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#he's smart in ways that are different from the group he's in
dwaekkilinos · 18 hours
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savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan
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summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3
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chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )
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Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.
It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.
Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.
Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.
The apocalypse had come.
You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.
Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.
And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.
That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.
You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.
From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.
At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.
Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.
It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.
It.
Armageddon.
The Rapture.
The fucking apocalypse.
It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.
The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.
The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.
The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.
That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.
You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.
But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.
By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.
But by eighteen, you knew better.
It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .
You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.
That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)
You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.
Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.
This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.
As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.
He didn’t believe.
No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.
The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.
That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.
That was what was told, and that was what was believed.
You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.
Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.
— Revelation 6:1–2
That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.
While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.
As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.
Only by that time, it was too late.
Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.
And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.
The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.
Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.
By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.
Then . . . it all just stopped.
But your town continued to spread its lies.
The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.
They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.
Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.
But you knew better.
While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.
You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)
And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.
The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.
But you couldn't believe it.
Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.
Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.
Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.
He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.
Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.
War will come, she warned.
War will come.
But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.
And then . . . then he did.
The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.
The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.
War will come.
It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.
This was no man. This was War.
And it all became clear soon after.
While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.
The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.
The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.
That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.
Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.
(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)
Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.
War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.
From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.
But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.
There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.
Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.
The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.
And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.
(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)
While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.
The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.
That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.
It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.
The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.
It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.
It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.
When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.
— Revelation 6:7–8
Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.
Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.
She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.
You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.
Now there was no more living, just surviving.
Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.
Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.
How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?
You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.
But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.
Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.
Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.
You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.
Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.
You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.
And then you looked at him.
Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.
Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.
Your father was a good man.
Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.
Your father was a good man.
Your father had killed someone.
This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.
(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.
(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))
That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.
The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.
You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.
And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.
(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)
But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.
Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.
Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.
You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.
And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.
It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.
And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).
Survival became all that you knew after that.
Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.
The burden became yours to bear.
This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.
Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.
And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.
Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.
If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.
So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.
Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.
Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.
Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.
The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.
Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.
When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.
You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.
In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.
But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.
You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.
So you let yourself turn into a machine.
And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.
That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.
You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.
Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.
That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.
Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.
When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.
No, killed was too vague.
Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.
The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.
You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.
But you had that night.
And now you paid the consequences.
It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.
She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.
So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.
Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?
How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?
You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.
Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.
Were you no better than the dead to her?
You swallowed hard.
Had you become a monster?
“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.
But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.
You did what you had to do.
You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.
You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.
Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.
Kind had been rare back then. It still was.
And Felix stayed kind.
When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.
You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.
But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.
That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.
He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.
But you?
Well . . .
“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”
”You’re not."
“Lix."
“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”
Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”
”She’s just a kid."
“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”
A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”
Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .
”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “
”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”
You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.
His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."
His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.
But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.
However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.
You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”
”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.
”Sleep, little bird."
He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."
Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.
But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."
You swallowed hard but said nothing.
You're not too far gone.
Oh, how wrong he had been.
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As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.
A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?
But you already knew the answer.
Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .
And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.
His face was always there.
Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.
Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.
And you knew you had.
At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.
You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.
Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.
And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.
But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.
Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.
He would still be here if you hadn't—
"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.
You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.
It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.
She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.
But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.
You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.
Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .
. . . You’d still killed a man.
You’d actually taken a life.
(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.
It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
And maybe you had been.
That would’ve been easier to fathom.
But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.
"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.
Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.
And you couldn’t blame them.
The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.
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The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.
Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.
That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.
With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.
You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.
But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.
Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.
Had he felt like this, too?
Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?
Did he ever wonder if—
“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.
You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”
She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”
“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.
But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.
Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.
Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”
But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.
“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”
“Your father filled your head with lies.”
You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”
Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."
There were the tears now.
But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.
Twist the knife, and she did.
"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”
Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.
This was what you deserved.
Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.
But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.
Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”
She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.
“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”
Your mother remained silent.
And you knew her answer.
Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”
“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”
But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”
Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”
“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”
Once again, she remained silent.
But you knew the truth.
“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”
Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .
And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.
Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.
It happened too quickly for you to think.
Beat. Beat.
You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.
Beat.
Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.
And you knew what to do.
For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.
The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.
One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.
Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.
You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.
. . . You were getting worse.
Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”
But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.
And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.
The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.
Would they make the decision to put you down then?
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Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.
If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.
But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.
Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.
According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.
So, you listened, but you did not believe.
The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.
Whatever.
(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.
Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.
He’d made sure there was nothing left.
Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.
Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.
Survival was all that mattered.
Everything else was fucked.
And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.
Survive long enough for them.
For your father.
For your sister.
For your mother.
For Felix.
For them.
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By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)
But, just your luck, sleep never found you.
Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.
Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?
You didn’t want to see that day come.
It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.
With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.
You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.
Nothing was left.
Truly.
Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.
But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.
Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.
You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.
The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.
Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a hoard.
You swallowed hard.
Death was near.
You’d thought the undead didn’t hoard unless . . .
The man.
Your eyes widened.
The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.
And his screams . . .
You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.
And . . . it was all your fault.
You exhaled a shaky breath.
Death was coming.
Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.
Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.
The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?
You swallowed hard.
Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—
But then you saw it.
In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.
You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the hoard up ahead.
Death was here. So close. Too close.
They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.
There was no way you could outrun the hoard. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.
Fuck.
You wanted to scream.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.
“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”
You could only shake your head.
Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."
You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.
There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the hoard without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.
Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.
There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.
You knew what that meant.
This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.
It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.
And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.
This was how you made things right.
You nodded at your thoughts.
Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.
Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.
This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.
So you sent one last glare at the hoard up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.
Still: "Little bird," you whispered.
Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."
"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.
You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.
"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."
Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."
You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.
But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.
Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.
Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.
You knew this.
Felix did, too.
He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."
Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."
The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.
"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.
You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.
The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.
"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."
Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."
"You don't get to die."
"Neither do you."
"Then I guess we have a predicament."
Your eyes softened. "Lix."
His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."
And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.
He shook his head.
You swallowed hard.
The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.
You gripped his hand. "Protect them."
He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”
Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”
But it was. You both knew that.
Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”
“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.
But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.
You worked quickly. You had to. For them.
The quiet cries of the hoard approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.
You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.
You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.
Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.
So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the hoard to get near enough to strike.
You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.
It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.
Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.
The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.
Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.
And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.
Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.
Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.
Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.
Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.
You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.
Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.
You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.
All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.
Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.
You're not too far gone.
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.
You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.
Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.
This was the only way to save them. The only way.
Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.
The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.
The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.
You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.
Fuck.
Had that been too loud?
Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.
You swallowed hard.
Death itself had seen you.
Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.
And end it you would.
You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.
Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.
And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.
There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.
“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.
With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.
And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.
The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.
But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the hoard getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the hoard, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.
This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.
You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.
It hit you then.
Beat.
This really was the end.
You couldn’t run.
Beat.
The hoard was gaining on you.
This was the end.
Beat.
Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.
But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.
Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.
It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.
What was he doing?
But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.
“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”
You skipped a beat, not answering.
His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.
But you only blinked.
You didn’t want to be saved.
No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—
Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—
“Run,” he bit out, an order.
And it all happened so fast.
You stayed put.
He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.
Beat.
Beat.
Be—
A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the hoard following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—
Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the hoard you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.
And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the hoard was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.
Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.
And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.
As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.
And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.
What the fuck?
But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.
There it was, you realized.
Your punishment.
You were going to die.
And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.
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The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.
There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.
In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—
And then . . . then the memories all faded in.
The warehouse. The man. The shots. The hoard.
This was Death’s doing.
The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.
Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.
But . . . why were you still alive?
Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.
You were alive.
Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”
And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.
Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?
Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?
Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.
Him.
The man.
Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.
You clenched your jaw hard.
The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.
And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.
“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”
But you remained silent, watching.
"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”
You swallowed thickly.
There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.
"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”
And you hadn’t.
You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.
Had your mother been right about you?
Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?
The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.
"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”
You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?
Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?
Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.
And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.
Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.
(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)
And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.
Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that hoard and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.
Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?
Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.
Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)
And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.
You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?
Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.
Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"
Why aren’t you fighting?
The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.
Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.
It was surely daylight by now.
Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.
By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.
So . . . where was your fight?
You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.
Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.
Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"
For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.
The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.
And you almost laughed.
Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.
It all felt a little unreal.
Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.
You swallowed hard. You’d brought that hoard to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.
But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.
There it was.
This was the end you were promised.
Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.
On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.
"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.
His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”
But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?
"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.
His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."
Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.
This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.
So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?
Why—
"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"
You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.
His stare only unnerved you more.
Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.
Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."
The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”
That only unnerved you further.
Was this truly Death?
Surely he had killed before.
Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.
As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”
But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.
There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.
You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.
“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.
Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”
His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.
“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.
His brows twitched, taken back.
“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”
But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?
A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.
Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.
Then . . . you felt it.
A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.
You nearly gasped.
Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.
But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.
The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”
Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.
“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”
And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.
I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.
But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?
You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.
And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?
It all hit you then.
These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .
I won’t kill you.
But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.
These were good people. And you were their bad omen.
It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.
You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.
It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.
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taglist:
@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin
(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)
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mcytblr-archive · 3 days
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Early MCYTblr Interviews: tack-tick
today's interviewee is tack-tick, a pioneer of the "phistin" ship and DSMP fan since before the first election! below is a transcript of the interview.
Q: What was your overall time in MCYTblr like?
