agent during the extraction.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

The extraction of the French Prime Minister had been more than an hour ago. You should have been stitched up a long time ago. You should not have been dripping on the pale bathroom tiles.

“Surface wound,” you continued as professionally as your body would allow, knowing that even though you’d live, your failure was the reason for his fury, “came here. Was in the process of fixing it.”

“We have medics,” he growled, “what were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t about to tell him how your presence was a poison that would likely get them all killed eventually. Or that your constant mistakes were your own consequences to deal with — to fix. He probably knew that all ready. His question had to be rhetorical.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he were trying to steady his anger. You stared at him, the winter soldier kneeling before you, his calloused hands still resting on your hips. He let out a sigh, his breath warm on your stomach.

“I should call for a medic,” he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, “I can take care of my own mistakes.”

His lids snapped open, piercing blue eyes pinning you to the spot with their ice cold intensity. He was obviously still pissed. But he didn’t call for a medic. Instead, he got up, warm hands leaving behind nothing more than goosebumps and shivers — from the blood loss, of course— and picked up the needle.

“This is going to hurt,” he murmured once he was kneeling in front of you again.

You tried to nod, but the motion sent your vision spinning again and you gripped onto his shoulder for support, the metal sturdy beneath your grip.

He looked up into your eyes, “are you sure you want me to do this? It’ll leave a scar and it won’t be pretty.”

“It’s only fitting,” you coughed a laugh, “at least the outside will start looking like the inside.”

His brows furrowed but he didn’t say anything. He knew what you were. You were a mutant who somehow got the ‘gift’ of being able to make anything stop functioning. You could make plans fall apart. Kill a software program. Stop a body’s functioning. Even ruin a functioning team like the Avengers. With skill, you should have been one of their greatest assets, ruining everything that threatened the world. But your ‘gift’ extended to yourself as well. You ruined everything you touched. Even the good. Especially, it always seemed, the good.

He pierced your skin without warning, but you were glad for the pain. It gave you something else to focus on than the echoing thoughts of your failure. But Bucky was gentle. Despite the anger you knew must still be there, his movements were delicate and focused, hesitating whenever you winced or sucked in a breath.

By the time he tied the knot, you were surprised you were still upright. He might have been efficient, but you couldn’t tell if it had taken seconds, minutes or even hours. His hands cupped your face and eyes you hadn’t realized you’d closed fluttered open. He was so close now, his expression pinched with worry. You couldn’t help but wonder how it could be for you.

“I’m almost done,” he said softly, “but you’ll probably need a transfusion.”

Adrenaline kicked in. You couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not when you could barely keep your eyes open.

“Please don’t take me there,” you begged, “I can’t hurt anyone else.”

Your abilities rarely activated while you were asleep, but you wouldn’t risk the lives of the other patients or the doctors by going down to the medical wing. Years ago, when you’d realized what your abilities were, you’d stopped sleeping anywhere near anyone else. Now, hurt, there was an even greater chance you might lose control.

If you hadn’t been working so hard for consciousness, you would have also told Bucky to leave. But it wouldn’t have mattered. For some reason, he always stayed. Even when he was within the radius of your power. Even when you told him to go. Especially then. He always stayed.

“I won’t hurt anyone else,” you choked out, “I always hurt someone else.”

His thumb brushed across your cheek, “and yet you saved me today.”

You looked away from his burning gaze, your tears threatening to spill.

He continued, mercifully ignoring your watery eyes, “even though you were hurt you dropped that Hydra agent before he could shoot me in the back. We didn’t lose a single agent today, YN. That’s because you were there.”

“No,” you tried to shake your head, but his hands held on tightly, “they — you — saved yourselves. I got stabbed.”

“You got stabbed because you were busy watching everyone else’s back,” he growled, that earlier anger returning.

“I ruin things,” you repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

But it didn’t matter. He never seemed to believe you. But he needed to. You desperately needed him to before you ruined him too.

“Please leave,” you whimpered.

His answer was simple, “No.”

He took his hands back, but it was only to find some gauze to place over your cut. Once he was done, he scooped you up so gently the movement only hurt a lot instead of blinding pain and brought you to bed.

You gripped his shirt, fist balling up at the hem with all the strength you had left, “you need to leave, Bucky. Now.”

For some reason, the bastard smirked, “Someone has to make sure you don’t die in your sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” you snapped, though it lacked any kind of force.

He didn’t look impressed, “If you were fine you wouldn’t be begging me to leave. You’d be downstairs with me and we’d be getting our asses handed to us by Vision and Sam like every other Thursday night.”

You wanted to protest. You wanted to protect him, but you had no fight left in you. And with the plush mattress calling you to sleep, the world went dark before you could figure out a way to get him to leave.

“All right Destructo, show me what you’ve got.”

You weren’t a fan of the nickname, but you weren’t about to tell the Tony Stark to shut up and use your real name. And anyways, as much as you hated using your abilities, and how you were always overcome by the tidal wave of fear that sent fear rolling like waves throughout your body, you always felt better — healthier even — after using them. And he was giving you free range now.

Eight suits surrounded you in a perfect octagon, hands out like they were ready to strike. Tony had somehow altered his suits so that they’d shoot bubbles — of all things — instead of small blasts and said you’d only be alive if you managed to take them all down before a single bubble came out.

A small grin unwittingly made its way onto your face.

“Glad to see you’re having fun,” Tony remarked, “it’ll come in handy for future testing. Ready?”

You nodded and ignored the bit about future testing. They might have thought they wanted you now but after they saw how much of a curse you really were, they weren’t going to keep you around long enough for future testing. You prayed that day wasn’t any time soon.

But you were ready now. That was until Tony’s voice crackled through the intercoms once more, “just make sure you don’t kill anyone of us in the process. I’d hate to miss Taco Tuesday.

You lifted your chin, “Give me thirty seconds with the enemies and you’ll have your taco.”

“Such confidence,” he remarked with a chuckle.

It was false bravado but you wanted this. You wanted out of your hell hole. So you weren’t about to let him see any of the very real fear that you actually might kill him. in the process.

You let out your power in a giant blast.

You bolted upright, gasping for breath. Black spots clouded your vision but you forced through the waves of dizziness, looking for the one person you couldn’t bear to hurt. He was supposed to have left. Your next breath never came. Bucky’s long limbs spilled over the edges of the chair in the opposite corner of the room, his phone resting on his chest. His eyes were closed, a peaceful look on his face but that didn’t mean anything. The dead often looked at peace.

Then his phone rose and fell with his chest. You held back a sob. Your relief would have sent you tumbling if you hadn’t been sitting. He was alive.

Without your blinding panic, the rest of your room came into focus. He’d left all the clothes you’d strewn over the chair in a neat, folded pile on your dresser. You glanced over at your alarm clock for the time, which was…off. Your dread clenched it’s fist around your stomach. It had been on. So had your air conditioning unit. And where was the constant hum of your ancient refrigerator?

“They’re all fried,” Bucky’s gruff voice came through the silence as if he’d actually been sleeping, “the phone gave a nice little shock when it died. Snapped me out of my sleep that’s for sure.”

Your heart was still trying to hammer its way out of your chest when you said, “You could have gotten hurt. I don’t know how you’re not.”

“I do,” he replied simply, eyes finding yours.

“No, you don’t,.” you shook your head more than you had to, “No, you can’t.”

“I can because I’ve trained with you almost every day since you got here. I know that your gift,” you scoffed at the word but he kept going, “your gift works differently depending on who and what you’re targeting. And I know you don’t target people. Not unless you have to and even then I see that it kills you to do it.”

You looked down at your sheets, hating the way his words resonated through your body, refusing to go away. But you could still ignore it.

“That might be true, but Tony has been making his suits to withstand me. In case I can’t control my powers and they hurt anyone on our side. He might say it’s in case we meet another mutant with powers like mine, but we all know that’s not true.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he huffed then took in a slow breath. It did nothing to hide the growl in his voice when he asked, “None of us are perfect, why do you have to be?”

Because, even as a full grown adult, you were afraid you’d somehow end up back in that orphanage, unloved and unwanted because all you did was ruin things. And you didn’t know what you’d do if you ruined the closest thing you’d ever had to family. Perfect kept you here. Perfect kept you safe.

He stood from the chair, and came to kneel beside your bed. He brushed aside the hair that had stuck to your forehead with sweat, calloused fingers resting gently on your cheek when he was done.

“You’re one of us now” he whispered as if he could read your mind, “and I — we — won’t let you go that easily not matter what you think of your abilities. Even if that means I have to inspect you for cuts and bruises myself after every mission. You are good, YN.”

You could only nod, taken aback by the ferocity in his voice. Still, it didn’t stop you from looking him over head to toe once more just to make sure he was okay. Then you noticed something off with him.

“Where’s your arm?”

He ran his hand through his hair, a sheepish look on his face, “it might have fallen off a few seconds before you woke up.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, “I hurt you.”

He shook his head fiercely, “you didn’t. I’m fine.”

“But I could have,” you protested.

“But you didn’t,” he said, “you never do. Because despite what you might think, you control this thing inside you and we all trust you with it.”

You were about to object but he stopped you by pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back there was that lopsided little grin on his face that made you realize how light headed you were feeling, “one day we’ll get to a place where you’ll find this funny. I promise.”

And somehow, you believed him.

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #Bucky angst #fanfic #fanfiction

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bagsley · 3 years

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my top ten favorite wincest fics of all time... completely unsurprising that over half of them are candle beck!

Last Day on Earth by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam has one day to live. You can imagine how Dean feels. (Probably my favorite wincest fic of all time. Dean’s frantic heart-stopping terror over Sam is just the most familiar version of him, you know?? It feels so true.)

Dean turns on his brother, fists Sam's collar and hugs him very hard. His face feels hot and slippery against Sam's neck, and Dean doesn't care, thinks clearly: fuck it. Fuck it, as Sam hugs him back just as fierce, fuck the highway and the night sky and the scripture being read in the background, the heavens and the earth and the light, the cattle and the creeping thing and anything else you can name. Every matchstick, every initialed square of sidewalk, every abandoned heart--fuck it all.

Ascalon by candle_beck

PODFIC

There are dragons in the world. (Breathlessly beautiful. Fantastic use of second person pov.)

You've always loved your brother and you've always been fucked up on one level or another, and somewhere along the line it got all screwed up in your head, all your history rewritten.

You love Dean because you're fucked up. You're fucked up because you love Dean. Being fucked up and loving Dean are the same thing.

Until at last, inevitably: the manner in which you love Dean is fucked up.

You should have seen that coming.

But he makes you so stupid.

American Myth by candle_beck

PODFIC

As long as you have a car, you are free, and other lies my country taught me. (Sam and Dean lose home, but only for about five hours.)

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?” Dean asks, a lace of impatience through his voice. “Apparently I bug you just by existing, so really, Sam, what do you want?”

That blows through Sam like a hurricane, blasting out the corpses and debris, the black curse shadowing his life, the twenty-odd years of vigilante violence and brotherhood, stripping him down to the elemental, and he looks at Dean feeling crystallized, thinking in astonishment, you.

Flying Weight by fleshflutter

Recently soulful Sam, vampire Dean. Sam feels in constant bitter competition with the ghost of his soulless self. (Whew.)

There's a moment he remembers very clearly, one of the last he does remember: He's in the graveyard at Stull, and his arm is drawn back, fist clenched with the force of mountains, and the sun catches his eye, and just for a heartbeat, Lucifer is blind, can't see a damned or blessed thing. That's when Sam sees Dean.

That's the moment Sam hangs his humanity on.

Welcome to Fog City by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam's one blind spot is big enough to drive a truck through.

It was also mortifying, paralyzing at times, but Dean wasn't even horrified so much as familiarly resigned. Already he'd grown up as a refugee with demons trying to kill his whole family, and now he was irrevocably attracted to his kid brother too. Clearly Dean Winchester's life was a spectacular cosmic joke, a series of rugs to be pulled out from under him, and luckily his sense of humor was dark enough that he could at least appreciate the absurdity of the whole thing. This was just one more ridiculous cross that God had given him to bear.

So Dean went on through the highway world. Radio stations delighted in informing him that the hits would keep right on coming, and Dean didn't know what to expect next. Leprosy, maybe. A plague of locusts. The violent loss of one of his hands.

Instead, Sam left, ran away to California one lovely day in the late summer. It was not the worst thing that could have happened, but it was certainly in the top five. The weight of that particular cross had nearly smashed Dean into the earth.

Second Map of the World by candle_beck

They're on a lucky streak, and then Sam does something ill-considered, and the plot thickens.

Dean drove out of Topeka as if trying to outrun the shock wave of a nuclear explosion. Ninety, a hundred, a hundred and ten miles an hour, blowing past strings of red taillights, huge rattling trucks like dinosaurs with loose bones. Dean had the tape turned up loud enough that the speakers fuzzed. His hands were locked on the wheel.

The Firefly that Loved Metallica by fleshflutter

Dean's soul in a bottle.

[Sam] faces down demons and drives a four-day old corpse across the country on a hope so thin it wouldn't stand up to a light rain.

Waiting Games by Nutkin

Sam's having sex visions.

Dean's dug into himself deeply, become this tricky maze of raised hackles and sensitive spots that he's starkly open about. So open about, in fact, that it's like they've been worn into calluses, like they aren't even vulnerabilities anymore. He can bark out at Sam that he's the most important thing in his life, and it doesn't sound like he's admitting something private - it's just the same way he'd say, Give Satan my best, before ending a spirit. He picks and chooses the things he's embarrassed by, the things he lets become issues, and the way he feels about Sam isn't one of them. It's not a bruise that can be pushed on - maybe it was, once, but in the time Sam was off going to keggers and building a fort of textbooks and love letters, Dean just cemented it into one of the things that drives him.