A: I'd say my overall time in Mcytblr could be described as finding diamonds in the rough. This fandom is defined by finding your group, sticking to them and if you're smart not really looking beyond that. I did look beyond that and saw a lot of discourse and such. I had a good time with my friends but I did get negatively affected by the discourse at times. It was kind of a toxic shithole but by God mcytblr was our shithole lol
Q: Do you remember any specific discourse that affected you, or was it just the overall culture around you?
A: As a Technoblade main, it was the discourse surrounding his character that messed with me. At the time, I was mutuals (none in the phistin palace dw guys) with some people who hated his character. I, as an anxious teenager, was very worried it would cause drama if I unfollowed them and my dash became a lot of those long negative essays about how he was an awful person and yknow the drill. It was mainly my own fault and my dash became signfigantly better once I realized no one would be offended of I unfollowed, blocked a bunch of tags, started up my own discord server and focused more on writing fanfic instead of doomscrolling. A good lesson in curating your dash of anything else. (Btw those former mutuals are fine people, we just had radically different tastes in what we liked and disliked about the Dream SMP)
Q: You mentioned the "phistin palace"-- before we get into that, would you like to explain the "phistin" rarepair itself?
A: Now we are cooking! So, Phistin is the ship of Kristin and Philza. It's main focus was on the scraps of lore that we had about their relationship which was Kristin was the immortal goddess of Death and they couldn't really see each other often but loved each other very much. I'd say it's main appeal was being one of the few ships that was just really stable in the Dream SMP compared to the Karlnapity polycule and whatever youd call Quackbur. Fun fact, I can't find the post now but if i remember correctly me and tumblr user Demonadelem helped name the pair Phistin. Although, that was ages ago so I could be misremebering
Q: Was the ship entirely within the SMP, or was it just the general ship name for the real-life couple?
A: It was both. Since Kristin didn't really stream on the dream smp, a lot of her personality had to be based on what Phil said about her and her other streams. Basically, lore about the ship was pulled from the SMP but the dynamics and personality was from both. You could play around with the dynamic if you focused on Kristin being a goddess
Q: With that basic information laid out-- what was the "phistin palace"?
A: The Phistin Palace was a discord server I founded in August of 2022. Phistin was a ship that was basically a side thing I did in fandom because my main focus was Technoblade and emerald duo stuff. I think if you're a Technoblade fan you're legally obligated to be a Philza fan and vice versa. I don't make the rules. So Phistin was something I did when I wanted a break from Technoblade as a way to practice romantic shipping.
Then Technoblade passed away and I didn't want to do anything with his character for a while so I focused completely on Phistin. However, when I tried to find any fics they were either a background ship with only one line or Kristin was already dead from a tragic disease who's main symptoms were lying daintily in bed. While I was writing my own long form Phistin focused fic, Two Birds if anyone read it, I got a comment that complimented me for "giving her an actual charatcer" and maaaan that is a very low bar to be praised for. So, I started the palace as a way to find other Phistin fans who actually cared about them beyond Kristin being angst fodder for SBI.
Q: Do you have any fond memories in specific of the "Phistin Palace" discord server?
A: Oh so many. During the Syndicate finale, three of us all liveblogged and freaked the fuck out when Kristin showed up for the first time in a minecraft skin on the server. I made on of those AI chatbot things that was popular for a bit and the bot was supposed to be the Kristin character. I asked if she had a pet and she said she has a gecko named Tim. The entire server instantly decided they would die for Tim and he's now an emote. The general chat is also named Tim Time Fucker. A mermaid AU that was made that the majority of the server contributed a lot of lore to we named it the Communist Mermaid AU because the server collectively owns it now. Many good moments there
Q: Beyond the Phistin Palace, are there any large community events that you remember/took part in, or did you mostly stick to your friend group?
A: I remember The Penis SMP of course. I never really took part in large community events but I did watch them happen. I read the Passerine chapter where Tommy died becasue my dash flipped out when that dropped. I'd also try to watch Sad-ist animatics live when I could. At most, Id make a meme during a stream that would rack up a couple hundred notes or one thousand if I was lucky A thousand was like once or twice I think
Q: You mentioned that you were also a Technoblade fan before you became more focused on Phistin-- was your experience in that side of the fandom any different?
A: It certainly had more content than Phistin did lol. I was never really in any Technoblade discords or anything but back in the day it was focused on emerald duo and being funny. or angsty. Nowadays, it's way less lively unfortunately. It's not as bad as in 2022 but Technoblade fancontent seems to be less foucsed on the character and more on memorials/remembrance. At some point, you run out of things to say and not a lot of people wanted to stay in a fandom that just felt weighed down by it all. I did leave so things could perk up someday but I don't think that's likely
Q: We've talked about the fandom and how it responds to content-- let's talk about the content itself. What were some of your favorite moments from the Dream SMP as a whole?
A: The Red Festival Technoblade stream was the first one I ever watched live so that's a good one. The stream where L'manberg getting blown up at the end of The Manberg Arc is iconic for an underrated reason. I don't know how many people remember but Phil was highly speculated to be on the Dream SMP someday. On the day of that stream, he started on his hardcore world, then stopped his stream and did his dramatic switch surprise entrance to enter the Dream SMP for the first time. Also Technoblade escaping the anvil and then killing Quackity with a toothpick was great. I've never liked watching Twitch streams on my Ipad so most of my favorite moments come from YouTube
Q: Were you sad that Phistin wasn't a more popular ship, or did you enjoy the tight-knit community?
A: I was sad Kristin kept friggin dying, the poor woman lol. Sometimes I wish it was a bit more popular but the community was nice. The main issue is Phistin stuff started tanking hard on Ao3 in terms of numbers and tended to get misstagged quite a bit
Q: You've brought up a few times that Kristin was often fridged, disregarded, or replaced (on several notable occasions, by an actual Samsung fridge). How did you feel about it? Do you think there was any particular reason for it?
A: I mean, I really don't like it but I understand it. A lot of people loved that SBI angst but also wanted to write all the SBI. So the obvious solution is to kill off Kristin for free angst and keep all the SBI in the story. Passerine is a fic i respect a lot but it also kickstarted this trend to be honest. Kristin herself also didn't physically show up in the lore a lot so it was really tricky to write her. When I first wrote her, it was intimidating because I didn't have many fics to look at as good examples.
Was it shitty and a bit sexist? Yes but I don't think sexism was the only reason. Kristin's character was in a unique situation compared to the others. I have no problem with Kristin dying in a fic. The main issue is that often came with her personality being reduced to good mom and that's it. I'm not gonna call a bunch of probably first time writers evil sexists when I know what it's like to not know how to write her and being scared you'll get her completely wrong.
Q: Since it's come up, would you mind giving a quick rundown of what exactly the fanfic "Passerine" is? (As well as any memories you have relating to it!)
A: If i'm being honest, I only read the chapter where Tommy got murked. What I know from osmosis is it's an SBI royalty AU that had some kind of meta twist at the end and it was very sad. It also got a sad-ist animatic made out of it which jesus christ I'd give for that. I tried it but the writing style was too wordy for my liking. It's mainly important for Phistin history even though Kristin wasn't in it. No, The Fridge died in it but everyone just kinda assumed it was Kristin for long enough it got the ball rolling. Also I think Niki read it on a stream
Q: Before we wrap up, is there anything else you remember about MCYTblr/the DSMP that you'd like to talk about?
A: The DSMP sure was the minecraft server of all time that is defined as a server that was doomed from the start. Whoever makes a video essay on it is gonna have a hell of a job. 10/10 experience would not recommenced. Hello to the Phistin Palace if any of you read this :D
Mcytblr is getting more chill with shipping from what I've seen. Thank God, keeping making Philza Minecraft kiss those men and his wife.
Also SUBSCRIBE TO TECHNOBLADE
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toasttt11 · 3 days
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introducing sebastian
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Sebastian Boldy was born October 12, 2003 and the youngest of his two brothers. Sebastian was always the sweet one growing up and was a big mama’s boy, she was his favorite person.
Sebastian have always loved drawing since he could hold a crayon in his hand and he always had his sketch book with him.
When their family was discussing moving to Michigan when Matt got into the program it started a lot of fights between Todd and Jennifer, Jennifer hated how much of the time and money went to hockey and how she never had her own time, so they woke up one morning and she was gone, leaving her signed divorce papers and giving up all of her legal rights for her sons.
Sebastian took it the hardest and he was thirteen at the time. The sweet boy who use to pick flowers to bring home for his mom became angry at everything and everyone, he started getting into more fights on the ice and stopped letting people in.
Well that was until Sebastian met Luke, the two automatically just clicked, they were always the youngest around everyone and they always would be on each other’s sides, they started playing as defensive partners and the chemistry and communication the two have on the ice made many teams come look at them.
Sebastian and Luke was purely platonic until the summer of 2021 when Luke saw him shirtless and it wasn’t even the first time but something changed and everything clicked for Luke.
Sebastian had started keeping everyone at arms length after his mom left and his relationship with his brothers weren’t the same anymore as they all were hurt and coping in their own ways.
Sebastian met Mark when he started at the university of Michigan and despite Sebastian not making friends easily, Mark and him were just so similar on the ice and they both understood each other easily. Mark was still bright and soft off the ice and Sebastian didn’t admit but he grew fond of him.
And Sebastian tried to not get close but the Umich Hockey team became family to Sebastian especially the group that all joined the same year as him, Ethan, Mark, Dylan and Mackie.
Sebastian and Luke both were drafted to New Jersey Devils, a year after each other as they had different draft years. The Devils knew getting both of the two defensemen was a smart choice as the two played better together.
Ellen grew to become one of Sebastian’s favorite people and over the years as he started to heal from the abandonment of his mother he started to see Ella as his mother and Ellen has always adored Sebastian and always treated him like her son.
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saturnville · 2 days
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on the frontline (III), major john egan
pairing: major john egan x major nessa dixon content: the reality of war catches up with nessa. warning: mentions of getting sick, blood, war tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum
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“Make some room, boys,” Nessa said with an unusual sense of glee as she walked toward the group of pilots on standby. The sun beamed against her face, the breeze kissed the exposed skin of her neck, and her body was on fire beneath her flightwear, but she was ready. From behind her dark sunglasses, she saw John’s eyebrow raise and Gale look at her quizzically. “Colonel said I’m up with Egan. Medical purposes. I’m with you next, Cleven.” 
She peeled her backpack off her shoulders and threw it at their feet. “You mind taking that up for me?” The majors looked at each other, but nonetheless, John grabbed her backpack and slung it over his shoulder. His eyes raked her figure as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pants.
Her outfit was just slightly different than what she wore on a day-to-day basis. Rather than her shirt and pants being separate, they were together. A green jumpsuit covered her body, save for the few buttons she left undone He saw a gold necklace wrapped around her neck with a pendant that sat at the valley of her breasts. On top of that were the dog tags she refused to take off. 
Across her chest and shoulders were the series of accolades, pins, and lapels she’d been rewarded for her years of service. In her mouth was a piece of gum that she chewed on violently. She was nervous, John noted. And it didn’t go unnoticed by him. But, she kept a smile on her face and kept her upbeat attitude the best she could. If only she knew how quickly it would falter. 
“I shouldn’t be surprised that the Colonel put you on his craft,” Gale chuckled, guiding her to the belly of the plane. His teasing didn’t fall on deaf ears. Instead of replying, she chose to send him a wink. John, who’d entered first, held his hand out to her which she took. His hands were strong, calloused, and warm. 
Nessa grunted as she used Gale’s hands as a boost, then was yanked onto the aircraft. She was stabilized by John’s hands; one on her back and the other on her hip, dangerously close to her bottom. “You good?” he asked her. Nessa didn’t meet his eyes but nodded. “All good.” 
“See you in the air, B,” Gale nodded at the pair and sauntered off to his aircraft to prepare for takeoff. John sighed lowly and looked around the aircraft, wondering where to start. A flight nurse was new to him, just as he assumed it must have been new to her. 
“Alright, here’s the fort,” he started, gesturing toward the front of the plane where the controls and wheels were. Nessa’s eyes scanned the control board. So many buttons, switches, and wires to manage at once. In the corner of John’s fort was a picture. A picture of him and Gale at their flight academy graduation. She smiled. They were truly two peas in a pod; inseparable. 
“Navigators work back here,” he pointed to the small table toward the back of the plane. “Exit is the same way you came in. Parachutes are here. You need one at all times. Never know what’s going to happen. Since you’re not navigating or flying, you put one on now.” 
Nessa glanced at the contraption the major handed her. She was smart, sure, but the parachute looked more complicated than she needed it to be. No words were spoken as she raised her eyes to meet his, a silent help being spoken through multi-colored irises. John chuckled lightly and unbuckled the parachute and slid it over her arms. “S’supposed to fit like a backpack.” His fingers carefully snapped it into place at her chest. “You good?” 
Nessa’s eyes twinkled, “All good, Major.” 
-
“Stay with me, dammit!” Nessa’s voice was strained as her voice raised an octave. Being in the air was terrifying. It was nothing like she’d expected it to be. She knew she’d dodge and dive a few bullets, that she’d mend a gunshot wound to the leg, or that she’d flinch from the turbulence, but she was sadly mistaken. 
She’d fought her way out of her coat, parachute, and hat. The mask across her face was hardly hanging on for dear life as she fought tooth and nail to stop an abdominal bleed. An enemy plane shot at the American aircraft. The bullet found a home in an amateur pilot. 
Her hands were stained crimson, blanketed with warm blood as she hovered over the pilot to keep the bleeding at bay. The bullet was too deep. She tried to retrieve it, but she didn’t have the materials needed. 
Guilt drowned her as the pilot’s breathing went shallow. His eyelids struggled to stay open. She snatched her oxygen mask off and placed it on his face forcefully. His face began to fade as her eyes filled with tears. “Wake up! Stay with me. Please…” Silence. 
Nessa’s face softened as the tears finally fell. Her tongue ran across the bottom row of her teeth as she moved her jaw from left to right to delay the sob that bubbled deep within her. The emotional turbulence outweighed the physical turbulence of the plane; she hardly recognized they had landed. 
She felt a gloved hand on her shoulder. She lifted her head hung heavy and turned slowly. Her mascara was smeared, her eyes were bloodshot red, and her eyelids were swollen. She was destroyed. She’d seen many things from the war, but this was too much. “C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here so the coroners can get his body.” 
She shoved his hand off her shoulder and shook her head rapidly. “No, I’ll wait here.” From above her, John sighed heavily. The grief would wreck her even more once the reality fully set in. 
“Nessa...”
Fire rose in her eyes. “This is my job, John. I am to offer comfort and stay with the patient until the appropriate physicians come. This is my job. Let me do my job. Please.” Her request drifted to a broken whisper as she asked herself what she signed up for. 
-
“How is she?” he heard Gale’s voice like water in his ears after a pool day; garbled and incoherent. 
Nessa Dixon prided herself on being a strong woman, being able to handle anything that life threw her way. She was humbled. By the time the coroners retrieved the soldier’s body from the plane and her feet were planted on the ground, she was hunched over, coughing violently as she emptied all that was within her. The little strength she had left was fleeting and she hit the concrete with a thud. John dropped her backpack against the ground and raced toward her. He tapped the side of her face but she didn't respond. “I need a nurse!”
John hoisted the nurse in his arms and took long strides to the infirmary. “Exhausted. It was too much for her. Find a new nurse to be in the air or keep everyone ready on the ground, but she can’t handle what she saw up there.” The major brushed passed the slew of soldiers who watched in curiosity. Major John Egan carried Major Nessa Dixon, the most highly trained nurse, into the infirmary. What a contradiction. 
“What happened to her?” asked a familiar woman. Bessie. One of the lower-ranked nurses, but still a Lieutenant proven by the badge on her shirt, nonetheless. She plucked some gloves out of her pocket and slid them over her hands.
John met her light eyes, careful of his volume so as to not disrupt Nessa, though the likelihood of her waking up at the moment was slim. Lowly, he said, “My guess is shock. Exhaustion. She threw up and passed out as she stepped out of the plane. M’sure you have something for that.” 
The younger nurse nodded and instructed him to bring her to the nearest empty bed. Nessa hardly moved a muscle. John stood off to the side, giving the Lieutenant room to work. Bessie had a diagnosis within a few minutes. The answer was simple: shock and exhaustion. Nessa, along with the other nurses, had been working day and night with minimal rest and nutrition. The events on the plane were too much and her body shut down. 
“When will she wake up?” John questioned. Bessie shrugged. “I give it three days, max. She’s in a state of sedation without the medicine. When the body crashes, it needs adequate time to rest and recover. So, like I said, it could be within the next 24 to 72 hours. If she doesn’t wake up by then or stops breathing, she’d need to be transported to a hospital.” 
John’s stomach clenched. How was he reliving the same scenario he experienced not too long before? He ran a hand down his face and palmed his mouth. Through his fingers, he asked, “Can I stay with her at least?” 
Bessie’s lip turned upward as to smile just a little. She nodded once. “As long as you have the time, go for it. I may need you to leave during any extreme circumstances, but you’re permitted to stay. I’ll check in soon.” 
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” 
At that, Bessie smiled wider. Respect was easily granted with the 100th, she recognized, and she was thankful. “Anytime, Major.” 
-
She woke up 53 hours later. It was like she was pulled out of her body as she gasped and searched the room sporadically. The senior Major adjacent to her lowered the book in his hands and raised an eyebrow. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Her eyes moved slowly. 
“What happened?” God, she sounded awful. Without much thought, John grabbed the cup of water by his foot and handed it to her. The cup was empty within seconds. 
“Passed out. Been out for a little over two days, I guess. Yeah, 53 hours is two days and some change, right?” 
Panic rose like flames. Nessa sat up as quickly as her body would allow. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. From behind his book, John raised his eyebrow. “Sit down, Nessa.” 
She cut her eyes toward him. “I was out for 2 days! I can go do my job now.” 
“But you can’t.” John set his book beside him and crossed his arms with a shrug. “Out for two days. You haven’t even eaten, what are you going to do out there? Pass out again? You’ve got nurses out there to handle it, they’ll be fine.” 
Nessa inhaled deeply. Her eyes grew dark in frustration and her voice lowered as she thought about her words. “Telling me how to do my job is quite disrespectful, Major.” 