Be Awake by candle_beck

Dean has a concussion.

"I'm sorry," Sam said as he sat Dean down on the bed, stepped back. He had a hard flush on his face, a downcast shadow in his eyes. "Shouldn't have gotten mad, I, I shouldn't have left you out there."

Dean shook his head, smiling dazedly at him. Sam's edges were blurred and his hair looked funny, fuzzing out like a halo, but the lines of his face stayed sharp, Dean's last remaining constant. He couldn't remember what Sam was talking about, but he said:

"It's okay, Sammy,"

because it was, and Sam would see that, Sam was smart. Dean wanted to get that serious look off his brother's face, win a smile from him no matter how far south the night had gone, but the fog was building in his mind again, rolling down hills to obscure his cities, ground his airplanes, wreck his ships.

Dean held his wavering head steady, fixed his eyes on Sam's face with the last of his focus. He managed to say, "Exit light," and then pitched backwards on the bed.

Gone Again by candle_beck

Harrowing and suffocatingly, inevitably heartbreaking. They never stood a chance.

The dream is different this time.

This time they’re in a motel room and the walls are on fire. It’s Sam’s fault; every time he touches something it goes up in flames.

Dean can hear his hair crackling and he jerks his head, watching the sparks fly. Sam’s close enough that Dean can see the firework reflection in his eyes. He flattens his hand next to Dean’s head and an outline of fire flares around his fingers.

“You gotta stop,” Dean says, barely able to breathe. These motel rooms are as flimsy as cardboard; if one part burns the whole thing will go.

And Sam’s laughing and shaking his head, licking at Dean’s throat and it’s hotter than fire could ever hope to be.

“I was made for this,” Sam tells him. “So were you.”

Dean’s eyes are raw and torn and wet but it might be blood. His shirt is smoldering and growing holes like black-edged tumors that Sam follows with his fingers, smearing soot on the bare skin of Dean’s stomach. Stuff that won’t wash away, like the blisters Sam’s mouth is leaving on Dean, the mad incendiary glee in his eyes.

#wincest #fic rec #spn

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 2 years

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Death Match

Well, here it is, my first attempt at a GCW fanfic. (Second one is probably coming very shortly.) Thanks to the lovely anon who iencouraged me to try this. Hope you like.

Pairing: Atticus Cogar x OFC

Word count: 3,678

Content advisory: graphic violence, sexual content, language

The crowd is so hot for you, which helps quell your nerves a little. You’ve done deathmatches before. You’ve fought men before. You’re on a hot streak right now, so there’s more attention on you but you’ve got the smarts and experience to deliver. You take a few moments to pose and get the crowd even more behind you as your music swells and fades. The sound of the cheering is more powerful than any drug you’ve ever tried.

Of course, you couldn’t be the beloved baby face that you are tonight without the heel to balance you. The second his music hits, it’s like the crowd doubles in size. The boos rise up like a swarm of locusts and just hang in the air. Man, do they hate him. They hate him like he burned their city to the ground.

The second Atticus Cogar shows his face, the noise gets so loud you can’t even hear his music anymore. He glances around with contempt, looking every but the snot-nosed punk he really is, and heads straight to the ring. You could kill him tonight and every single person in this audience would cover for you. You’d kind of like to kill him.

The ring is already littered with some weapons: chairs, mostly, a couple of thick curtain rods, some lighting tubes, and an ominous-looking toolbox. You can’t help wondering if that’s an actual box of tools that someone left there by accident. It would be pretty hilarious if the night ended with some poor guy washing blood and god knows what else off the items he literally needs to do his job. You just hope it’s not all your blood.

You pace a little, stretching out your arms as he takes his sweet ass time getting into the ring. It helps with the nervous knots. You’ve got this. You know you can do this. Done it before and done it well.

He’s in his own corner now, slowly removing the stiff collared shirt he always wears to the ring. Pretentious, uptight little shit. Finally, he turns around, sneering at the audience that is already screaming for you to fuck him up. You grin and raise your arms but you know better than to take your eyes off him.

The ring announcer starts to do the honors.

“The following match is scheduled for one fall. There is no time limit and no disqualifications…”

The two of you approach each other as both of your stats are called.

“Finally found a way to get your hands on me,” he smirks.

And therein lies the problem.

Yes, he’s an egotistical bastard with a sadistic streak but he’s also right. You do want him and not just in the ring. You have for months as the two of you have been moving through the same indie circuit together, always on the same shows but never facing off. You suspect that the lust is mutual but he’s good at hiding whatever he’s thinking behind that obnoxious front, so you can never be sure. His attitude makes you want to break his back. But then you’d want to roll him over and climb on top.

The bell rings but he makes no attempt to approach you. He stands still with his head tilted and that infuriating sneer on his irritatingly attractive face.

“Try not to give up too quickly,” he teases. “We want to give these assholes a bit of a show.”

You pretend to laugh shuffling around a little. He outweighs you by twenty-five pounds, give or take, and has five or six inches of height on you. If you try to overpower him, you’re doomed. No, you’re going to have to rely on your brains and speed. You move just a little, enough that your body hides what you’re doing with your hand. He’s so convinced that he’s going to win that he’s not watching you carefully enough, doesn’t perceive your hand curling around the metal chair that’s leaning against the ropes behind you.

You even give him a little smile just before you make one quick move and hurl the chair right into his face. It doesn’t hit him hard but it does the trick. He throws his arms up to block and that gives you the chance to hit a running kick right into his solar plexus, knocking him back into the corner and off his feet so you can jump in for the kill.

You land on him, raining down as many forearm strikes as you can. What you lack in power you make up for in quantity. If you can hit him enough, he’s going to be too punch-drunk to counter you. At a point, you have to stop just because swinging your arm at full strength is taking the air out of you and hurting your arm. It’s just a second but you glance down and see his hateful eyes staring up at you. And even though you’ve been in this position with dozens of opponents, this is the first time you realize that it’s a perspective you normally only get in bed, straddling someone and watching them underneath you. His nostrils flare a little as if he’s thinking the same thing but you’ve given him a crucial break and when you pull your arm back to hit him again, he grabs a fistful of your hair and slams your head into the corner post.

Now you’re the one who’s dazed and he slithers out from under you, locking his arms around your waist and flipping you backwards without even standing up. Immediately, you feel a blunt pain in your back and it takes you a moment to realize you’ve landed on the stupid chair that’s still lying in the middle of the ring. You roll just enough to dodge his boot as he tries to stomp down on you but he recovers enough to give you a sharp kick to the ribs.

After a strong start, this has gotten away from you, so you roll out of the ring to regroup, looking up just in time to sidestep as he dives right through the ropes at you, crashing and burning as the audience separates like the red sea, cheering as he hits the floor. No point in waiting, so even though your side still hurts a lot you grab him by his shirt and pull him to his feet to get him back in the ring.

He has enough in him to hit one blow, nowhere near full strength but enough that he can overpower you and push you hard against the ring apron, your aching ribs absorbing most of the impact. He barges into you to injure them further, crushing you into the edge of the ring. Your eyes meet again as your bodies grind together and you’re almost certain you see a flicker of lust pass over him.

At the exact same moment, you both rake each other’s eyes and spring apart, yelping like dogs. You’re able to get one hand on the bottom rope, which allows you to pull yourself back in the ring. Son of a bitch scratched you right on the eyeball so you can barely see, but it’s enough for you to make out his form crawling back into the ring. He charges at you but he’s clearly not able to see either, so you’re able to pick up the chair and slam it into what you hope is his head.

Regardless, he drops and it gives you the chance to rub your eyes a little so you can get a handle on what’s going on. He's on the ground, trying to push himself up and as you approach, you’re pleased to see that you’ve opened up a cut above his left eyebrow. Grinning, you grab a handful of his hair and pull him up so that he’s forced to look at you from his knees.

“You look good like that,” you taunt.

He punches you in the thigh, not enough to knock you over but you know right away you’re going to have a nasty bruise there in the morning. The slight wobble in your stance allows him to grab your arm and snap it behind your back, twisting it painfully as he pushes you face-first into the canvas and lands on top of you.

“Why don’t you just tap out so we can go back to the hotel and I can give you what you really want,” he whispers harshly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you gasp, the air getting pressed out of you as you writhe, trying to force your way out from under him by bucking your hips back into his.

He thrusts back against you just a little, but it’s enough for you to get some leverage and force him back. He gets an arm around your neck but you roll over so that it’s his shoulders pinned to the mat. The ref counts two and he’s forced to release you to avoid the loss.

The two of you scramble backwards, away from each other but still staring, panting. The crowd is making a ton of noise but it all kind of blends together. There’s no one else here right now, just you and him. He gives a devilish smile as he unfolds one of the chairs and stands it up in the center of the ring. What the hell is he up to? You see him get to his feet and move towards you so you lunge at him.

You realize just a split second too late that you’ve fallen into a trap as he intercepts you and locks an arm around your neck, slamming your head into the chair so hard you bounce right off it.

“Oh you’re dead,” you snarl at him, barely able to register that it’s you talking.

“You fight like a little girl.”

Once again, you slide outside the ring and lift the apron to see what you can find there, a couple of doors that always seem to be on hand for these matches. You grab one but you have to keep an eye on what he’s doing, so it’s awkward and you know you’re wasting precious time.

He jumps down on the floor and grabs the other side of the door. You struggle to get it away from him but it’s useless. If he lets go too quickly you’ll fall over under your own momentum.

“Bitch, we both want the same thing!” he yells.

You’re about to retort but he cuts you off.

“We both want to use these things.” He shakes the wooden plank a little. “Let’s just get them in the ring and we’ll figure out how to fuck each other up after.”

“Still thinking about fucking me?” you gloat.

However, you have to admit he’s right, so you work together to throw one door and then another into the ring. As you grab the second one, you both see something else under there. The glint along its edges is unmistakable. Cutting a quick, excited glance at each other, you make the decision at the same time. Hell yeah, let’s do this. You reach under the ring and take out the pristine sheet of glass, lifting it with surprising delicacy and pushing it onto the canvas. This is going to be grotesque.

You slide back in under the bottom rope, both on your stomachs, eyes locked, breathing rapid. The crowd is roaring. They want blood. Together, you place the glass in one corner, then each of you takes a door to lean against other corners. You glance away for just a second to steady the panel and out of the corner of your eye you see him drop what he’s doing and run for you at top speed. You notice just in time to move and he crashes right through the wood, landing in a heap.

“Too eager,” you grunt, dragging him back enough that you can roll him up, your upper body between his legs, dangerously close.

One… two… the fucker kicks out, smacking his crotch right into your face.

He moves quickly to get to his feet, which puts you in an awkward position. if he jumps at you, he’ll flatten you. If you swing at him, there’s a good chance you’re too gassed to exert the force you’d need to take him off his feet. It’s still the better option, so you run forward and drive your forearm into his head, dragging it with all your might against the cut on his face, making it wider and bloodier. Red drops roll onto your arm.

“That all you got?” he hisses, pushing his face so close that you can’t see anything else.

“All you’re getting.”

“Keep pretending. You’re not worth the effort to take my dick out.”

You give him a push because you have to get him away from you or you really are going to have a meltdown and try to tear his clothes off. It’s a hard push but you’re surprised when he drops down to one knee. You take one step forward and are clocked right upside the head with the goddamn toolbox. It’s empty, thankfully, but it’s still more than enough to knock you senseless and he tackles you to the ground, trapping your legs between his and pinning your wrists to the mat.

It’s an awkward hold because while his grip is painful, it’s not effective. Every time the ref goes to count, you’re able to lift a shoulder. He’s too strong and too heavy for you to escape and if he leaned down on your shoulders, you’d be done for. But he’s just staring at you like a wild animal, as if the match isn’t happening at all.

“I’m gonna break you in half,” he whispers.

You strain and push your head up a little, moving your lips as if you’re about to speak. He moves a little closer, just close enough for you to sink your teeth into his bottom lip. He roars and jumps back but you’re still dazed and he’s able to grab you by the hair and propel you forward into the second door, head first.

The fucking thing doesn’t break. You absorb every bit of the impact and you literally see stars. Instinct forces you up to your feet but you’re way too disoriented to mount any sort of offense. Atticus locks his arms around your stomach from behind, holding you so tight you can barely get any breath in. He pushes one fist up into the ribs you’d injured at the beginning of the match and the pain is so much you can barely move. You’re desperately trying to get free but even with the voices of the crowd willing you on, you can barely move. He keeps constricting, pulling you back against him.

As you struggle in vain, you realize, even in your dazed state, that you can feel the outline of his hardened cock against your ass. The more you fight, the more you can feel him getting turned on and you inadvertently let out a very sexual moan. He presses his head close and kisses your cheek.

“I love you too, babe,” he jeers.

He drags you over to the ropes, flinging you over the bottom one. You try to crawl over it but he grabs your head and presses it down so that your throat is getting crushed against the cable. You move as best you can but he straddles your back, pinning you in position with his legs so that your arms are strung, useless, over the rope. He keeps his hand knotted in your hair and out of the corner of your eye you see his free hand go to his pocket. Your heart sinks. You know exactly what’s about to happen.

He presses a handful of sharpened skewers against your scalp and removes his hand from your hair. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before he hammers down on the skewers, driving them into your scalp. It takes you a minute to realize that the noise you hear is your own voice screaming in pain. he steps back to enjoy his handiwork, a cruel smile on his lips as you turn around, streams of blood already trickling down your face and neck as you try desperately to get the tiny spears out of your head.

Some fall out on their own and you’re able to swat others loose but you’re in no position to defend yourself as he grabs you from behind once again and lifts you up, throwing you back with a massive suplex, right through the pane of glass you’d helped him put in place.