John leaned forward in opposition. She knew how to stand her ground, a skill that she had no choice but to learn in her field of work, especially since she worked with men. However, this was different. Her health was on the line. How could she want him to take care of himself yet refuse to do the same?
“And not knowing how to take a step back is disrespectful to yourself, Major. I suggest you get comfortable, Bessie will be here soon.” Once again, he grabbed his book and perched his feet on the edge of her bed. The low growl she released didn’t fall on deaf ears, but he chose to ignore it anyway. 
She’d be fine. Hopefully.
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ratbastardbilly · 1 year
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He's danger prone.
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buysomecheese · 6 months
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I think I could've kissed you today and
I think that would've killed me and
I don't think that's fair.
-it's not fair.
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mrsbarnesblog · 5 months
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Push him
masterlist ko-fi ao3
Avenger! Bucky Barnes x PR manager! Reader
Summary: When you became Avenger’s PR manager, you basically got your dream job, but one particular man, who had been staring at you every single time you were around, made you wonder whether it was because he hated or liked you.
Word count: 6.8K
Warnings: smut, bucky is obsessed with your short skirts, bucky is recovering, grumpy x sunshine, good friend natasha romanoff, office sex, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, pet names
Author's note: ‼️so if you haven't seen my previous post, this is my new account. you may have seen this work on my old one (@inmyicyworld) but it was terminated and @support doesn't respond to me. please, follow and share this work. I'm going to reupload all of my old fanfics and hope to get your support ❤️
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The work at the Avengers Tower wasn’t what you expected it to be. Tony Stark found you while you were working for another company a little bit more than a month ago. He was amazed by the way you were dealing with problems, by your charisma, and by your ability to find a common language with everyone. That’s how he knew that he had to have you as his partner and a part of the team.
The next day, you got a call directly from Tony, asking you to quit your job and accept his offer to work as Avenger’s PR manager. It would be an understatement to say that your jaw dropped to the floor when you heard your salary.
He said that you were totally worth it and that working with a group of such different people was not easy, but he was sure that you would be perfect at this. So on that exact day, you decided to take a risk and accept the challenge.
One thing that you hated about your previous job was the strict dress code. It was simply far from your style because you hated wearing the same basic and boring clothes every day. Tony said that it was the last thing that he cared about, and in that building, no one was obligated to wear certain clothes.
You knew that it was your lucky ticket.
He was actually really friendly and funny in person. You talked a lot during your first day while he was showing you all the necessary places in the tower: your office, his lab, common rooms and kitchens, avenger’s rooms, and even a beautiful garden on the roof. By the way, Tony allowed you to decorate your office however you wanted and gave you the number of the person who was responsible for this.
In short, it was perfect.
You were giddy with excitement on your first actual day of work. According to the plan, you had to meet with the Avengers and then arrange a few meetings for Tony.
It felt like you spent hours before your mirror deciding what to wear. Your whole room was a mess, and when you finally completed your look, which consisted of a short black skirt, beige long sleeve and a brown leather jacket on top, it was already time to go.
Everyone in the room heard you before they saw you because of the sound of your heels clicking on the wood floor.
“Don’t tell me that this is our PR manager, Stark.” Black Widow looked you up and down with a smirk on her face. “You look good, hun. Finally, someone with a taste in this boring group of losers, besides me and Wanda, of course.”
“Hi.” You nicely smiled, not ready to get a compliment as soon as you stepped into the room.
“Ohh, she’s also the sweet one.” Another red-headed woman, Wanda, said with a smile.
“You both, shut up.” Tony stood up from the armchair with a pack of chips in one hand and threw the other one over your shoulder. “Want some?” He asked you, showing the food, but you slightly shook your head. “Whatever… Now, you all listen here, this is Y/N; she’s our new PR manager. I stole her from someone because she’s incredibly smart and good at her job. Starting from this moment, she’s going to cover up your asses and organize all this stupid media stuff.” You blushed at his words but were still silent. “So, this is Natasha, Wanda, Steve, Bucky, and Th—wait, you already know them, right?”
“Yeah, of course I do.” You chuckled. “By the way, it’s nice to meet all of you. I hope we can work together, and I will have a chance to be helpful.” You took a look at all the Avengers in the room, and everyone looked at you with a smile except one person, whose eyes sent shivers down your spine.
When you looked at Bucky, you saw that his eyes were scanning your body with an unreadable expression, and you suddenly felt really weird in your short skirt. Your eyes met, and his famous death stare was really quite scary. He didn’t like you? You two were staring at each other for a few seconds, and you believe that the rest of the team noticed it because Steve loudly cleared his throat to get your attention.
He asked you a few questions about you, and Clint and Sam made a few jokes. Everything was fine as you all chatted for a little bit until Tony said that everyone should get ready for tomorrow’s mission, and you too have a lot to do.
You went back to your office only with the thought that, during this whole time, Bucky was staring at you like he wanted to burn a hole in your head.
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Later that day, Bucky was sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of already-cold coffee while Steve was making himself dinner. It was quiet besides the sound of the cooking food, or at least Bucky didn’t listen to Steve’s words because he was too deep in his thoughts.
Well, he was mostly thinking about you and his mixed feelings about this interaction. As soon as you walked into the room, you had his whole attention. He couldn’t help but stare at your body, at your open legs, and at your smiley face. He knew that he sounded like a total creep and that it was inappropriate to look at other people this way, but he had never seen women dress this way. Was it normal right now? Was it new fashion trends or something? The only women that he had been interacting with for the past few years were women from Wakanda, and in the tower it was mostly Nat and Wanda, and he had never seen them dress like that. Or, at least, he just didn’t care enough to notice it.
When he saw you today, he felt something in him, and he didn’t like that feeling. It was something new, something that he had never experienced before, but his body became tense and his stomach tightened. It was weird.
“What, you're still trying to process her?” He was distracted from his thoughts by Sam, who came to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water from the fridge. Bucky looked at him and furrowed his brows when he saw a shitty smirk.
“What the fuck are you talking about? And why are you smiling like an idiot?” Bucky growled.
“Because you’re thinking about Y/N.” His words caught Steve’s attention, and he came closer.
“That’s why you two were staring at each other like that?” Steve said this while drying his hands with a towel. “Do you like her? I think she seems cute.”
“No, I don’t. She just looks... different.”
“Oh, the old man got excited by the beautiful woman and her short skirt.” Sam’s smile got even wider as he started teasing Bucky. “You know, I wanted to ask her out, but I can take a step back if you like her.” He leaned on the table so he could get under Bucky’s skin even more.
“I do not like her.”
“So you’re okay if I ask her out? Maybe I should go to her office right now.” Sam pretended like he was really thinking about this.
“Sam...” Steve said.
“You both are just getting on my fucking nerves.” Bucky’s chair almost fell to the floor when he angrily stood up. “Do whatever the fuck you want, I don’t care about you or her.” With these words, he stormed out of the room, and Sam started to laugh out loud.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” Steve shook his head like a disappointed mother whose kids always fight.
“That was fun, and maybe it’ll push him to ask her out. She’s hot, but not my type; I’m just trying to help this idiot.”
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You have been working with the Avengers for over a month now. This work was literally a dream from any angle. You were making a lot of money, doing the job that you really liked, and found a lot of close friends.
Almost everyone on the team was very close to you. Natasha and Wanda were particularly your best friends. Sam was the funniest person you’ve ever met, and he always found time to tease you or to make a compliment. Bruce and Clint were like your uncles—a little bit old and annoying, but always with a piece of advice for you. A few times, you and Steve met at the gym when you came to work too early, so he was happy to train with you. Who would’ve thought that Captain America himself would teach you how to throw a punch?
The only pain in your ass was Bucky Barnes. Well, to be fair, he didn’t do anything. You’re not even sure that you heard his voice. He was always just staring. Any time that you came to the room and he was there, you either saw him from the corner of your eyes or felt his burning gaze on your back.
To this day, you had no problems with your job. You organized a few interviews for Tony and Steve, talked to the newspapers and magazines, and held some meetings, but right now, sitting on your white chair, you felt weirdly nervous.
Bucky had to come here any minute to talk about a recent accident. Apparently, he almost knocked out someone on the street. All the press and news sources were taking advantage of the situation and using loud headlines to cast a shadow on Bucky and get more views. “The Winter Soldier is back?”. “The Winter Soldier almost killed an innocent man on the street.”
It has been the biggest topic on the internet for the past few hours. Most of the people were furious and wrote too many inappropriate and rude things. So you asked FRIDAY to call Bucky so you could know the whole situation and give comments to the press as soon as possible.
You started thinking about what you should do, or, to be more honest, how to behave around Bucky, because a few days ago two red-headed women that you now considered your best friends assured you that he is in love with you and just doesn't know what to do with it.
You told them everything about his weird actions—that he always looked at you, checked your clothes, and stayed silent. Natasha and Wanda just looked at each other with smirks on their faces.
“Why are you looking at each other like that?” You arched an eyebrow and crossed your hands across your chest.
“Please, don't tell me that you don't understand his behavior.” Natasha looked at you and sipped her coffee.
Well, I wouldn’t have asked you if I knew the reason.”
“Honey, he lust likes you and thinks that you’re hot. You remember that he’s actually an old man, right? Women from his time didn’t dress like that, and you look really sexy.” Wanda’s words made Nat nod her head as you looked weirdly at both of them.
“That’s bullshit, Wanda. This can’t be true. I'm sure that he just doesn’t like me and thinks that I look too revealing. Or he just hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time.”
“Some time ago, I came to the kitchen at like 2 a.m. just in my lingerie because I thought everyone was asleep. Barnes was sitting there with a book, and you know what? He just said “Hi” and didn’t even look at me again while I was making a sandwich. And when he sees you, he just can’t take his eyes away and stares like an idiot.”
You stayed silent, thinking about the girls' words, because everything seemed pretty reasonable.
“And what should I do?”
“I don’t know, seduce him or something.” Natasha just casually said it, and your eyebrows flew to your hairline.
“Wait, do you like him?” Wanda asked you, and Natasha huffed like it was obvious.
“I mean… he’s beautiful. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him, but Steve and Sam love him, and I trust their opinion.” You stopped trying to put together your thoughts. “To be honest, sometimes I think about the fact that he’s probably one of the hottest people I’ve ever seen. When we studied history at school, all the girls fell in love with America's Boy, and I with his best friend.”
“Then don’t wait. Just give him some hints, because I swear, for the ladies’ man, he’s too slow.” Natasha’s words made you smile. “Try to get closer to him; I don’t know, flash him with your boobs and look at the reaction. Push him a little bit. He’ll break.”
The loud knock on the door almost made you jump out of your chair.
“Come in.” You said this as you stood up and fixed your white dress and cardigan.
Bucky came probably to the lightest and most cozy room in the whole tower. A lot of white and pastel colors, comfy sofa and armchairs, and paintings on the wall. And in the middle of this was you—always perfectly looking, in heels, in a too-short dress, and with a smile on your face. He couldn't stop himself from looking at the smooth skin of your legs. It’s probably so soft...
“Em– Hi.” You awkwardly stood while his eyes were scanning your body. He didn’t answer; he just nodded. “So I think that we can sit there, it’s more comfortable.” You wave your hand at the sofa with a fluffy cover on it. “Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, soda?” Bucky just shook his head while he was trying to comfortably sit with a frown on his face.
You deeply inhaled while trying to be a professional. You didn’t know what was wrong with this man, but his behavior started to get on your nerves.
“Bucky, we can’t work together if you keep ignoring me. You can say if you don’t like something, because I don’t want to be on bad terms with anyone.” You sat across from him and crossed your legs.
“I don’t know what I should say.” His deep voice filled the room. Bucky took a pillow that was lying near him and started playing with the fringe. “I feel weird when I’m around you, and I don’t like it. I have thoughts that I shouldn’t have.” His eyes scanned your body once again, and you wondered if he was talking about what you thought.
“Can I do something to change it?”
“No.” He deeply inhaled. “It’s my own problem, and it’s not your job to try to fix it. Anyway, why am I here?”
“I think you know why. I need to ask you about the recent incident because I have a meeting with the press in less than an hour, and I have to give them a good reason why you did that. People didn’t take all that information too well.” You saw that Bucky sadly smiled and looked you directly in the eyes, making goosebumps appear on your skin. “So, tell me what’s happened.”
“You know that whatever you say won’t change people’s opinions about me, right? No one forgave me, and they’re still looking for a chance to call me a murderer.” He tried to hide behind a smile, but you saw everything written in his eyes. Bucky hurt himself with his own words.
“I understand how you feel about this whole situation, but we should address all those rumors because things might get worse.” You leaned on your knees with your hands, and Bucky’s eyes immediately fell on your boobs.
Push him a little bit. He’ll break.
You tried to hold back a smirk.
“Fuck.” He mumbled. “ I– um– I was walking from the coffee shop to the tower. It was another busy street with hundreds of people, but I still didn’t expect someone to touch me. That man jumped on my back or something, and my instincts just worked. I threw him over myself on the ground and put a hand on his throat. Turned out he wanted to take a picture. But I panicked because there are many people who want to take revenge and who might want to do it literally any second. I’m always ready for this.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but you could hear the pain in his voice.
You felt deeply sorry for the man before you. Even if he was cold and acted weird around you, you knew that it was his way to protect himself. After everything he came through, you couldn’t blame him.
“Do you still go to the therapist?” You gently asked.
“Yes, two times a week.” Bucky nervously ran his right hand through his hair while still holding your pillow in the metal one.
“Okay, that’s good; I can work with this information.” You nodded and reached for your journal on the coffee table. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Bucky. I really appreciate it. I’ll do my best to convince people that it was not your fault, okay?”
“Thank you, Y/N.” Bucky stood up, carefully putting your pillow in its place, and left your office without another word, while you were sitting there with a smile.
Maybe the girls were right.
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After that day, everything between you and Bucky became even weirder. Yes, he wasn’t totally silent now, and you’ve got a few “Hi”, but his stares felt different.
It was like you two were playing some kind of game. Since you knew that he didn’t actually hate you, you tried to do as Natasha and Wanda said—get his attention and push more. And God, you loved that game.
Almost every day you found an opportunity or excuse to see him in common rooms or in the corridors of the Tower, and you made sure that Bucky noticed you. You wore tighter clothes, walked right past him, and looked at him with a smile. You knew that it was working because a few times Bucky just suddenly left the room while he was mumbling something.
It was almost 8 p.m., but you were still working on schedule for the next week. There was some kind of charity event, and Tony required you to convince everyone to go there because more Avengers can attract more sponsors and money. As always, Bucky was the one who refused to go there. He simply sees no reason for him to be there, and he doesn’t want to be there alone because he knows that Captain America will be the biggest star, and such a social butterfly as Sam will leave him in a second.
You decided that it would be better to talk to Bucky in person, but you didn’t want to lose a chance to get his attention, so you went by yourself instead of asking FRIDAY.
You looked in the small mirror to check your makeup and hair and went straight to where you knew Bucky was spending his evening. As you walked in a dark room filled with only light from the TV, you saw Sam and Steve sitting on the couch and Bucky on the armchair near them. You quietly walk to him and just casually sit on the armrest. His eyebrows flew to his hairline, and you heard that the chewing from the boys stopped. Bucky had no choice but to put his metal arm on your lower back.
“I need you in my office. You have to talk about the next charity event. Could you please give me some of your time?” You quietly asked and lowered yourself closer to him. Bucky was just staring at you for a few seconds, but then slightly nodded.
Bucky followed you to your office, not without getting smirks from the boys,and then stood near your table with his hands in his pockets.
“Don’t you want to sit?” You said and stepped closer to him.
“No.”
“Um– okay.” You took the papers from your table and stood in front of Bucky. “So, you know that there is going to be a charity event, and I’m responsible for getting all the Avengers there, and you are one of them.”
“I’m not going, I already told Tony.” He just shrugged.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not needed there. I’m not an actual hero, people have no interest in me, especially when there will be Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor, you know? Plus, I have no interest in sitting alone the whole night.” You saw that Bucky tried to be casual about it, but he just put salt on his own wound.
“Don’t say that, Bucky. There are people who want to see you there, you have a lot of fans. You know, I’m going there too, so if you don't mind, we can–”
“What game are you playing with me?” He interrupted you. Bucky straightened his shoulders, which made him look even bigger, and started moving closer to you, putting you in a trap between him and your desk.
“W– what do you mean?” You couldn't control your body as you started to tremble a little bit from the power that this man had. As soon as you bumped into the table, his hands landed on both sides of you, and his face was right in front of yours.
“Don’t act clueless, Y/N. I see what you’re doing.” He stopped for a second, studying your face. “You know, I tried to convince myself that you do all of this by accident, but now I’m sure that you’re just playing your little game. Am I right, doll?” You two were staring at each other, and you felt almost nauseous from different emotions.
He was so fucking beautiful up close. Piercing blue eyes, pink lips, and light stubble You know why many women thought that James Barnes was charming. If he had more confidence, he would’ve been unstoppable.
Your eyes slowly shifted lower to his arms and chest as you remained silent. He was big, with well-trained muscles that were seen through the tight black t-shirt. Both arms were stretched near you, so you had a really good opportunity to look at the smooth tanned skin and beautiful dark vibranium. You felt how your lower stomach tightened just from the thought of getting those pretty hands on your body…
You were pulled out of your head by a sudden movement of Bucky’s hand, which gripped your face and pushed your lips together. He was obviously dominating in the kiss, as if he were desperate to taste you. The tip of his tongue brushed over your lips, asking for entrance, which you happily gave him. The moan came out of you when Bucky moved away and looked you in the eyes, still holding your face.
“This whole fucking time I thought that I was a creep for looking at you, but now I know that you did everything on purpose, doll.” His eyes moved between your eyes and mouth. “All these short skirts and dresses that almost showed me everything underneath it, all these innocent smiles and looks... You did it to tease me?”
“Not at first...” You mumbled. “But you were acting so weird, and girls said that you liked me and just didn’t know what to do. I wanted to find out whether it was true or not.”
“Fuck, if I knew earlier that this was your plan, I would’ve bent you over the nearest surface, baby.” Bucky moved a little closer, brushing his lips over yours. “Do you know how fucking hot and gorgeous you are? I haven’t felt that way in many, many years. Just wanna kiss you and make you mine.”
“And what’s stopping you from this, Sargent?” You asked with a smile and moved your hand to the back of his neck to gently play with the baby hairs.