You know you’ve lost. You’ve got shards of glass all over you, inside your gear and covering your skin. There are still skewers in your head. There’s blood coming out of about eight different parts of you. Instinctively, you cover your face with your hands, partly wanting to protect your eyes and partly because you don’t want to see what’s about to happen. And then…

Nothing.

You lower your hands a little, wondering if he hurt himself on that last move but he’s already getting to his feet, a little unsteadily, yes, but he’s not bleeding any more than he was before and he isn’t showing any signs of injury. He’s just standing there, staring at you with an expression you can’t read, somewhere between surprise and confusion. This staredown seems to go on for a long time, long enough that a hush falls over the crowd. They don’t know what’s happening either.

Your right arm drops. You have a gash on your bicep that’s bleeding profusely. As your hand hits the ground, you feel something there. One of the curtain rods that’s been in the ring the whole time. Atticus looks down and shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to clear the cobwebs. Unbelievable.

You grab hold of the curtain rod and struggle to your feet. You aren’t too quick but when he looks up, he doesn’t move. This is it. One shot. You get that crazy burst of adrenaline that only comes when you feel like your life is literally in danger and god knows that with this guy, it could be. You swing the pole with all your might, crashing it into his stomach and dropping him with a sick thud.

He’s on his hands and knees, struggling not to vomit from the force. You doubt he has much idea what’s going on and take your chance, grabbing him by the arm and hoping you have enough adrenaline left to lift him up just enough to drop him on his smug face in the pool of broken glass behind you.

It’s at the last minute that you see his other hand grab hold of one of the light tubes and immediately you panic. You cannot take another faceful of glass. You can’t. You drop his arm and without thinking, you stomp down on his hand, shattering the tube and driving his palm down into it.

He shrieks in pain and immediately you see a red stain spreading all around his hand. You know you need to act, you need to pin him or choke him or something but you can’t. For the first time in your career, you’re horrified at something you’ve done. It’s not until he glares back at you that you even come to your senses.

“Don’t pussy out now,” he mutters.

You drop to your knees behind him, locking one arm over his face and the other under his arm so that you’re wrenching his neck back. Once again, he screams from the pain and you think he’s done but then he bites down on the inside of your arm with all his force. You can feel his incisors tearing into your flesh. You know you can’t hold on much longer so you crank back on his neck, driving your knee into his back so that he can’t get air in but the bastard won’t let up on your arm. If he can roll himself over a little, it’s going to be your shoulders on the mat.

“Fuck you!” you holler. “I fucking hate you!”

But you don’t mean it. And you stupidly hope he knows that.

You can feel yourself getting dizzy from blood loss, your strength draining out along with it. The angle you have him trapped, he must be in agony, but the pain from that bite is quickly growing unbearable. And just as you’re about to break, you see it. He pounds his hand repeatedly on the mat, leaving a bloody stain with every strike. He’s tapping out.

“That’s it! It’s over!” The ref calls and you hear the metal ring of the bell just as you collapse onto your back.

You’re supposed to stand up, take in the adulation of the crowd, but you can’t move. The sound of your breath going in and out is alarmingly loud. Your curtain call can wait.

Likewise, it’s customary for the loser to just roll out of the ring and slink backstage but Atticus isn’t moving either. He’s flat on his stomach and as you tilt your head to look, he’s staring right back at you. For a second, you’re not even sure that he’s conscious.

Your hands are so close, close enough that just relaxing your fingers a little bridges almost the entire distance. Straightening his fingers slightly, he’s able to bridge the rest. You’re barely touching, just the tips of your trembling hands. You’re both covered in rapidly drying blood, your own and each other’s, just trying to get enough air to stay conscious.

“Stupid asshole,” you murmur, barely able to summon the strength to move your lips, “you could have pinned me.”

He exhales heavily and gives the faintest of smiles. “I’d had enough foreplay. Figured we should move on to the good stuff.”

#wrestling fanfiction #atticus cogar imagine #atticus cogar fanfiction #gcw fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

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disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

Text

The Rules of Engagement (4/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, general trauma.

a/n: unbeta’d. Yeah, I know - I can’t count. This is gonna be five chapters.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Murphy nearly bowls you over on his way down stairs, pulling up short when he sees you.

“Shit!”

You glance down at yourself. Your clothes are rumpled and covered in ash and bile. You don’t even want to know what your face looks like. There’s rubble in your hair.

Murphy is still staring open-mouthed.

“The pharmacy below my apartment got bombed,” you explain hollowly. “I’m fine, I just need a shower.”

“You look like you need a hospital,” Murphy counters, eyeballing you with something akin to worry. “Fucking Christ, Ears, if Javi -”

You snap your eyes up at the mention of Javi. “Have you heard anything?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Steve Murphy cracks a grin at you. “On his way home now.” He looks as relieved as you feel. “We got him.”

You manage to smirk back. “Good.”

“Congratulations, by the way. This one’s on you as much as anybody.”

“Thanks.” You sag against the side rail, trying to be subtle about it. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, your legs are shaking, and you think it’s only a matter of time before you fall over.

Murphy notices, because he reaches for your shoulder to steady you. “I really think-”

“No.” You cut him off forcefully, glaring at him with all the energy you have left. “No, Steve. I’m tired, that’s all.”

He sighs. Narrows his eyes. Frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

Murphy gesturers to your temple with a finger that you have to stop yourself from flinching away from. “You’re bleeding, Ears,” he repeats, as if he’s expending a great amount of patience by pointing it out to you.

You reach up, wincing as you notice for the first time that your head hurts. When you draw your fingers back, they are coated in blood.

Murphy moves closer to get a better look.

“It’s just a scratch, Murph,” you tell him wearily. As far as you can tell, that’s true. There’s no gaping hole or giant gash, just a stinging little cut right at your hairline. “You know how head wounds are.”

He’s still glaring suspiciously at you, and you let him, meeting his gaze in silent challenge.

Eventually he sighs. “Okay, your funeral, I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Before you can retort, he ducks back inside, leaving you standing awkwardly on the front step. The walls are thin - you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. He’s back seconds later, key in one hand, a slip of paper in the other.

He hands you the paper first. “This is my pager number. Javi’ll be back soon, but I want you to contact me if anything crazy happens.” He motions to your head with his thumb.

“Okay,” you promise.

“And here’s this.” He presses the key into your hand.

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Murphy, you can’t just give me Peña’s key.”

“What, you think it would be any different if I stepped across the landing and did the honors for you? I’m already late.” He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “Besides, he’d want you to have it.”

Somehow, you seriously doubt that.

Murphy fixes you with a stare. “Trust me.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, taking the key from his hand anyway. You hold it up for emphasis. “But you’re taking the fall for this one, alright?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I think I can live with that. Stay safe, Ears, and page me if you need anything.”

♠

You resist the urge to flop down on Javi’s sofa and sleep for a thousand years, instead making your way to the shower. Peeling away your dusty clothes feels so incredibly good. So does the hot water. You take your time, exploring the lingering aches and pains in your body as you scrub them with Javi’s little sliver of Irish Spring. Aside from a few bruises and that one little slice on your temple that won’t quit oozing, you’re not injured anywhere. You think you might be a little sore from being thrown backward tomorrow, and your lungs still feel funny and raw from having the air knocked from them, but otherwise, the bombing of your apartment is more inconvenient than anything.

You try very, very hard not to think about Emilio.

You step out of the shower only when the water runs tepid, the cold jarring you awake. Javi only has two towels, it seems - one left out to dry on the towel rack, the other crumpled in the corner with a pair of boxers. Nice. You opt for the one that’s on the rack, wiping yourself down then wrapping up your dripping hair.

There’s something deliciously deviant about sneaking naked through Javier Peña’s apartment when he’s not home. You shake away your guilt, trying hard not to be too weirded out or too turned on as you rifle through his dresser drawers. You’ve got to wear something.

Eventually, you come away with the green t-shirt and the only pair of sweats the man owns. You eye yourself in the mirror, considering. Javi’s clothes are ridiculous on you - you have to roll the sweats three times at the waist just to keep from tripping - but hell, at least you aren’t naked. Looks like that cut finally stopped bleeding, too.

Carefully, you pull your hair into a sloppy braid and gather your dirty clothes, doing a cursory sweep of the apartment to see if Javi has anything else that needs washing. Other than the little pile in the bathroom, you find a t-shirt and a pair of mis-matched socks in the corner by the nightstand. Not bad for a single guy living alone, you decide.

You make the trip downstairs to the communal laundry room quickly, noting the time on the kitchen clock when you return. You don’t feel like waiting beside the machine today. Flopping on the sofa has lost it’s appeal - you’re bone weary, but every time you close your eyes, you see fireballs and charred bodies.

Sleep is not on the agenda.

Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time. 9:42. You put the water on, then shuffle downstairs to switch the laundry to the dryer. 40 more minutes, and then you can get out of here.

And then what?

You examine your options and find that the list is short. You aren’t going to stay here any longer than necessary - you’ve intruded on Javi’s privacy enough. Your only friend in Colombia is Ana, and that’s off the table for obvious reasons. Murphy isn’t at home, and Connie had left for the States just weeks after you’d arrived. Back to work, then.

You decide that’s best anyway. Somebody fucking bombed your apartment. Well, the mark was probably Emilio’s drug store, but still. Bombings don’t happen in Bogotá - that’s a Medellín thing. Especially a civilian target.

The rush of anger that consumes you is staggering. Who did this, and why? Bombing a business is a very Pablo Escobar thing to do, but a small pharmacy? In Bogotá?

Ana and her father are good people. You know deep in your bones that they aren’t involved in the drug trade. You also have major doubts that this was an accident. So, what the fuck?

The injustice of it all makes you feel small and cold and helpless.

You’re missing something big.

Javi doesn’t have a television in his apartment. Even if you did have access the news, the information that you’re seeking is hardly going to be broadcast on live television, and certainly not so soon.

Work really is the best option, then. Between the bombing and Verdugo’s arrest, the sicarios must be on red alert. Maybe you can pick up on some chatter.

Besides, you probably need to let Stechner know about your situation as soon as possible.

You glance at the clock. 10:07.

Ugh. You rise up on your tiptoes, bouncing in frustration. Caffeine and adrenaline have made you jittery. There’s something really cringe-worthy, too, about being alone in Javi’s apartment without his knowledge, especially given the way things ended between you.

The memory chafes, and you shake your head hard enough that it throbs.

Goddamn this day.

A shrill beeping jerks you from your thoughts, and you barely manage to stifle a shriek. Your pager! You’d forgotten all about it. Your stomach swoops as you pick it up.

The number that flits across the screen belongs to Javi.

You take a breath. Weird. Aside from that one brief conversation yesterday, you haven’t spoken to him in weeks. It probably has something to do with Verdugo, you decide. Maybe he wants to inform you personally. That would be nice of him. After all, this was a pretty big arrest for you, too.

You locate the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Damned coffee.

“Peña.” His voice is terse, clipped.

“Got your page,” you say warily. He sounds like he’s in a mood. “Is there -”

“Where are you?” he demands, cutting you off harshly.

You blink, startled. Forget ‘a mood,’ Javi sounds fucking livid. You’d assumed he’d be pretty relaxed, considering. “Umm, I’m actually at your place,” you speak slowly to hide the shakiness of your voice. Fuck, of all the times to get emotional. “Listen, my apartment was bombed. I just needed -”

You’re interrupted again by a sharp sigh. “Stay there,” Javi grinds out, and then there’s nothing but dial tone.

Slowly, you place the phone back in its cradle, processing the conversation.

What. The. Fuck.

Bits of plastic clatter to the floor as the pager smashes into the refrigerator - you’re hardly even aware of throwing it. You sink to the kitchen floor, cradling your head in your hands and doing your damnedest to just breathe.

It’s not fucking fair. He was the one who stormed out slamming doors. You haven’t pressed him, haven’t been a nuisance. Well, aside from basically breaking into his apartment and borrowing his shower.

But fucking hell, somebody - probably Pablo Escobar - just bombed your fucking apartment. You’re living in a foreign country and you don’t even speak the fucking language. There’s nowhere for you to go, and your clothes were a mess, and goddamn, you are just tired.

What were you supposed to do?

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. God, that was quick. You manage to leap to your feet just as the front door slams open with a bang.

Javi stops dead when he sees you, and your tirade dies in your throat.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, but it’s all you can manage.

He’s just staring at you, standing stalk still in the open doorway. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. His expression is tight, carefully closed off. One fist is clenched at his side, the other still gripping the doorknob.

“Murphy let me in,” you babble. You knew he was on his way, but still, his sudden appearance startled you. “My place, I mean, the drugstore -”

“I know.” He’s toneless, expressionless, frozen except for his eyes. They rove over your face and body, and you’re reminded suddenly of watching him read reports - quick, efficient, and exacting, like he’s taking in every detail in an instant.

Fuck. Heat rushes you as you remember that you’re still wearing his clothes. “Okay,” you breathe shakily, hardly aware of speaking aloud. This is getting weird, and you really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with Javier Peña’s shit today.

Your laundry is probably dry anyway.

“Where are you going?” Javi demands, resting a hand on your shoulder as you attempt to push past him.

That does it. “To get the laundry!” you bite back, twisting away from his touch with a lot more drama than is really necessary. “My clothes are dry!”

He pulls away as if burned, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

You stand there like that for a long moment, just assessing each other. You’re glaring up at him warily, sizing him up, while he watches you with an expression that you don’t recognize.

“I’ll go,” he says softly. There’s something quiet, almost regretful in his tone, and it shatters your defenses. You bit your lip and nod shakily, and then he’s gone, descending down the stairs without another word.

Jesus.