“You’re gonna be my death, doll face.” He mumbled before leaning closer and kissing you again.
This time, you started to touch each other's bodies. Bucky’s warm and cold hands landed on your thighs, playing with the hem of the skirt and rubbing your soft skin after he lifted you up a little bit and helped you sit on the table, staying in between your legs. Your own hands were moving up and down his broad chest, discovering all of his muscles.
“Bucky…” You whined into the kiss when his finger brushed against the edge of your already wet panties.
“Tell me.” Bucky moved away from your swollen lips and left a path of kisses down your neck. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.” He sucked a sensitive spot under your ear, which made you moan.
“I don’t know. Just do anything, please.” You both breathed heavily. You felt like you were too hot; your lower stomach ached, and your underwear was soaking wet. Bucky was looking at you with such lust in his eyes that you wanted him to destroy you.
“Lay back.” He ordered you as one of his hands went higher under your skirt and slid your black lace panties down your legs. You didn’t miss how Bucky shoved him into the back pocket of his jeans with a smirk on his face.
You quickly followed his instructions and just threw all the papers from our table on the floor. You’ll regret it later, but now you don't care. The sudden move of Bucky's metal arm grabbed and pulled your shirt, and all the buttons scattered on the floor, making you gasp in disbelief.
“Bucky! It was expensive.”
“Sorry, I’ll buy you whatever you want, I promise. But now I need to see you all.” He growled and fell to his knees before you. “Fuck, doll, such a pretty pussy. I’m gonna make a mess with her.”
Bucky’s hands grabbed both of your legs and threw them over his shoulders. He dragged your skirt higher, not wanting to take it off of you. His head fell on your right legs as he left a few kisses on your sensitive skin.
“Bucky please! Don’t tease me!” You desperately whined.
“I need a moment to appreciate both of you. I haven’t done it since the 40's, you know that?”
You wanted to say something, but his mouth on your most delicate part of your body left you speechless and made you grab his hair. Bucky’s tongue was gentle at first, just to get a taste of you and tease you a little bit. His tongue started to play with your clit, circling it and applying different pressures to find out what made your body twitch. It looked like he was enjoying it too; you felt deep grunts escaping his mouth as he was trying to catch every drop that came out of you.
Your loud moans filled the room as Bucky found the perfect place and made motions that made you see stars. A hand in his hair tightened even more when you felt one of his fingers at your entrance.
“M-hm, so wet and tight for me.” He pulled away a little bit, looking at how his two fingers came in and out of you, all shiny with your juices. His darkened eyes were firmly glued to your pussy, which was trying to get more, and his mouth opened a little bit at the sight. “Taking my fingers like a good girl.” Bucky attacked you with his mouth again. This time he was licking your folds, mixing his saliva with your juices. When the feeling of his nose touching your bundle of nerves came through your whole body, you gripped Bucky’s dark locks even harder, particularly trying to ride his face, and he had to put his metal hand on your hips so you wouldn’t move.
Your body tensed when he curled his fingers right on your g-spot, sucking your clit like a hungry man.
“Bucky—fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop!” You whined with tears running down your face.
A few more movements of his magical mouth, and you fell over the edge. Your legs tightened around his head, tingles went all over your body, and the loudest moan mixed with Bucky’s name came out of you as you were riding on the wave of your orgasm.
Bucky didn’t stop, though.
He made sure to lick every drop that came out of you, to the point that you had to beg him to stop because you were too sensitive.
“That was—“ You were trying to catch a breath. “That was the best orgasm I've ever had, oh my god. If you did it for the first time in like seventy years, I can’t imagine what you can do with practice.”
Bucky dragged you up by your neck, so you would be at the same level with him. His hand moved your hips closer to the edge of the table, and you felt how hard he was through those jeans.
“I can practice whenever you’ll allow me, doll.” He put his warm hand on your face to kiss you. The taste of your own release on his tongue made you moan.
“Need you inside of me, please.” Your hands automatically started to pull up his shirt, but he stopped you.
“We don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to.”
You were silent for a few seconds. “Why wouldn’t I want to take your shirt off?”
“You know, my arm and scars...”
“Do you really think that I care about it?” You left a few kisses on his cheek. “I think that your arm is hot, by the way, and I want to feel your skin on mine, Sarge.” It was enough for Bucky to pull off his shirt and stay before you half-naked.
Your hands moved to trace every muscle, every birthmark, and every scar on his chest, and you felt that this moment was so intimate, especially because of Bucky’s stare. He looked at you with such adoration and softness that you wanted to melt.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” He mumbled and kissed you with even more passion.
Bucky ripped off the rest of your shirt and quickly took off your matching black bra, gripping your breasts with both hands and taking your left nipple in his hot mouth.
You dug nails into Bucky’s back as he was sucking and licking your nipples, leaving them wet in the cold air. It felt good. So fucking good—his mouth was truly amazing. But the emptiness inside of you was almost painful, and you were clenching around nothing.
“Bucky! Sarge, please, I need you.” You almost cried and dragged his head by the hair back to your mouth.
“Baby, baby, wait– “ His hot breath was touching your lips, but he stopped your hands, which were unbuckling his belt. “Baby, I don’t have a condom. Fuck, do you have one?”
“We don’t have to use it... I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.” Your legs wrapped tighter around Bucky’s waist and put him closer to your naked core. He swore that he could feel your heat through his jeans and boxers.
“Fuck, I love twenty-first century... I’m clean too, can’t even catch a disease with this serum shit.”
His words were like a green light to you. You didn’t want to wait even a second more. So you just took off his pants with such speed and impatience that it made Bucky chuckle. With the last movement, all of his clothes were on the floor, and you sat on your table, frozen because of the sight before you.
Bucky’s thick and perfectly long dick was the best fucking thing that you’ve ever seen. Pink and a little bit curled to his abdomen. Your mouth watered just thinking about tasting it. Or how well he’ll stretch you out. You didn’t even notice how your mouth opened a little bit, and you unconsciously wrapped your hand around him.
“You’re gonna destroy me, Bucky.” You mumbled, to which you heard only a deep chuckle. Your eyes moved back to Bucky’s smiley face.
“I hope so.”
Two different hands landed on your thighs again, spreading and lifting them up. You both looked down at where his cock almost touched your bare folds, and the first contact made you moan loudly. Bucky took the base of his cock, giving himself a few pumps, and moved the tip up and down your pussy, moving easily because of the mixture of your juices.
You grabbed his forearm and whined at the action.
“Ready, doll?” He was trying to be tough and strong, but you saw how he nervously licked his lips, the tremble of his flesh hand, and the tension in his abdomen. But you still vigorously nodded.
It was different from everything you’ve ever experienced. He was big but tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to hurt you. He only pushed a few inches, but you already wanted to cry from all the feelings inside of you. Pain mixed with extreme pleasure.
Bucky was trying so hard to control his motions and go slow, but God, it wasn’t easy. From the first touch of his cock, it felt like he had gone to heaven. He knew that sex was good, he remembers it, but the feeling of you and your warm body that so gracefully greeted him inside made him feral. Bucky felt such a need to kiss you that it was almost painful, especially when your swollen lips were a few inches away from his.
He leaned in closer to your lips, but it made him slip deeper into you, which made you both loudly moan into each other's mouths.
“Fuck– doll, you’re so warm and tight, oh my god.” Bucky mumbled as the grip on your hips became harder. It’ll probably leave bruises, but you didn’t care.
The feeling of him inside of you was overwhelming. He was so deep and stretched you just the way that you wanted, and you almost cried from pleasure.
“Please, Bucky, please move!”
His hips slightly moved once, and it felt like his mood instantly changed. You were suddenly pushed back on your table, and your legs, still in heels, were thrown on Bucky’s shoulders. His metal hand stayed on your thigh, and the other one fell on your stomach to push your skirt higher on your waist.
“All dressed up for me, baby.” He started slowly moving, burying his cock deep inside, and then leaving only the tip to tease you. “You know how long I wanted to do that, huh? Bend you over and just fuck the shit out of you until you can’t say anything except for my name.”
“Bucky– Sarge, please go faster. Just fuck me, do whatever you want.” You were desperate, yes. But you couldn't help but beg, because you really needed him to keep his promise and fuck the shit out of you.
You reached for his hand on your stomach and interlaced your fingers together.
“If you keep calling me that, I won’t last too long, doll.” His thrusts became harder and faster as your body moved up and down on your table.
Bucky was looking at your drunk-looking face with a slightly open mouth because you couldn’t keep your moans quiet. Your hair was deshiveled, your skin glimmered with sweat, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.
“So beautiful, baby.” Bucky murmured, fucking you harder. The room was filled with loud noises from slapping skin and moans. “You love it when I talk to you like that, huh? Want me to tell you what a good girl you are?” His words definitely did something to you, and you unconsciously tightened around him. “Almost choking my cock, baby, fu-u-ck.”
“Mhm, Sargent, I’m so full of you.” You couldn’t see straight as the tip of his head pressed at the perfect spot with every thrust, it was too much and not enough at the same time.
The wet kisses on the inner side of your thigh sent shivers down your whole body when Bucky started to suck tender skin. His rough movement didn’t stop for a moment, and you knew that your orgasm was getting closer. The warm feeling in your belly slowly became bigger. It was hard for you to cum from sex, but Bucky did it so fast and without even touching your clit.
“C’mon, doll face. I feel ‘ya. Feel how your perfect little pussy is squeezing me. Cum with me, baby, cum on my cock.” His movements were still rough and confident, but you felt the slightest change in the way he was looking at you, how his body trembled a little bit, and the prettiest quiet noises escaped his mouth as Bucky was coming to his own end.
You were completely lost in your pleasure, with strong arms on your body and Bucky’s hard cock that was completely destroying you, so when fingers on your clit started to move in circles, your body slightly jolted up from your table.
“Bucky, Bucky, please—ohmygod, I’m coming!” You cried out loud and grabbed the hard wood under your arms.
“O-oh, fuck, doll, cum with me, please. Yes, squeeze my cock harder, make a mess. ‘M gonna cum.” With the last few pushes of his dick inside of you and movements of the fingers, you both fell from your heights, and the room filled with loud moans of pleasure. The feeling of his hot seed on your walls almost made you faint.
Bucky fell down on your body as your leg slipped from his shoulder. Two strong arms wrapped around you, and Bucky’s face nuzzled into your neck. You don’t know how long you two stayed silent, trying to catch a breath, while your hands gently rubbed Bucky’s back.
When he finally lifted himself up with a metal arm near your face on the table, the look in his eyes sent millions of butterflies to your stomach.
“I don’t even know what to say…” He chuckled and cupped your face with his right hand. “You look so fucking beautiful, Y/N.”
“Even when my makeup, my hair, and my clothes are completely destroyed?” You playfully arched an eyebrow and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers on your hot skin.
“Well, I did it, and I’m satisfied with it. You still look so hot, especially with my dick still inside of you.”
“Bucky!”
“Sorry, sorry. But I’m serious, though. Will you let me take you on a date? Maybe yesterday for lunch or for dinner after work?” His eyes had this little bit of doubt, and you couldn’t stop your wide smile because he was really thinking that you would say “no” after that.
“I will be glad to go out with you, Buck.” You dragged his face closer and gave him the sweetest kiss you could.
Bucky moved away, gently slipping out of you, and you hissed at the empty feeling. He helped you stand up on your shaking legs and handed you your clothes.
“Fuck, you completely destroyed my clothes.” You said as you were standing in front of the mirror. “How will I go home?”
“You can stay in my room.” Bucky came closer to you and helped you make your blouse look more presentable, even without buttons.
“Really?”
“Of course, doll. Just hold your shirt in case we bump into someone in the corridor, but I think everyone is already in their rooms.” Bucky finished dressing up, and you saw your underwear sticking out of his pocket.
“Don’t you want to give me my panties?”
“Na-ah, you’ll have to walk with me dripping out of you.” He gave you a cocky smile and turned all the lights off before wrapping his arm around you and leading you into the hall.
It was completely empty, but the second that you stepped out of the elevator, you saw Bucky’s best friends looking at you. All of you were looking at each other for a few seconds before Sam started hysterically laughing.
“You owe me fifty bucks, idiot!” He said to Steve, who was as red as a tomato. “Good job, Buckaroo, but I really thought that we were gonna ask her on a date first.”
“Fuck off, Willson.” Bucky growled, protectively stepping forward to protect you from their looks.
“Okay, okay, relax, no one’s touching your girl.” He said with a cocky smile on his face. “Let’s go, Steve. You’re too innocent to look at things like this.” Sam took his friend and led him in another direction.
“Asshole.” Bucky growled.
“Everything is okay, Buck, let’s go.” You stepped closer to his room, but he was still standing in his place. “I have to take a shower. Will you come with me, or will you stand here the whole night?” You smirked.
It was everything he needed to finally get closer to you, scoop you into his arms, and carry you into his room to the sound of laughter, which soon turned into moans.
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peachesofteal · 22 days
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Simple Math / Part Ten
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Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Masturbation, dirty (self) talk, brief daddy kink. This fic contains mature themes. Domestic violence. Grooming. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Nurse!reader. Kissing. Lots of dialogue. Bun considers making a friend. Penny is cute. Flirting. Touching. Comfort. Bun refers to herself as "heavy". Simon is Simon. POV switch. Dinner date.
“I’m Philip.”
The handsome brunette smiles, grabbing onto your hand. You blink, trying to understand, trying to make it make sense, when he prompts you with a teasing grin. “This is the part where you tell me your name, sweet thing.” 
Oh. You stumble over it, tongue tied into a million knots, sweat from the Texas sun beating down your back, sweat slicking your shirt to your skin. 
He’s still holding your hand, and you’re standing there with wide, doe eyes, shell shocked. 
He’s… so handsome. And older. Older, and handsome. Polished type, with good teeth and good hair. He looks like he just stepped off the golf course. 
Why is he talking to you? 
He glances down at your drink. 
“You even old enough to be drinkin’ that?” 
“I-“ You’re terrible at lying, and like he can read it on your face, he chuckles. 
“You live around here?” 
“I go to Rice.” 
“A bit young for college, aren’t you?” 
“I just turned eighteen!” You’ve heard it a million times. You’re too young to understand something, or know something, or do something. You don’t get the way the world works yet. You’re not an adult. 
He holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I bet you’re one of the really smart girls that make all us men look like Neanderthals.” Your face heats. 
“N-no. I just… I graduated early. I’m not a know it all.” You defend yourself, desperate to create distance from the usual stereotype, the way most people see you. The way boys see you. 
Too smart. Face buried in a book. Awkward and stiff. Uncool. 
He traces you from head to toe, appreciative gaze grazing over the swell of your hips, the generous curve of your ass. “I didn’t think you were. Too mature for that, I bet.” He croons, and your knees go weak. 
“Y-yeah. A lot of people say I’m really mature.” 
Two things compete for your attention when you open your eyes.
One: there is a soft, lovely song playing downstairs, something spring-like and sweet, vibrant without being too loud.
Two: the house smells like pancakes.
You check your phone, shocked to see you’ve slept for yet another 12 hours. There’s a text from Nia, and a text from your boss.
>You have a lot of time accrued. Take as much as you need. 
That settles that, you guess.
There are also text messages in the group chat, one from Simon, and one from Johnny, coming in only a few minutes ago.
Simon: >Penny gets pancakes on Saturday mornings. They’ll be plenty, come down and eat when you’re ready. 
Johnny: >I’m missing all the good stuff. 
You stretch, cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes, spreading your limbs as far as you can without pushing it too much. You’re sore, uncomfortably so, and still exhausted, but if you stay in bed any longer, you’ll rot.
In the kitchen, Simon holds Penny and a mixing bowl, alternating hands to get a whisk through the batter while humming to his daughter on her hip.
You stop dead in your tracks.
He’s… he’s not wearing the mask. 
You stare at his face, his whole, naked face for the first time, taking in the broad jaw, every shiny white scar, and his (twice, if you had to guess) healed broken nose. He’s handsome, differently from Johnny but no less striking, and you can’t look away, stunned by his raw, depthless and rugged beauty. Penny’s leg has kicked up the hem of his shirt, exposing his midsection, and the flash of skin there feels like a scandal, something you shouldn’t be seeing but cannot get enough of. He looks nothing like you expected and yet… everything you hoped for.
“Morning.” Pen tucks her face into his chest shyly, peeking out from the corner of her eye, curious and cute. “Can you say good morning to bunny?” He bounces her a little, and she giggles.
"Bunny." She says quietly, and Simon laughs.
“That’s right. Good job.” After a second of silence, you try to ask him about the missing mask, but the question gets confused on your tongue, and what comes out instead is clumsy and stunted.
“Your mask.” You cringe, immediately. It’s the first thing that slips loose, insensitive, and uncouth. “I uh, I’m sorry, I’m just… surprised?” you falter, and makes it worse. You think about trying to run back upstairs, hightailing it for the hills when he smiles, and points to the empty stool at the kitchen counter with a batter covered whisk.
“Sit.” There’s already a stack piled high, plain, and ones with big, juicy blueberries. Your favorite. 
“So, pancakes every Saturday?”
“Mhmm.” He settles Penny in her highchair to your left, and pulls an already cooled pancake from the stack, cutting it up into little, tiny pieces with a child’s knife and fork. “Pen and her Da,” he pads some butter across the top of his handiwork, grabbing her sippy cup and filling it with milk. “Have pancakes every Saturday when he’s home. It’s their favorite. Right?” He points at her, “your favorite?” and taps his middle finger to his chin, others outward, straight up. “Your favorite?” Signing?
“Are you teaching her sign?”
“Trying to. Pen’s birth mum is deaf. It’s important to us, that she’s able to connect with her when the time comes. Plus, my hearing is shot. So is Johnny’s. It’s a great way for her to communicate with us.” He strokes some fingers through her curls, and she doesn’t even look up, too busy shoveling as much pancake into her mouth as she can. You have a million questions now, curiosities bubbling to the surface, about Pen’s mum, about her life, about how she came to be their child. All too rude, and too invasive to ask. “Or, to use when she’s feeling sassy and can’t find the words. That happens, too.”
“She’s what…sixteen months?” You watch her intently, unable to not smile when she cheeses at her dad with a mouthful of food, even though your tender skin stings with the movement.
“Yeah. Top percentiles in a lot of things for her age. Said her first word before she was one.” He’s rich with pride, a deep well of love shining in his eyes, and you force your own down to the plate, stifling the ache bleeding from your heart.