You exhale another shaking breath - everything you do seems shaky, today - and pour another cup of coffee.

♠

You feel like you’ve got a little more control of yourself once you’re back in your own clothes. Javi is lighting a cigarette at the kitchen table when you exit the bathroom, a fresh butt still hot in the ashtray next to him.

“Rough night?” you ask, dropping his half-folded t-shirt and sweats onto the counter.

He huffs sarcastically.

You sigh. Your patience is wearing very, very thin, but you decide to try one more time, just for the hell of it. “Congratulations, by the way. Murphy told me about Verdugo.”

He blinks up at you, like you’ve pulled him from deep thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly, still staring at you with an intensity that’s starting to really freak you out. He pulls hard at the cigarette, and the moment breaks. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod, suddenly tired.

He notices. “Ears?”

“I need to go back in,” you cut him off before he can ask whatever he was going to ask.

He frowns. “Didn’t you just leave this morning?”

Frazzled as you are, it doesn’t occur to you to ask how he knows that. “Yeah, Peña, I did,” you snap. “But then some fucker bombed my apartment, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that it has something to do with Pablo Escobar. I can’t go home, and I can’t get any sleep, so I might as well make myself useful and see if there’s anything worth listening to today.”

His gaze had drifted during your speech. He’s resting his jaw on his his palm, staring off into the middle distance.

Ugh.

“So, will you drive me, Peña, or am I calling a cab?”

“Sorry,” he says softly, breaking himself out of whatever stupor he’d been in. He stands and extends a hand like he might like to reach for you before deciding against it and grabbing his gun instead. “Of course I’ll drive you, if you feel like going in.” He catches your eye as he tucks the gun into his belt, serious now. “I really am sorry about your home, Ears.”

God. All Javier Peña has to do is throw you a tiny bone, and you fucking melt. The relief you feel is palpable. “Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a long second.

You hear him rustling around with keys. “Let’s go, then.”

♠

The car ride to headquarters is silent. Javi smokes three more cigarettes, tossing the butts out the open window before you even hit the parking lot, one after the other. You wonder what the fuck is going on with him.

He makes a point to let you out of the passenger side door, a little quirk that had been hit or miss before, depending on his mood. You walk together up the embassy steps, him hanging close to your shoulder but not quite touching you, and you wonder if this is his strange way of apologizing for the weirdness before.

You’re halfway to Stechner’s office when you realize that Javi is still following you. You arch a curious brow in his direction. He pointedly ignores it.

Okay, seriously. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The question comes out a lot harsher than you intend, but hell, it’s been a terrible day.

He glances down at you, almost apologetic. “It can wait a minute.”

“Ears!”

Oh, fuck. Steve Murphy is running up the hallway, gaze zeroed in on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just whirls on Javi. “Javi, what the fuck is she doing here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to keep from screaming. “I’m trying to go do my job, Murphy, if the fucking DEA will let me.” Thankfully, your voice comes out pretty level.

Javi’s looking at Murphy with a narrowed gaze, head cocked, hands on hips. “What do you mean, Murphy?” he asks in a low voice.

Murphy throws his hands up in consternation. “I mean she should be in bed, or at a fucking hospital. You should have seen her this morning, Javi. Looked like she’d come straight from a war zone!”

Javi whips around to stare wide-eyed at you. “Wait. You didn’t say…” All of the color is draining from his face. “You were there?”

Something about the breathlessness the words, like they’d been punched out of him, sends little shocks of electricity zinging across your skin. “I’m fine,” you manage. As protests go, it’s pretty weak.

“God, Ears, you’re still bleeding.” Goddamn Steve Murphy and his fucking preoccupation with your blood. “Now get out of here, please, before I call you an ambulance. Jesus.”

Javi’s face is a storm cloud of emotions as the pieces continue to click into place. “Ears,” he growls, more horrified than angry. He grips you carefully by the shoulders, looking you over again. This time, he brings his fingers gently to your temple. They come away bloody.

He sucks a sharp breath, glancing up at Murphy. “You’ll handle Verdugo?”

Murphy’s lips are pressed into a fine line. “Absolutely, Javi. Get her out of here.”

♠

He escorts you from the building with a hand pressed firmly against the small of your back. It would be sweet, if not for the blistering pace and the stony expression that’s frozen on his face. People take notice, leaping out of your way, craning their necks to watch as you storm by. By the time you reach the doors, your cheeks are flaming.

“Agent Peña!”

Oh shit. You hadn’t even noticed Martinez and his entourage milling around the entrance.

“Yeah?” Javi bites out.

Martinez raises a brow at the scene the two of you make - you, bleeding and shamefaced, Javi damned near parading you into the parking lot with all the subtly of a thunderclap.

God, there’s no way this ends well for either of you.

“Verdugo is in interrogation room three,” Martinzes says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Javi doesn’t even slow. “Stick Murphy on it,” he snaps over his shoulder. “I’m busy.”

Nobody dares argue with him.

♠

Instead of getting into the car, Javi leans heavily against the door.

You pause, opening your mouth to question him, but he reaches for your jaw before you can speak, carefully tilting your face up into the sunlight.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, but he’s looking at you in undisguised concern, eyes roving over you with an intensity that tempts you to drop your gaze.

You shiver. You can’t help it - you’re exhausted and emotional, and things with Javi have been so weird for so long, and now he’s staring at you, sharp and worried, running his thumbs across your scalp to gently assess for injuries.

No, you are not okay.

He notices the little tremor that darts through your body and rests one hand on your shoulder, leaning in to look you straight in the eye. “How far were you from the explosion?”

“Across the street,” you tell him, breathless for all of the wrong reasons. It’s only half-way true, you’d been crossing the street when the bomb had gone off, far closer to the blast zone than you’re leading him to believe. But he’s so close, cupping your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to shield you from the traffic-side of the parking spot with his body as he continues to draw his fingers across your skin, gently assessing for more damage.

“It just knocked me off my feet,” you continue. Your throat is suddenly so dry. “Startled me, more than anything.”

Javi reaches with one finger to expose the wound on your temple. It’s still oozing.

“And this?” he asks, pinning you with another piercing stare.

You reach up, catching his hand as his fingers begin to drift down your cheek. He twitches reflexively. “Just a little scratch,” you promise him. “Falling glass, or shrapnel, I guess. Something grazed me. I never hit my head.”

This is not a lie. You never blacked out; you’re not hurt.

He blusters a sigh, scrubbing his face with his palm for a brief second. “I should really take you to the hospital.” His jaw tightens as he speaks.

“I just said I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.” You indicate the wound on your temple. “This is nothing. You know how head wounds like to bleed.” You look up at him, projecting as much wide-eyed, awake, vibrant woman as you possibly can after walking away from a fucking bomb, and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Please, Peña. I just want to go -”

Home, you almost say.

You stop yourself just in time. There is no home, not anymore. And you won’t make the mistake of referencing Peña’s place as anything other than ‘Peña’s place.’ That would be supremely stupid, given all of the recent drama.

“To bed,” you manage instead. “I’m just tired.”

And god, that is the truth.

If Javi notices your faux pax, he doesn’t mention it. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. He’s near enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, one hand still twined in yours.

It’s all you can do to avoid resting your head on his chest.

“Okay,” he mutters begrudgingly, and then shakes his head like he hadn’t meant to agree. “I’ll take you home.”

You smile wanly at him. “Thanks.”

♠

author’s notes/confessions

I know you still have questions. I promise you, I will answer them.

Steve Murphy is a good bro.

Y’all hit me up if you want a little Javi one-shot after this next chapter. I wrote it for my own reference, but it might be a fun read, if you’re wondering what’s happening inside his head right now.

@tiffdawg, look what you made me do. ;)

#Javier Peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #javi x you #javi x reader #reader insert #angst #hurt/comfort #slowburn #friends to lovers #the rules of engagement #better love #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

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mylovehes · 4 years

Text

Agent

Masterlist

Summary: Spencer is constantly mean to reader so she calls him agent to purposely get on his nerves. One day Spencer has enough and shuts the reader up.

A/N: This is one of my first writings so any feedback is appreciated I hope you enjoy! Also feel free to leave a request!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Smut 18+

Today was just like any other day. I’ve been working for the BAU for almost five years now as an assistant for the whole team following them wherever a case may take them and even occasionally consulting. My favorite part of the job was teasing a certain messy curly haired guy, well besides helping catch the bad guys of course.

One of the rules I have to follow being the BAU’s personal assistant is not being able to go home until everyone else has, even if they decide to stay late. You can imagine how frustrating that is especially since it seems like Spencer was purposefully staying late every night, knowing how much it annoys me, when I would much rather be curled up on the couch at home reading a book and drinking some coffee.

“Are you almost done agent?” I asked Spencer with a sarcastically sweet voice, setting the copies he asked me to make for him down on his desk. The truth was Spencer hated being called agent instead of doctor and I knew that, but of course I had to get his blood boiling just a little bit. Spencer rolled his eyes and grabbed the papers stuffing them into the case file and putting it in his bag

“If you hate being here so much y/n, then why don't you just quit?” Spencer spit back annoyed with me and the improper use of his title. Spencer has had a problem with me since I started working for the BAU and I can't figure out why. eventually I gave up trying to figure it out and began purposely trying to piss him off.

“Well agent, I actually happen to like my job, just not staying way passed my scheduled time every night while you sit there and do paper work,” I said sitting on the corner of his desk pushing aside some of his papers which I knew also annoyed him.

“Call me that one more time, see what happens,” Spencer said glaring over at me while packing up his stuff for the night. Finally.

“Am I supposed to be scared of you?” I said looking him in the eye challenging him. I always had a crush on Spencer, but never acted on it due to him always being an ass towards me for no reason.

“Maybe you should be y/n,” Spencer said standing up and towering over me while wearing a smirk on his face as I was still sitting on his desk. My breathe caught in my throat and I suddenly forgot how to breathe or speak. We both were chest to chest, me looking up at him through my lashes while he glared down at me. My gaze glanced down to his plump lips while his glanced down towards mine. Suddenly Spencer pulled away like he forgot where he was for a minute. “I’m done for tonight you’re free to go.”

I began collecting what little stuff I brought with me and then headed towards the elevator which Spencer had just stepped on. I glanced over at Spencer wondering if there was any chance he could feel the same about me. The way he looked at me back there wasn’t how coworkers look at each other. Suddenly an idea popped into my mind.

“Have a good night agent,” I said right before the elevator dinged and the door opened. I almost made it out the door when I felt a yank on my arm and a hand threading through my hair roughly pulling my lips to Spencer’s. He pushed me up against the wall kissing me roughly until my lungs burned for oxygen and I had to pull away for air.

Spencer continued to trail sloppy wet kisses down my neck slightly sucking here and there. A small moan left my lips as he kissed a particular spot on my neck causing my hips to push forward onto his prominent bulge. Spencer let out a groan causing me to smirk.

“Well if you wanted to kiss me so bad agent all you had to do was ask,” I said teasingly knowing the way he was kissing me was in need of more than just my lips.

“Shut up,” he said grabbing my arm and pulling me towards his car. I hoped into the passenger side while he got in the drivers side quickly starting the car and heading towards his place. He put his hand on my thigh and I clenched them together, suddenly embarrassed by how much of a mess I already was from just a kiss.

As I arrived at Spencer’s apartment he opened my car door for me leading me to his apartment. He opened his door letting me walk in first and before I even had a chance to look at my surroundings he had me shoved against the door kissing me and unbuttoning my blouse. I shoved off his jacket and got to work on the buttons of his shirt trying to undress him as fast as possible.

Spencer began leading me to his bedroom both of us throwing articles of clothing hazardously around his apartment on our way. He kicks the door closed behind him and pushes me down onto his mattress. Our lips lock once again and I let out a quiet groan as Spencer grinds up against me, nothing separating us but his boxers and my thin lace underwear. His lips begin to travel down my jaw leading to my neck sucking soft bruises into the skin there. I reach down and grasp him through his boxers and he grips my wrists pinning them both above my head.

“No touching,” he said moving his hands back down my body, one massaging my breast as his lips begin their work on the other one.

“Spencer please,” I whine lifting my hips up to meet his. He pushes my hips down denying me what I want.

“What do you want?” He asked trailing kisses slowly down my stomach. When he gets to the waist band of my panties he pauses looking up at me expectantly.

“I want you to touch me please,” I whine trying to move beneath him to get any type of friction I can.

“Now why should I give you what you want when you can’t even refer to me by my correct title,” he said kissing lower and lower until his breath was right above where I needed him most.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry just please I need you,” I cried clenching my thighs once again. Spencer pulled my thighs apart settling between them so I couldn't close them again. He slowly dragged my underwear down my legs and threw them to the side.

“Look how wet you are,” He said dragging a finger up my folds causing me to little out a small whimper. “Who made you this wet?” I let out a moan in response threading my fingers through his hair. “I want to hear words,” Spencer said stopping all movement while looking up to my face.

“You did Spence! Please touch me!” I cried with need for the man currently teasing me.

“As you wish,” he said leaning down and sucking licking my clit leaving me a complete and utter moaning mess under him. My fingers clenched in his hair, pulling at the soft curls causing Spencer to moan against me. I cried out getting closer and closer to my orgasm. Just as I was about to come Spencer stopped his movements smiling up at me.

“What the fuck Spencer!” I cried looking down at him.

“If you want to come then call me by my correct title,” he said smirking at me drawing light circles on my bundle, just enough to drive me crazy but not enough to satisfy my hunger. I whined not wanting to give into his demand knowing it would piss him off more but not being able to hold off denying him for long.

“Please Dr. Reid I’m sorry!” I whimpered begging for him to let me get the release I so desperately needed. He applied slightly more pressure but still not enough. “Please just fuck me! I won't call you agent again I’m sorry Dr. Reid I’m sorry!” I cried pulling his head up to mine.

“Good girl listen to you, so needy,” he said traveling back up my body and locking his lips with mine. Spencer pushed his boxers down his legs and lined himself up with me. He thrust into me slowly, both of us letting out a low groan. “Fuck you're so tight y/n.”

His thrusts picked up speed leaving me a moaning mess beneath him. Spencer leaned down connecting our lips while pounding into me with even more force. I pulled away letting out a loud moan as his lips trained down my neck groaning into the skin. Soon I felt the familiar build up signaling my orgasm was quickly approaching. “Spencer I’m gonna-”

“I know baby let go,” he said not far behind me picking up his speed and reaching down to draw circles on my bundle of nerves to bring me to my high sooner. I let out a high moan feeling my orgasm wash over me and Spencer soon came right after continuing to ride out our highs.

Spencer pulled out both of us letting out a small groan at the loss of contact. He laid beside me pulling me over to lay on his chest. After a few minutes I glanced up at him to see if he was still awake. “Spencer can I ask you a question,” I whispered nervous to find out his answer.

“Yeah of course,” he said furrowing his eyebrows and shifting to look down at me.

“Why are you always so mean to me, did I do something wrong?” I asked the question that has been on my mind since the moment I met the young doctor.

“No you didn't do anything wrong y/n” Spencer said sighing. “The truth is I really like you and I thought if I was mean to you, it would make you hate me and I wouldn't have to deal with those feelings and you not feeling the same.”

“Spencer that’s stupid,” I said smiling up at the doctor. “I really like you too. I have since the day I met you.” Spencer smiled down at me pulling our lips into a sweet kiss. I pulled away smiling cheekily at Spencer, “Maybe I should call you agent more often Dr. Reid.”

“Shut up,” he smiled pulling you in for another kiss.

#Spencer reid #Spencer reid fanfic #Spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Spencer reid smut #Spencer reid x reader smut #Spencer reid oneshot #Spencer x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #Matthew gray gubler #doctor reid #doctor spencer reid

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gone-daddy-gone · 4 years

Text

TW: gang bang :), maybe coercion? lots of degrading. lots of smacking

DT: @koiibito @the-grimm-writer

just imagine being a team manager, you get done putting everything away after practice. you stand there, sweaty and tired, ready to go out and treat yourself to some matcha tea, when you hear it. grunts and moans, mixed with a bunch of slapping sounds. you think to yourself, hm, we’ll that’s strange? maybe some of the third years had brought someone back into the closet to have some fun... so you let your curiosity get the best of you. you decide to look through the crack of the already open door. to your absolute dismay, there was the third year from not only your team, but every other team jerking it off in a circle. if you would of just been a little bit more quiet. a little bit more tactful. perhaps you could of closed the door and got away with the mental image of your schools jocks pleasuring themselves burned in the forefront of your brain. but unlucky, or lucky for you, however you choose to see it, they spot you. you freeze immediately in your spot. you get this, scared feeling as goose pimples form all over your body as you spot aaskahi smirk, side glancing at bokuto, who was currently licking his lips. you just shake your head a little, trying to back away, throat too dry to whisper about it being an accident.

the first one to move is suga, to your surprise and horror. he wraps his fingers around your elow tugging you inside, it takes everything in you to not look down at the pre cum dripping down his cock. you begin to sputter out how you didn’t mean to walk in and that you were sorry but daichi shushes you, telling you that its ok baby girl, this will be fun. daichi grabs the upper part of both of your arms and pulls you against him, rubbing himself on your behind. you yelp and your face flushes up in embarrassment. the boys in the room all giggle at your shyness. there’s a slight hint of excitement mixed in with your fear, and aakashi is quick to point it out. he really is as observant as they say. he goes on about how he knows you look at all of them and drool over their body’s, he watches as your eyes always go directly to their stomach when their shirts go up. he wages that you touch yourself to them at night, don’t you manager? you blush even harder, trying to wiggle out of daichi, which just makes him moan louder, pulling you closer to his body with your forearms now beginning to bruise. kuroo is the first one to actually begin to touch you, keeping those cat like eyes on you while he slips your pants down, even as you try so desperately to keep them on. but he’s stronger than you, they all are.

he slips his finger into your pussy, which to his delight and your discomfort, you’re soaking. he slips the fingers out to show everyone, a jouster of cheers and whistles echo through the closet, some “wow, slut” and “she gets off on this?” he fingers you, watching you moan and rub yourself on daichi. asahi just watches, slowly stroking himself as you begin to loose yourself on just his fingers. after he has warmed you up, he lets himself plunge himself all the way into you, you go to scream out in agony, as the man his huge and didn’t give you a second to adjust. bokuto took this opportunity to shut you up with his fat cock. you squealed like a cute little piggy on him and he let out a loud grunt. that’s when daichi went to move inside your virgin asshole. you began to kick and squirm, screaming into bokutos crotch hair. they all let out a giggle, you watched like you were just a mere co pilot to your own body as suga and aakashi took it upon themselves to use your hands for their selves.

you were beginning to feel bubbles of pleasure form in the pit of your stomach, and soon you were moaning on bokuto, which made him grip your hair and fuck your face way too hard and fast, knocking out the wind you barely had from your lungs. the lack of oxegyen and pleasure from kuroo pounding into your tight little pussy made you spasm and leak your own fluids all over kuroo. he smacked your ass a few times, telling you that you were such a good slut and he would give you his reward soon. after a few hip crushing thrusts he came and fucked it into your womb, before he pulled out and let ushijima have his turn. the cum shooting down your throat, almost forced you to not be able to see the size of what was about to go inside of you, almost. you scream that its not going to fit when bokutos still hard cock slipped out of your slobbery, cum filled mouth with a loud pop. ushijima just mumbled about making it fit before forcing your tiny little body on his monster cock. you cry out in pain, begging for him to go slower, especially because daichi was still ripping your poor little asshole in two at the same time. you felt him shoot his load into your ass before pulling it out slowly, letting tenduo get behind you, and slip it into your already sore asshole, you felt a liquid leak out and you didn’t know if it was cum, blood, or both. while ushijima was jack hammering straight into your G spot making you flip around in their grips, that were all bruising you in different places. you were panting and moaning, it was all too much as your second orgasm washed over you, ushijima pounded into you still, overstimulating you to the point of tears.

aakashi moved from your hands and went to your gaping mouth, fucking into you just as relentlessly as ushijima. you felt him hit the back of your throat and you could only imagine the punishment if you gagged so you willed yourself to not gag. you could feel suga rubbing circles onto your clit, watching as you moaned and tried to rub yourself onto his fingers, even going as far as to push you hips onto ushi’s fat cock. like the whore you are. do desperate for release even after you had cried so hard about not wanting it. you came hard and fast again and felt the familiar feeling of cum being shot into your abused cunt before ushi slipped out rubbing some of his cum on your stomach, and pushing some of it back in....you thought your sore pussy was going to have a much deserved break...you were wrong because when you looked up, there was asahi, pushing into you. much gentler than the other boys tho.

if the fucking wasn’t absolutely brutal, it was the degrading words all the boys were saying to you. tenduo was telling you about how much of a cum slut you are, how many times have you came on their cocks, five, six, god did that dumb slut brain of yours even know? does it feel good to be forced? you were expecting that from him, but not your sweet, sweet suga. but he joined in, making you beg for more cum on your tits, beg of him to pinch your nipples and smack you in the face like the fleshlight you are. make you cum again just from him rubbing tiny circles into your clit. at first you just sobbed and shook your head, but it didn’t take much of sugas biting your sensitive nipples and laying brutal assaults on your ass to change your tune.

this went on for hours as the boys wanted a try in all of your holes. by the time they were done, you had cum too many times to count, had bruises on nearly every part of your broken body, cum and blood leaking out of your loosened holes. you even fell asleep multiple times through out the experience, only to be awoken by you cumming, or one of the boys cumming, or an intrusion in your body. maybe a harsh slap to your sore face. the last thing you heard before you finally passed out for the last time, was “we’re gonna do this again right?” “just gotta make sure she doesn’t open her mouth and ruin our fun.” “she needs to know how to stay in her place after all.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyū!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #bokuto x reader #sugawara x reader #daichi x reader #kuroo x reader #aakashi x reader #ushijima x reader #tendou x reader #asahi x reader #haikyuu smut #tw coercion #tw degrading

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

Their Doll 7

Helping Hand

B.Barnes x Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: Bucky helps y/n in more ways than one

Warnings: talk about sex kinda

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Training with the soldier wasn't all bad, really. I mean sure, being knocked on my ass every five minutes when we sparred was hell, but there were other aspects too. HYDRA basically made the soldier train me into being their own personal assassin.

Today, it was knife-throwing. One of the few skill I already had - after all, being left in boredom for a whole year led me to experiment and find something new. I was self taught, not very good, but I knew the basics.

I walked up to the target carefully, eyes wide at I watch the soldier throw a knife that pierced through the handle of a blade that was already embedded in the bullseye. I shook off the shock, focusing on my own target as I walked up to it. Lifting a knife out of the belt I wore, I angled it at the target - keeping my wrist slightly loose - and threw. Fuck. Landed in the third ring out from the bullseye.

Again. I threw, wrist loose, and a similar outcome. As I lined up for a third throw, I felt a hand on my right shoulder, stopping me. I looked up, eyes piercing into the soldier's as his averted from me, to the blade in my hand, to the target.

My breathing became heavy, laboured, as he made his way around me, the soldier positioning himself behind me. His hands ran down my arms, resting either side of my wait - one radiating heat, the other cold and making my flinch slightly when it came into contact with the exposed skin from where my shirt had ridden up slightly. He used this grip to correct my stance, remaining behind me and grabbing my wrists to move them into the right position. His hot breath on the back of my neck was making me unfocused, intoxicated.

"Loosen your wrist." He said lowly, "more. It's all about the flick of your wrist." He explained, waiting for me to be ready. "Good. Now, release on your exhale." He breathed.

I took a deep breath in, letting the small blade loose on my exhale, eyes trained to the flash of silver as it flew through the air. Just to the left of the bullseye.

"Good. Try again." So I did, landing a fraction closer to the black dot in the centre of the target. "Good girl." The soldier remarked, the praise sending an odd tingle through me. I could practically hear his smile as he spoke, but before I could respond, his warmth from my body was gone - the soldier back at his own target one again.

...

I stood in the shower room, back bare and bloody still after I had managed to stagger from the whipping room. I stood with my back to the mirror as I looked over my shoulder, wincing every time the small towel touched any of the wounds.

Today's punishment had been unusually brutal, with the whip cracking down on my back in the same two places for every lashing. As a result, two long gashes spanned widthways diagonally across my upper and lower back, oozing crimson tauntingly as tear stained my already reddened cheeks.

I huffed out a frustrated sigh, turning back around to wash the blood from my once-white towel. Steam clouded the edges of the mirror and I could hear a steady stream of water coming from behind one of the curtains, meaning the the Soldier was probably washing after our training session.

In my efforts to get my towel as close to it's original colour, I was completely oblivious when the stream of water cut out and the stained-white curtain ripped back - the rings making a horrible noise against the metal rail. My eyes slowly drifted up to my own reflection staring back at myself, a grimace forming on my face at the sight.

Harsh, purple and green bruises decorated my right jaw, a small cut split across my left cheekbone and a now-drying cluster of blood was dripping down my forehead and tangling with my sweat-crusted hair. I tentatively reached up with one hand, running my fingers so lightly over the bruise on my cheek you'd barely know I'd touched it if I hadn't been for the whimper that escaped my lips.

A movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention, my eyes drifting to the side to see the soldier looking intently at my back in the mirror. I swallowed deeply, dropping the water-clad towel into the sink without looking away from the soldier. I suddenly felt hit, with his eyes burning into me, and tried to make a move to leave. But his hands on my waist stopped me, kept me in place.

"This is how they're punishing you?" The soldiers husked deeply beside my ear, and I nodded meekly. What he did next I didn't expect in a thousand lifetimes, but the soldier reached around me and pulled open the cupboard beside my head before pulling out a role of bandages.

We stood in silence as he dressed my wounds, my eyes never leaving the mirror as I gazed at his focus expression. He looked different to how he did when he fought, calmer, tranquil even. He didn't look like a killing machine, like a lackey of HYDRA, no. He looked more like a vulnerable boy who had been forced into something he didn't want, but with no choice other than to do as he'd been told. Neither of us said a word every time I flinched or let out little yelps and winces of pain, his eyes only drifted to mine in the steamed mirror and only left when I'd give him a small nod, a signal to continue.

When he'd finished he stepped away, using a soft grip on my hips to turn me around. He gave me a small smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. I returned it, but gasped sharply as he lifted my up and placed me atop the counter beside the sink. He picked up the sodden towel and run it out until it only remained damp and carefully lifted it to my forehead, cautiously and gently rubbing the wound there clean, until only a small cut on my hair line remained.

As his attention shifted to the cut on my cheekbone, I couldn't help but let my eyes wander down his toned torso, over his abs and to his v-line which disappeared beneath the towel he had wrapped around his waist. When my eyes trailed up again, the couldn't help but observe the mess of scars at the base of his metal arm - where it was connected to his shoulder.

"I know it isn't pretty, but at least I have an arm." The soldier remarked, dropping the little towel in his hand back into the sink and looking into my eyes. I quickly averted my gaze from his body, cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of getting caught. He smirked slightly, using one of his fingers to tip my chin upwards so I had no choice but to look in his eyes.

It wasn't a rough, power-asserting position like it was intended to be when the general did it. No, it was soft, endearing and I couldn't get enough of him. The soldier used his metal hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, a shiver finding my when the cold metal came into contact with my skin.

"Thank you." I murmured, eyes flirting between his own and his lips. The soldier's were seemingly doing the same. My overwhelming urge to kiss him was quelled when his lips came into contact with mine, dominating but not hard. His lips were plump, yet chapped - I mean how could you expect any less, it's not like the Winter Soldier was going to think about putting some lip balm on. I sat there, dumbfounded, unmoving. My eyes clenched shut at my hands brushed lightly up his arms before settling on his shoulders.

He pulled away all to soon. His smile seemed more genuine, touching his eyes slightly as his lips curled upwards. I was sure I was grinning like an idiot, but I couldn't find it in myself to care as my eyes because mesmerised with his own, now blown wider with lust so only a small ring of cerulean blue rimmed his pupils. That was not the only evidence of his arousal though, as I could feel the other give away poking at my thigh. The towel around his waist did nothing to hide it, and my eyes widened slightly when I registered how big it must be.

Sensing this, the soldier's smirk grew, and he leant in slowly to capture my lips in one last, gentle kiss, before he was retreating from the room. The sound of the metal door swinging shut made me snap out of my hazy daydream trance and come back to reality, the pain throbbing from my back now in full focus as I hopped down from the counter with a groan.

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 3 years

Text

Hello Sorrow [Chapter Five] Tomorrow Never Knows [Karl Heisenberg]

Tag List: @unlikelyllamanerd, @courtenbae

Irina came to on the floor, stirring plumes of dust every time she took a heavy breath. Where was she? The factory, she was sure. But where? The room she woke up in was dim; the only source of light coming from the bay shop panel above her.

Why wasn't she dead? Heisenberg spared her for some unknown reason; Irina wasn't sure she wanted to know. Her hopes of surviving this nightmare had been taken away from her; he made sure of this.

So why? He promised to kill her. Could he not strike her down while she lay unconscious? At least then she'd never wake up, having to look that bastard in the eye again.

Irina blinked away tears. She never had any chance of escaping. There was no cheese at the end of this winding metal labyrinth.

Easing into a sitting position, she moaned in pain. Her side and arms burned immensely. A warm tightening feeling washed over her and for a moment, Irina feared that she may pass out again.

The silver lining was that the shackles had been cut at the chain; the cuff remained on her wrists, but at least her hands were free.

Irina eased out of her torn coat, groaning as metal slivers in her hands brushed against the fabric. Beneath her coat, she wore a white blouse with short sleeves; a rust-colored stain bloomed across one side, torn to ribbons where the auger made contact.

Peeling strips of cloth from her skin where the blood had dried, she examined the wound in disgust. It looked as though she had gone through a meat grinder; chunks of bloody flesh hung from her side.

She nervously laughed, despite wanting to cry. At least the green herb she picked up would not go to waste.

But where was her bag? Heisenberg must have taken it.

Irina searched for it, but she couldn't see well enough to locate it. Standing on her feet, she became unsteady. Her brain sloshed inside her head like a bowl of soup. She leaned against a table to steady herself.

This room he put her in was small; a fraction larger than a living room. A pair of spring frames sat against the far wall, but the mattresses were gone. There were some tables and shelves placed around the open space, but nothing of importance. The only thing that caught her eye was a barred window – she doubted that the door would open for her.

Irina sighed. She eased towards the window and peered out; she was in the heart of the factory. How unfortunate. At this point, she hoped for nothing.

Backing away, she sat down on the floor and waited. Her mind was too tired to think.

For what seemed like hours she sat there, listening to the low roar of the machines. She considered resting, but before she closed her eyes, the lock on the door clicked; the gears rotated against the other until the door came open.

Heisenberg sauntered in.

His eyes wandered over to Irina, taking in her heated expression and unkempt appearance. Grinning, he ignored her and grabbed a grease rag from one of the tables, cleaning his hands with it.

Once he was done, he tossed the rag onto the floor and drug over a chair, sitting on it in front of her.

“Let's have a heart-to-heart talk,” he ordered.

Irina curled up her nose but agreed with a nod. There were some questions of her own she wanted to ask.

“Why are you here? You must have known how dangerous it was coming here.”

Duke warned her, but she didn't expect there to be monsters in the factory. She also never expected Heisenberg to attempt to murder her.

“I already told you,” Irina declared. “I came for the treasure.”

Heisenberg snorted. “The only thing worth anything here is in an ossuary on floor 4.”

“I saw, but there was a piece missing; a ball or round object to navigate the labyrinth.”

He hummed. “That sounds about right. I suppose there's a mold down there somewhere to make it.”

“You don't know?”

Irina thought he was the one who crafted the labyrinth.

“I have no damn clue,” he explained. “That fucking thing has been here since way before I inherited the factory and surrounding land.”

He witnessed her scowl and shake her head as if she were having an internal battle in her thoughts.

“I don't know how you found out about it, but I assume you planned to sell it. Say you did. What did you plan to do with the money?”

Irina narrowed her eyes. It mattered not – he was going to kill her – but she reckoned it wouldn't hurt to tell him.

“Leave this place... I planned to start a new life.”

Heisenberg laughed. “That bitch Miranda would never let you leave this place. But hey, I get it. You want to be free.”

“I do,” she agreed.

She wondered why he addressed Mother Miranda in such a manner; as though he loathed her. Weren't the lords supposed to be loyal to her? She was the divinity of the village and the surrounding territories. No one ever spoke ill of her.

And what did he mean by Mother Miranda would never let her leave? Residents up and moved from the village all the time. Perhaps Irina just misinterpreted him.

“Then you understand why I came here,” she mentioned with confidence. “I want more; much more than this prison can give me.”

Heisenberg scowled. “And you know about prisons? Don't fucking insult me.”

She didn't understand what he was indicating. Maybe she wasn't chained to this place, but since her brother died, leaving her alone, it sure felt as if she was.

“And you thought by stealing from me, you'd be free?”

He raised his arm and the air thinned as a screwdriver flew across the room and into his hand. Grabbing Irina by the head, Heisenberg pressed the flathead against her neck; she cried out in fear and pain.

“Open your damn eyes. No one can be free from this fucking place; not me and sure as hell not you.”

Irina dug her nails into his arm. “Let me go. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

He released her, humming. The flathead shot from his hand and hit the wall somewhere in the room. “My apologies, darling. Thinking about her and this place boils my fucking blood. You’d do well not to get on my bad side.”

Noted, she thought bitterly, rubbing her neck.

Irina scooted away from him.

Heisenberg laughed. “Where were we? – he paused to snap his fingers – oh yes. I meant to ask, but just how in the hell did you get into my territory? That gate you passed through has a special lock on it.”

“I used a lock pick to open the lock – though it wasn’t easy,” she explained.

He whistled in awe. “Now that’s some skill you have there. Shame you’re wasting it.”

“Wasting it? How else would I use it? I hate that I chose to come here, not knowing that I’d be killed before putting it to use, but I know of no other way to use it.”

Heisenberg hummed. “I knew there was something about you that I liked. That mouth can only get you so far.”

Her face heated up.

“Run some errands for me,” he suggested.

What?

Irina puckered a brow. “Errands?”

“I have projects to finish and limited resources,” he explained. “You can sneak into anywhere and get them for me.”

She was no pack mule.

“And if I say go fuck yourself?”

Heisenberg stared at her a minute, yellow eyes gleaming, then stood up, knocking the chair onto the floor with a loud bang.

“Then I will smash your fucking head in and toss your worthless ass into the river. There is no other option, darling. It’s do and live or don’t and die.”

Irina shivered in fear. She had no choice. Perhaps if she said no, then her death would be instant, however she did not want to die.

Bobbing her head, she held back tears.

“Whatever you need,” she made clear.

He grinned, taking a deep and uneasy breath. “That’s the answer I wanted to hear – I’ll have to make a list.”

But not the answer she felt was best. Not that she could do anything about it at this point. Her only option was to do as he ordered and if she played her cards right, maybe she could find a way to escape him.

But first.

“I got hurt down there,” Irina mentioned weakly. She eased up her shirt and showed him the nasty gash on her side. “I need medical aide – and perhaps some rest – if you want me to do my best There’s an herb in my bag … please, I need it.”

Heisenberg sauntered over to a cabinet across from her and took out her bag, retrieving the herb from it before tossing the bag into the cabinet again. He broke the stem into pieces and urged her to open her mouth, shoving them inside once she did so.

“Eat up,” he said with a grin.

Irina choked. His fingers tasted horrible. Why did he not just give her the herb? She could have done this by herself.

Her face heated up.

“Get some rest. You start as soon as you heal,” he ordered, looming over her.

Taking out a key, Irina recognized it as the one Heisenberg tried to offer her earlier. Was this the room it went to? She swallowed the last of the herb.

“If I had taken that ––

“I would have cornered you in here and killed you,” he answered easily.

She scowled at him. Leaving her alone and locking the door behind him, Irina contemplated using her lock pick on the door. She’d do best not to piss him off though. No telling how far she’d get.

Using her torn coat, Irina rested on the icy floor and shut her eyes. She doubted that she’d be able to fall asleep, not with the roar of the machines in her ears, but she was determined to try.

She may not ever get the chance again. Tomorrow never knows.

#karl heisenberg #resident evil village #heisenberg re8 #resident evil 8

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pocketramblr · 4 years

Text

how his hair do that, 5 options

the following is a crack fanfic in five parts, each section on the same premise but not same continuity. also, very spoilerish

bnha manga spoilers below! very recent leaks below! very spoilery!

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 1

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When the heroes first attacked, alarms blaring, compound up in chaos, Dabi snuck away. He let the others pour out of the doors and down the stairs, and crept backwards, turning and running once he was certain no one would notice him.

Not that it would matter much if he did, but why waste the energy on killing them too? He’d need all his firepower today.

Dabi tore through the halls to his room, making it there and slapping his card against the scanner. No time to lose, not when he knew he needed to take care of a few more things before locating where Endeavor was in this heroes’ mission.

He kicked open his bathroom door, hands occupied with carefully pulling the black wig off his head- snagging that on his staples was just the worst, and he couldn’t have blood messing this up today.

Not yet, at least.

Under the bathroom cabinet he grabbed the bag of powery charcoal. It was supposed to be used for some beauty purpose or another, something about enriching hair that didn’t even work- but it would work to darken his white locks.

He poured it on, barely bothering to lean over the sink and keep it from going everywhere. As a final test, he once more wet a bit of it, the color seeping from the hair as it dripped.

He already knew it would work, that’s why he had intercepted so much of it before the quirk cultists could offer it to Toga or Hawks or whoever, but his heart was racing with both nerves and pure excitement.

Finally. The day he’d burn it all down, and make them see why.

He left his door open as he ran back out into the hallway, making a beeline for where he left Hawks. First things first, take care of that, then find Endeavor.

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Better than a charcoal milkshake v 2

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“Hey, put me down by that camping supplies store. And Skeptic too.” Dabi ordered, surveying the carnage of Jakku and glancing over at the man hunched over his laptop.

Said man looped up sharply at that, frowning and spitting that he wasn’t going to do that or something.

Dabi didn’t really pay attention to that.

“Where?” Gigantomachia asked, still rumbling forward towards whatever he smelled. Two masters or something.

Compress cleared his throat and translated for the currently blinded giant. “It’s at 4:05 o’clock, I’d say thirty feet forward.” He then looked over at Dabi, mask as unsettling as any of them. “You’ll be carefull too, on your personal mission?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dabi waved him off, snagging Skeptic by the back of his shirt and tugging as Machia scooped them up and placed them on the pavement.

He ran inside the evacuated store, mercifully empty and not decayed, and started looking for the bags of charcoal.

When he found one, he tore it open. Charcoal fell to the floor, and he ground his boot down into it.

“What…” Skeptic seemed without words, for once. Good.

Dabi tore off his black wig, tossing it aside. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

“You wear a wig??”

“Yeah.” He started to scoop up handfuls of the charcoal, rubbing it into his hair. “Hey, go grab me some water, and then go set up the cameras. We got a show to put on.”

--------

Stinky dumpster boy

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“But my good name?” He sneered the word and all it implied in the world of false heroes, “is Todoroki Touya.”

With that, he dumped the water over his head, and it streamed down over his face, filthy.

The dirty water, practically mud, stung the places on his face where his skin was barely stapled together, and Dabi was reminded of why he didn’t bother with showers anymore- the pain.

But now his true colors- literally- were revealed and it was all worth it. All the truth was out, and the truth had always hurt him.

Shoto, who seemed to be trying to juggle first aid on like, five different people with two random heroes he didn’t know next to him, gaped.

“Come on, I know my face has changed, but my own family should still be able to recognize me, yeah? But you never did. You never did, Todoroki Shoto.”

Dabi suddenly found himself encased in ice.

Ah, this again.

“Yumi’s is colder.”

Shoto’s jaw dropped, then he glared. “Stand back.” He said as he stood up. “He just dunked water on his head, to cool him off I bet. If he is Touya, his body never could handle his own heat. If he’s not… those burns come from somewhere at least.”

Ok, now Dabi was offended.

“What do you mean, ‘if I’m not’?” he demanded. “I just revealed my white hair? I know that’s what the picture on my shrine looks like, you never even looked at that?”

“How do you even know what your shrine looks like?” Shoto sounded dangerously close to judgmental for a little brother who was probably as emo as Dabi had been at his age. “And wait, that cup of water was supposed to wash out your hair? What, do you never bathe or something?”

Ok, now Dabi was really offended.

“Of course I bathe! I just have to sponge bath, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed from having your own scars, but when they take up most of your body and are killing you they end up controlling a lot of your life!”

Ugh, asking him if he didn’t bathe. He’d understand that asked of Shigaraki, sure, but him? Shoto had gotten close enough to smell him, at least.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” the hero in blue, the one that was tending to Eraserhead, raised his hands. “But uh… do you want some help with that?”

“I’m fine, don’t want to cool him off too much so he can fight longer.” Shoto shook his head.

“I was talking to him.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

The hero waved his hand, bubble of water pulling up from the ground. Then he pointed to his own head. “I can take care of that? At the very least it’ll be cleaned out and um, whatever color it should be?”

Dabi stared at him. Shoto stared at him. The other hero in green stared at him, and the one who’d offered help started to sweat noticebly.

“Eh, sure, whatever.”

The hero nodded, and the bubble of water floated over to him, disappearing in his hair.

The bubble floated out a couple of time, murky brown and black with ash, dirt, oil, blood, anything else he’d never thought about too much. It would wring itself thin, much dropping, and return to cleaning.

Finally, his hair was mostly white and thoroughly soaked.

“Thanks.” He called over.

“Yeah.” The hero answered, still frantically trying to help Eraserhead with his free hand, which he’d gone back too as soon as he thought Dabi was distracted. Buying time.

The other hero was on his fourth facepalm.

Shoto just looked contemplative.

Endeavor, one of the ones receiving treatment, sat up but looked like he was going to pass out.

Well all right then. Time to really start- the hair snafu didn’t matter. They were all going to die that day anyway.

--------

Weirdest commercial I’ve ever been in.

--------

“We’ll be dancing in hell together, Todoroki Enji.” Dabi finished his speech with a sneer.

The watching heroes were all stunned silent, mouths open, eyes wide. The revelation must be sending them, like it would all who were watching Skeptic’s broadcast. This would burn it all down, perfect.

“I don’t understand…” Enji managed to say, spitting out a bit of blood.

“What, you don’t understand how I survived, or how I hate you so much I’d hurt innocent people over it? Because that second part is exactly what you did, take out all that self-loathing and insecurity, rage at your shortcomings and condemn children not born yet to them. Guess it’s a family trait.”

“No, not that,” He waved a hand. “I mean, I totally get how you’re a wreck, even if all of your other siblings managed to not become mass murders, I mean- I don’t understand, how did that pint of water wash out all of your hair dye? Aren’t you better funded after the Deika merger, can’t you afford proper hair coloring?”

“I was also wondering that.” Shoto admitted.

“Same.” The hero in blue nodded. The hero in green facepalmed.

“Water?” Dabi repeated, then looked at the can he’d tossed aside. “Oh, no. This isn’t water- it’s a momento of the only true hero.” He bent down, picking up the can and studying the image on it.

“Stain was right, you know.” He mused. “About hero society being rotten. So rotton, so full of fakes, that there was only one that deserved the title. He just got the wrong hero, guessing All Might.” Dabi snorted at the very idea. “No, the only real one, the pure one, the one that defines heroism, the only one with a kill count higher than me- for all the dear old man and his biggest fan Hawks tried, of course- is Wash.”

“… Wash?” Shoto cocked his head. “Wait, like, Wash, Wash?”

“The one and only. That’s how this Official Wash’s Hair Washing Serum, the only product that can wash out all dirt, dye, and any other kind of grime, in just one go.” He shook the can around so they could see. “What, you all thought I could just magically lighten my hair from black to white in the space of one fight?”

“No,” Shoto said, like a liar, and then he threw a glacier at Dabi, and the fight was on in earnest.

--------

Old news

--------

“And now you’ll see who I really am, who you’ve created.” Dabi poured the bleach over his head, giving it a moment to sink into the hair before he shook it out, grinning wide enough to tear his staples.

The heroes on the ground and the few tending to them stared in shock.

Then Shoto gasped.

“Hawks?”

“What? Where?” Dabi whirled around, looked up, because he was really sure he had managed to make sure that pest wouldn’t be flying or fighting again, but well… he’d thought that once before and been wrong then.

“No, you- you’re Hawks, you dye your hair black when its in Dabi mode, and its that beachy yellow blond in Hawks mode.” Shoto nodded to himself.

Blond? Dabi tugged at a lock of hair, and huh. It did seem more yellow than white.

“How could he be Hawks?” The hero in green demanded incredulously, before the hero in blue grabbed his arm and pulled it back to holding down Eraserhead for bandaging.

“The burns and staples are part of the disguise,” Shoto explained. “Fake, and misdirection. You were trained from young childhood to be a hero, sent to join AfO and the league as a spy, where you gained a fire quirk and decided to switch to the villains’ side because you hated the life you were forced into.”

Dabi stared at him.

Shoto stared back.

Enji stared at both of them.

“How are you so smart and so stupid at the same time?” Slipped from chapped, burnt lips.

Shoto looked offended at that.

“I mean, you’re half right, yes that’s what up with Hawks, yes he was sent as a spy, but I knew and I killed him at the compound. And not, like, in a metaphorical way.” He added when he saw something spark in Shoto’s eyes. “Literally. I’m not him. He is completely separate person and body than me and I totally literally killed him.” Or like. Close enough. “And like, thirty other people who were completely innocent.”

Or close enough, he really didn’t bother to keep track, but thirty sounded like a big number. Especially of murders.

“So then who are you?” Shoto asked.

“What, you don’t recognize me, little brother?” He almost growled it, feeling very tired of this all of a sudden.

“Little brother?” Shoto repeated, eyes wide, then narrowing. “Wait, how…”

“Oh not again.” Enji muttered.

“Not again?” Dabi asked. “Wait, you actually managed to drive one of the others to this too? And cover it up? Man, Enji, you’re more rotten than even I knew then!”

“One of the others?” Shoto looked around wildly. “What are you talking about?”

“I was talking about how Shigaraki also randomly showed up and called a first year student “little brother”.” Enji looked back over at Dabi. “What were you talking about?”

“Shigaraki did what?” The pyro looked over his shoulder, finding the villain looking absolutely stoned on the ground, almost as vacant as some of the unconscious heroes, with a curly haired student laying bloodied nearby, staring up at him. “Wait, which student is his little brother?”

“Midoriya, apparently.” Shoto shrugged.

“Midoriya?” Dabi almost choked on the name. “As in, the green bone-breaking kid? Isn’t he like All Might’s lovechild or something?”

“That’s what I said too!”

“I mean, his hair was also lighter when he showed up today.” The hero in blue pointed out to his fellow in a voice that would have been too quiet for Dabi to hear had everyone else not gone silent as well.

“And bleach boy tried to do the same thing with the bleach, yeah. Here, I’ll tie this off, you go take care of Bakugo.”

“I’m Todoroki Touya!” Dabi snapped. “Or I used to be called by that name, anyway, before you nearly killed me, Enji. Let’s just- get back to fighting, yeah, I’m going to kill you.”

#kjhgfghjk #this really is just me making fun of the hair thing #brought on by me and my sister giggling over possibilities #from 'do he wash' to 'wait... hair bleach doesnt work like that it'd be yellowy first'#my fic #my writing #ok i think thats enough tags #bnha manga spoilers #bnha #wish tumblr would give me my line break rights back #crackfic

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chaoticneutralwriter · 3 years

Text

The Storm

And it all comes crashing down.

guardian demon!jimin x reader

genre: supernatural, angst, romance, fluff, slow-burn

word count: 4.2k

related works: see Masterlist under guardian demon!jimin au

Continuation of The Calm

Warning: uhh...very mild violence and blood?? LOL

A/N: okay woww....it’s uhhh IT’S BEEN A WHILE. And honestly, it has been a mixture of....quarantine burnout (is that a thing?? idk this quarantine kinda hit different), wrestling with scene placement, writer’s block, re-writing chunks of stuff, being indecisive about where to end the chapter (ngl i had some pretty killer cliffys LOLL) i am SO sorry it took so long!! 😫 (the value in having an ✨outline✨) i know i might sound like a broken record, but i cannot stress enough of how thankful i am to your patience and love for this story!! 💜💜💜💜 i hope you enjoy this chapter in spite of how short it is 😭😭😭😭

(Also yes, that scene is 100% inspired by that gif even though i had already planned for it to happen; the gif helped me paint a better picture 🥰)

Tags: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatina @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct @beautifulparisiangirl @taelieninvader @ggukjitaejin @xakemi-chiix @vantaenims @atulipandarose @moments-of-melancholy @xclo02 @cherub-kookie @gottadreamitallaway @indiesy @disn3yfreak @oerangdoongi @definitelynotshady @youmaiiwasherebeforeu

The chase more or less ends with Jimin hauling you up over his shoulder, only to dump you into the shower shortly after. You get him back for man handling you when, as soon as he flicks the shower on, you drag him in with you, clothes and all.

He had sighed, defeated, muttering how much of handful you are but as much as he gripes, he still helped you wash your hair with the barest hints of a smile on his lips. You were more than happy to return the favour, though you don't think your scalp massage was as good as his. Eventually, he drags the both of you out before your fingers turn pruney.

“You sure you don't want me to walk you back to your place?”

You nod your head as you're slipping on your shoes by the front entrance.

“I'll be fine Jimin. It's still day time so nothing will happen.” You assure, finally glancing up to his figure leaning against the wall, arms crossed and dressed in a new pair of black slacks and a silk loose blouse, its sheen like the colour of the ocean under a blue moon. You straighten, walking the few steps to stand closer to him until you pick up the faint smell of his body wash – warm cinnamon spice, the one that lingers on your skin as well. “Besides, I have your...emergency contact so there's nothing for you to worry about.”

“You say that, but you promise you'll actually use it right?”

The question makes you inadvertently inhale, the reluctance barely concealable in that breath of air but you give in, meeting his eyes as you say, “I will. I promise.”

Jimin doesn't say anything for a moment, watching you with those dark irises until you see the little tension on his face relax with the slight sagging of his shoulders. He smiles, “Good.”

Your mouth twitches at a corner and you can't help yourself. You reach up on the tips of your toes, taking his face into your hands to land a quick peck on the centre of those pillowy pink lips.

“Then you have to promise me you'll focus on getting better – don't strain yourself over small things like this.”

He blinks, eyes large at your burst of forwardness, hands that had moved instinctively to hover finally nestle themselves on your waist. You hear him huff through his nose after a while, expression smoothing over before your vision is blurred by his figure leaning down to press a proper kiss to you in return as he sneakily asks, “What if I asked simply because I wanted to spend more time with you?”

Now it's your turn to gape, breath caught in your throat and eyes wide while blinking dumbly. The more you blinked, the more amused Jimin became and the higher the blush creeps up your cheeks until the heat became unbearable. You sputter, stubbornly trying to ignore it.

“T-That's – ! You – ! No, I will not let you coerce me like this.”

He bursts out laughing heartily at the way you pout, head thrown back and all you could do is narrow your eyes up at him indignantly. When he's finally calmed but still sees you all puffed up like an angry hamster, he wraps his arms around to squeeze you to him, an easy-going smile lingering on his face.

“Ah, I least I tried.”

You sigh, “I'm serious Jimin. No horsing around if you can help it okay?”

Jimin thinks the look you're giving him is equivalent to that of a puppy's; all big and glossy and paired with the barest crinkle of worry in your brow, it leaves him no choice but to agree.

“Okay cherub. I promise I won't.” He says gently and only then do you seem satisfied.

“Good.”

Now that that's settled, you find yourself just standing in each other's arms, nothing more to say yet perfectly comfortable where you are. You find yourself fiddling with the small, dainty buttons on his shirt, a distraction to how shy you've slowly become under his attentive gaze.

“I should probably go now...” You mumble though you make little to no effort in actually doing so.

You hear Jimin hum, seemingly agreeing but he also doesn't make to show any signs of letting you go, even comfortably adjusts his hold on you. He also takes the time to place a kiss on your forehead. “Text me when you get home?”

“Mm.” You nod.

You remain like that for another good minute before it takes everything in you to drag yourself away from his arms, picking up your bag to sling onto your shoulder. You already feel the chill of the AC creeping into your arms as Jimin holds the door open for you.

“I'll see you then?” You ask, then chastise yourself for letting slip the little bit of disappointment you feel at having to leave so soon, however there's no taking back your text to Jaehee saying that you'll be on your way (she's definitely not someone you want to delay meeting).

Jimin eyes gleam with a knowing look though, like he's tossing around the idea of teasing you but instead, says playfully, “Of course, can't get rid of me that easily.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head which only seems to satisfy him.

The trip home gave you the time to reflect on yourself and on the events that had happened. There's a lightness to your steps – no doubt finally meeting Jimin after a period of confusion and hurt and letting the floodgates to the emotions you've kept buried free has cleared the clog in your heart. On top of that, to have your guardian demon return the feelings you've long convinced yourself were futile; thought nothing more than a self-sabotaging trap designed by no one but you and your only escape from it was to take the plunge.

Yet here you are, relatively unscathed. To be honest, even now you're still in disbelief.

But you won't dismiss this warm giddiness that's taken over easily, just as how you're leisurely soaking in the rays of the late afternoon sun now. It bathes everything in a glow that has every colour in your eyes appear much more crisp and vibrant, making the city lively. It further brightens your mood.

Once you've crossed the threshold of your home, you immediately hear Jaehee's call of greeting from the kitchen.

“Did you eat yet?” She asked right off the bat as you enter after toeing off your shoes.

“Yeah, I ate before I left.”

She nods, continuing her chopping for what you can only assume is dinner for tonight.

“So...everything worked out okay?”

It's asked tentatively but the question doesn't surprise you as much as it should; whether it's because of Jaehee's prior awareness to your troubles, your deep-rooted friendship, or simply sensing the obvious complete shift in your mood, she very well knows where you've been without having to probe much.

Still, you can't help smiling.

The forecast calls for mild, clear weather like today for the days to follow. It's no doubt something a lot of people will be capitalizing on, a relief from the unpredictable temperatures between the changing of seasons. Perhaps it's with that same mindset, you find yourself being able to swallow back the niggling uncertainty that seems to always follow you.

You'll save your worrying for another day, but for now, you want to hold onto these promised sunny days for as long as you can.

“Yeah,” You breathe, “Everything's good.”

You see Jaehee's lips quirk up, a light smile that lets you know she's just as happy as you are to hear that. But then as she turns towards you, it morphs into a sly Cheshire grin.

“Spill it, girl. I need those details.”

The startled gasp that rings out in the dead of night seemed unnaturally loud in the dark spacious room that for a moment, Jimin thought it had belonged to a tormented ghost that had wandered its way in. After a few shuddering breaths did it occur to him that the sound had actually came from him.

His eyes slip shut once again, rubbing them tiredly as he inhales a deep breath before letting it out. Dragging his hand down his face, Jimin sits up, body feeling as if it's made of lead and rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to relieve the joints that are aching dully before reluctantly hauling himself out of bed, the dryness in his throat uncomfortable as is the clamminess of his skin after being drenched by cold sweat – it doesn't take much to know that he won't be able to slip into a blissfully empty state of slumber for the rest of the night.

His feet takes him into the kitchen and his hand grabs for a glass of water which he downs absentmindedly. The drink soothes the burning in his throat but the same cannot be said for the storm slowly brewing inside of him. Eyes as dark as the sky outside the large windows stare out listlessly, his mind slipping into deep thought.

How many times is that now? Four? Five?

For a number of nights, he's been plagued by these dreams – nightmares.

At first they were vague, mostly indiscernible as if shrouded by thick black smoke that whenever Jimin woke from them, the most he would feel is a sense of unease but soon afterwards, the feeling and the memory of it would fade as quick as it came.

But as the days passed, these dreams slowly mutated into something more vicious, taking a hold of his unconsciousness before he had the time to react.

And it was always the same dream.

Not knowing when or how he got there, Jimin would find himself in a formless space, surrounded from all sides by an endless ocean of white veils. They rolled and danced ceaselessly, much like turbulent waves out at open sea and he was the small boat being battered against the powerful force, threatening to capsize. The shifting and turning disoriented him, made his stomach churn and head spin but no matter how stubbornly he tried to run, he could never escape.

So all he could do was stand in place, and as the dancing veils begin to close in on him, the air around would become thinner and thinner until he was gasping for breath, lungs burning with no hope of holding in an ounce of air. Soon after his knees would collapse under him. As he's reduced to this weakened state, it's only then that he'll see it.

Amidst this deceivingly tranquil prison, a figure emerged in the distance, its shape distinctly outlined by the large pale fabric that continue to billow around by an invisible breeze, appearing very much like a ghostly apparition. At the sight, a chill would instantly run down Jimin's spine as if his blood had turned into ice and in the vast silence, only the deafening beating of his heart would fill his ears. For an unknown amount of time, this figure would simply stand ominously without moving. Then suddenly, it would advance, moving at a startling speed and so soundlessly with each blink of his eyes that before he could think, it was already towering over him like a great marble statue.

Like death encroaching.

Jimin could only wait frozen in place by the oppressive force bearing down on him, staring up with shaking pupils and it's then that he knew what it is that looks down upon him.

Divine judgment.

There's a stale and tar-like taste that blooms in his mouth first, then slowly, as the last remains of his strength leaves his body, he finally notices the cold dampness spreading outwards from his chest.

The blade that pierces through him was as dark as the blood it's coated in.

It's here that he wakes from the shock of the phantom pain so intense they momentarily blur the line between reality.

He's not one for superstitions or 'prophetic dreams', being a demon and all but he's by no means unfamiliar with them, especially now when they hit him in the face like this – so viciously and frequently too. A heavy sigh leaves his lips.

The last few days had been quiet; the first in... he's not sure how long. Perhaps that's why he slipped up like this, got caught up in believing that this sweet lie could be true. That maybe, by some miracle, there was a chance for the both of you.

Jimin scoffs a quiet laugh and his mouth twists into a cold smile.

How foolish; to think that they can be more than just wishful thinking.

Heaven is righteous, boasting to have eyes and ears in places without one knowing and yet so frivolous in what they choose to acknowledge.

And it's just his luck that the one time he was counting on that fact, it completely backfired on him.

There's no avoiding this; it's clear that any day now some divine being is going to descend upon him in the name of carrying out justice for the crimes he's committed. If not for the breached guardian contract, then for failing to complete the trials to prove his piety.

Jimin's eyes slips shut, tipping his head down, the ache along his neck and shoulders creeping over him once again – ever lingering, never fading – and all he could do is accept.

Alone in this large and empty penthouse, Jimin felt no anger, no remorse or fear, only a quiet sense of mourning he allowed for himself. However fleeting it may have been, those few days spent with you will be something he'll remember fondly. He thought, if this had been where his luck had went, then he at least can be reassured that it wasn't a complete waste.

Just as his eyes peer back open, the first rays of dawn had begun to bleed through the horizon, dispersing the darkened sky with the coming of a new day. As he watches the sun begin to rise, Jimin's expression hardened along with his resolve.

One thing’s for certain; no matter what happens, he'll keep you safe.

Until the very bitter end.

There's something amiss.

He can't quite place his finger on it, but Jungkook didn't go about his day without feeling an inexplainable sense of dread hanging over him like a heavy cloak that won't leave him. It felt as if every nerve in his body is coiled, restless and bracing for something to happen. As such, he's developed an annoying ache across the back of his neck and shoulder which he had to constantly roll in order to dispel some of the built up tension.

It didn't help, so it only made Jungkook endlessly irritated.

Wanting to blow off some of this steam, he had taken to wandering the streets in search of an outlet. Unfortunately, there's only so much he could do given his status in the mortal world. Playing the shoulder devil whispering temptations, tipping the scale between life or death, fortune or misfortune on a person was only fun while it lasted, and Jungkook was a demon who grew bored very easily of those same old basic tricks. Although there's the option of materializing briefly to cause more mischief, it took way too much power to maintain a physical form so at most, he would only be able to have fun messing with one or two souls but not nearly having enough time to really string them along to his heart's content. After all, the thrill of being a demon comes from withering down their prey, dragging them so deep into depravity before they realize it's too late and there's no saving them.

He sighs inwardly, thinking about all the lost potential, especially now that he's in possession of such a fine specimen. How delightful it would be to see the lengths men and women would go to hold onto even a sliver of his attention, to have them so tightly wound around his fingers just to leave them high and dry. Truly, this was the pain of having a great weapon but being unable to use it.

It makes Jungkook consider how more convenient it would be if he had formed contract with someone, similar to what Jimin had done.

Speaking of, he wonders what had become of you and his fellow demon brother, as the last he's heard of either one of you, one was on a war path while the other's aura signature was reduced so greatly that he didn't need to make much of an effort to be scarce. As much as he's tempted to go find out what's become of you both, Jungkook had to hold himself back. He's told himself that after directing you to your lost guardian demon (as you had practically begged him to do), he's vowed to severe his involvement if he knew what was good for him.

Things were obviously only going to get messier, and no doubt he would be catching any of the fallout if he decides to stick around, even if it's just to satisfy his own burning curiousities.

Jungkook continues to wander aimlessly like this, thoughts bouncing from the matters surrounding you pair to toying with the idea of actually finding some hidden cult who's ballsy enough to try a demon summoning (nine times out of ten it's a shoddy job but fuck is it funny to see their faces thinking it had worked, plus he's guaranteed a couple of souls to his count too).

Above, the sun dips in and out continuously, the constant shift in light distracting Jungkook. He watches and notes idly the fast pace in which the clouds travel, how the white wisps grow and the sky begins to look tumultuous until gradually, they become so dense they completely block the sun out altogether. With the warm rays no longer casting down, the world plunges into a gloomy grey overcast.

A frown tugs onto his lips unconsciously, but the premonition of rain was not what troubled him.

He had the mind to quicken his steps when suddenly they falter. It felt like something had told him to stop, so for a moment he stood confused, turning his head in search for a source until Jungkook's gaze stray over to a small, narrow side street. The street looked like a much older part of the city in the style of the buildings; he can't honestly say he's ever noticed this part before so for it to catch his attention....

Jungkook is already taking tentative steps down the rough cobble stone path without realizing, slowly making his way past the few small family owned shops. He's going off solely on this gut-feeling, almost as if in a trance which after blinking, does he notice he's staring at a particular store front of a shop. His brows furrow even more from confusion, not understanding why he was drawn here.

The shop looked like it hadn't been rented out for many years, the paint so worn down and faded that it didn't resemble the rich forest green colour it once was, even peeling in some places to show the wood underneath. The lacquered sign above has also lost its shine, and whatever script that has been written on it has long become indecipherable. Jungkook had to squint just to make out the faint imprint of the letters 'S' and what he thinks might be 'P' and a 'TH'.

Despite the windows being dirtied, he could still tell that inside the shop was nothing but barren space, the wall shelves filled with dust and cobwebs, the tables empty with only traces of the trinkets it once held. Time had let this place be forgotten, erased its name from existing in any memory, yet it's here Jungkook finds himself lingering, wondering why?

What secrets does this place hold?

Naturally, he can't let this anomaly go lest he drives himself mad. Jungkook takes a step towards the shop, a hand outstretched with the intentions of investigating further when from out of his peripheral he sees something. Whipping his head to it, his eyes lock onto a figure standing at the head of the street from where he had came.

The inexplainable driving force he had immediately vanishes, replaced with the sensation of his body going numb all over, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on ends. Not like the presence of this ominous figure on its own incited such a reaction, but it's also in the way it looked.

Tall in such a way that it's imposing, and draped in a pure white cloak, giving away nothing of what lies beneath. The only feature he's able to make out was the golden halo crown encircling it from behind; a stark contrast. There's no questioning whether or not it can be seen by anyone other than himself – this appearance alone clearly did not belong in this world.

It is not of this world.

Jungkook needed to remain calm. He can't afford to let slip that he's unnerved – that's a sure fire way to getting killed first because fear ultimately blinds. Still, he can't stop the tenseness in his shoulders and the ache comes back with a vengeance. Swallowing, Jungkook inhales and jaw clenched, he turns to leave as if having never seen this phantom at all.

His strides are long, determined to put distance between it and himself, all the while his senses are going into overdrive. He's hyper-aware as he swiftly makes his way through narrow streets and alleys, twisting and turning with no rhyme or reason but he already knows he won't be losing this unwanted tail any time soon. So he changes tactics, figuring that he might as well get the jump on it first before giving it the opportunity.

Jungkook apparates out of the alley, appearing in a busy crowded street and just as fast, he changes to a rooftop. Within these few short seconds, he spins on his heels, gathering a fistful of demonic energy in his hand ready to hurl it the moment he sees any hint of white cloth, body instinctively adapting a fighting stance. However, as his piercing topaz eyes dart around, he finds nothing.

The air around him is still, like the overpowering presence had all but disappeared. Down below, he faintly hears the bustling of people, the sound of cars driving by, even now he becomes aware of how hard he's breathing, the adrenaline pumping through his veins has his heart racing.

Still, Jungkook doesn't dare drop his guard, backing away cautiously as if he's on pins and needles. He's focusing all of his senses, trying to pick up anything that might seem strange over the white noise of the city. He listens, until it all goes eerily quiet.

Jungkook sees before he can react, its speed far more faster than he could have ever anticipated, and all he manages is a sharp, startled gasp. The rest of the air gets blocked by an iron grip around his throat but even then, he's given no time to fully register this as he feels his back crashing into a hard surface with impeccable force and an explosive pain erupts. He chokes on a mouthful of blood.

“Filthy vermin should not waste time struggling so uselessly.”

Jungkook winces, nauseated by the throbbing of his head alone – now he has this voice that seems to be ringing from inside his head.

“The fate of thy life depends on the answer thee giveth me.” The hold tightens and Jungkook swears his neck would give out before he's able to make a sound (how very counter-productive, he thinks in spite of himself).

“Where is he?”

Struggling through the black dots in his vision, Jungkook finally pinpoints the identity of his aggressor. The dry laugh he wanted to let out comes out as a cough but it carries the disbelief and scorn all the same.

White cloak, oppressing aura, immense strength and speed, and a voice that sounded neither man nor woman. There's no mistaken it now.

Fuck, since when was his luck so shit that an archangel finds him first?

The clouds had rolled in much faster than Jimin had thought, the sight reminiscent to being under murky waters. He wonders if at this rate, it would darken even further though he supposes he shouldn't bother. After all, this was no mere storm out of the blue.

He raises the cup and takes a sip of his black coffee, closing his eyes as if to savour the bitterness. Jimin doesn't bother to finish the rest of it, even if it's a waste not to. But there's no helping it, not when he was expecting a visitor. He gingerly places the drink aside on the counter first, then redirects his gaze to the large expanse of his windows at a leisurely pace.

There's not a hint of shock as his eyes meet the figure cloaked in white, hovering on the other side of the glass panels. The layers of chiffon flutter softly against the rising winds, the golden glint of each spike on the crown adorning its head menacing, as if it's a weapon in and of itself.

Behind, the sky darkens forbiddingly, and soon after comes the distant rumbling of thunder.

#jimin x you #jimin x reader insert #demon!jimin au #bts supernatural au #jimin scenario #jimin fic #jimin fics #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfics #jimin fluff #jimin scenarios #park jimin imagines #park jimin fanfic #park jimin fics #park jimin fanfics #park jimin fic #jimin angst #guardian demon!jimin

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