“Of course she is.” Penny holds pieces of sticky, syrupy pancake with both hands, attacking them with vigor, smearing her cheeks purple with the squished blueberries.
You need to eat something, but your brain is buzzing, unnatural discomfort stretching long in the back of your mind.
What’re you doing? Sitting here eating pancakes like everything is normal? Like everything’s okay? 
Everything is not okay. 
You drift, back to your apartment, back the venom of Phillip, the hands around your neck, the twist of your shoulder, back slamming into the wall. You can still feel him, still hear him, these memories like all the others, your body beaten on the floor, mind nearly broken. Trying to shift away from the hot end of a cigarette, screaming for help, running through a-
A hand covers yours.
He coaxes the fork from your fingers, metal vibrating within flesh.
“I think… I think I should go back to bed.” You whisper.
“Are you tired?”
“No… yeah. I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to run away, you know.” He flips a pancake onto your plate from the stack. “Just because you were somewhere else for a little bit.” Your cheeks burn. “We’ve got a pretty nice couch in the living room though, if you want some time alone and don’t feel too keen on the stairs.” Saturday morning pancakes and curling up on the couch? It sounds so nice, so normal, and must show on your face, because he chuckles. “Help yourself. You might have to share the TV though, in a bit. We watch baby Einstein on Saturdays, and she’ll need some entertaining for a minute while I get ready.” Your lips twist, an entire hearth lighting up in the bottom of your heart.
“Alright.”
Baby Einstein is as enthralling as you thought it would be, though Penny disagrees. She stares at the screen, wide eyed, open mouthed, sippy cup long forgotten, and even Simon struggles to get her attention after returning from getting dressed.
You force your eyes away from the strain of his thighs in blue jeans.
“We’re goin’ down to the hospital.” He tells you, pulling her upward over the back of the couch and rubbing his nose through her curls. It’s still… weird, to see his whole face. To clearly watch his expressions, sublime bliss pushing his mouth upward whenever he looks at his daughter. “Want to come?”
“I can’t, not if I’m taking time off. It… looks bad to admin. I can probably go in at night but, during the day is just a recipe for disaster.”
“Of course.” He looks around, for what you don’t know, shoulders tensing, then relaxing. “Well, you’ve got the remote. And my number. Are you… going to be, okay? Alone?”
Say yes. 
You can’t. All you can do… is nod.
“Okay well if you’re not. Just call.” You nod again, getting to your feet. Once you’re standing, you’re out of place, flailing in their living room, about to be here alone, with your memories, your poisoned mind.
What’re you doing? You’ve ruined everything. Broken all your rules. 
“We can stay.” Simon steps close, hand grazing the middle of your back, and you shake your head.
“No, no- I… I’m sorry.”
“You don’t-“
“Yes, I do.” Your voice shakes, and you slam your eyes shut. You can’t do this. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m putting you in danger, and I… I’m putting myself in danger and I’m being so- so stupid, Simon.” His gaze is heavy, serious, and he steps around you, sliding Penny into her bounce seat, turning it to face baby Einstein.
“Listen to me.”  As he returns, he reaches, carefully pulling you close, close enough you’re nearly in his chest, timing the rise and fall of his diaphragm. “We are safe, you are safe, sweetheart. ‘m not going to let anything happen to you, or Penny, or any of us. Alright?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Tell me.” You almost laugh, but something comes over you instead, something delirious and desperate. You lean into him, letting him hold you, hand smoothing over the back of your head. “You can tell me. You can trust us. We’ll take care of you.”
God, you want to. You want to so bad it aches, burns a ravenous fire in your heart. You want tell him, let them in. Tell them everything.
“Bun.” He murmurs, bringing you back, a finger under your chin.
“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s… it’s too much.”
“It’s alright.” He soothes, but doesn’t pull away, and you’re drawn in like a magnet, rising to the balls of your feet, stuck in a trance, luring you closer.
He meets your halfway.
And then-
He’s kissing you, plush lips on yours, pancakes and fresh laundry and stained-glass windows of sanctuary on his tongue.
You’re standing in the sun, in the trance of another spell.
It’s a mouthful of butterscotch and maple. Sweet, delicious breakfast in bed, lazy Saturday mornings and whispered, tender words. It’s life unlike your own, a home, the promise of a love not fractioned, chipped away, or strangled… but multiplied, magnified. His touch is painfully gentle, slow and easy, encouraging you to follow his lead, carefully constructing a tiny universe to disappear to, where shadow cannot touch. A fantasy, cocoon of stars, ambrosial and sacrosanct, an escape from the hell nipping at your heels, the hell chasing you through your dreaming and waking hours. 
The anxious hum radiating through every cell in your body flatlines.
The girl in the mirror weeps.
Everything goes silent. Your breathing slows. Your hands fall to the side, listless and stunned.
Penny grunts. The moment shatters.
You can only stare with wide, terrified eyes.
“Johnny.” It’s the first word out of your mouth, the only thing you can conjure. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m sorry.” Johnny. Johnny’s not here. How can he kiss you when his partner isn’t here? His heart will be broken, you’re destroying their family, you’re-
“I kissed you, bunny. Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Simon hums, still holding your face. “Johnny’s okay. He’ll be a bit jealous he didn’t get one too, but he won’t be upset.”
“How?” the question squeaks, and he takes your hand, tugging you towards the couch, settling you back into the cushions, easily guiding you with deft hands. He's so careful, so gentle, the touch of a man who raises a daughter, who loves his partner, adroit and nimble, anticipating movement before it happens. 
“After Penny goes down tonight, let’s have a drink. Or some late dinner. We can talk, and I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can. How’s that sound?” He strokes a thumb across the apple of your cheek. Talking can’t hurt, can it?
“O-okay. Yeah.” You try to shrug, pain lancing through your shoulder, and you try to smother your wince. He frowns.
“I want you to get some rest today.” A small grin creeps across your face.
“You always tell people what to do?” He nods, solemn.
“It’s my job. Takin’ care of you lot is an added bonus.” He breezes by the grouping of you with his family, like it’s a normal thing, rubbing circles in your palm. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
“I can-“
“I’m here. Let me help.” You don’t say anything at first. Can’t say anything, can’t formulate a response that encompasses everything you’re thinking and feeling, stuck on the mile high wall that is your fear and denial, afraid to jump. Afraid to fall.
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask you to respond, He just… settles you, cautiously arranging the pillows to support your injuries, lets you sit there atop the wall, staring down at the ground where they wait. Patiently. He rubs your back and your good shoulder until you’re drifting away in heady, hazy dream world, unable to stir when he slips free, tucking the blankets in around you, and pressing another long, lingering kiss to your brow.
You wake in a panic to the doorbell ringing. Your heart races, and you’re up off the couch, tucked around a corner of the hall, hiding, in a blink, even though your shoulder and neck scream at the sudden change of position.
Breathe. You’re losing it. Philip wouldn’t ring a doorbell. 
The door clicks open.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice echoes to where you’re still curled around the hallway, back pressed flat, eyes closed. “Hello? Anyone home?” Who is that? 
You peek, like a child. Peering around to see a familiar woman with grocery bags in her hands, depositing them on the kitchen counter.
She spots you immediately.
“Hi!” She’s grinning, pretty and bright, pulling a carton of milk from a brown paper bag and putting it in the fridge. “I’m Lou. Sorry, did I scare you? I tried to ‘announce’ myself.” She makes bunny ears with her fingers before and after the word announce, with half of an eye roll. “John’s always telling me I have to when I come over. Can’t be giving anyone surprises, and I knew you were here. Just wasn’t sure if you’d be up for visitors. Sorry if I gave you a fright.”
“No, I…” you trail off, readjusting, giving her your name. She nods and smiles again. “I remember you. In front of the elevator that day.”
“Yeah, that was me.” She’s earnest in her focus, beaming at you, almost like she’s excited.
“You look a little different out of your cute scrubs.” That gives you a small laugh, and you smile honestly at her, flattered.
“Thanks.”
“Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”
“Oh no, you’re not. I was just… I’m fine.” She pulls a flat of eggs free and stacks them next to a colorful pile of produce.
“I do the store runs for Simon right now. It’s too much, with Johnny in hospital and taking care of Pen. We’ve been trying to lighten his load.” Guilt twists. And here you are, adding onto it. 
“That’s very nice of you.” She waves it off.
“They’ve kept my husband alive a million times over. It’s the least I can do.”
“Right… they… work together?”
“Simon is semi-retired but yeah. They’re in a global task force. It’s the four of them. Have you met Kyle yet?”
“Oh, yeah. At the hospital one day.”
“Best guy, really.” Her clothes swish, warm and sweet aura practically glowing.
“Yeah, he was really nice.” She rests her hands on her hips and looks you over.
“You okay?” This woman is direct. She's got a no nonsense approach, and through intense, there's true ardor in her, passion and care. 
“Yeah, I’m just… still recovering.” You don’t know what she knows, not sure what they’ve told her or John, so you’re not sure how much, or what even, to say.
“Simon told us, about you being mugged. I’m so sorry, it’s just awful.” She’s sincere in her sympathy, big brown eyes sad and considerate.
“It’s okay, thank you. I’m okay.”
“If you need anything, I’m always around. Or if you want to talk to another girl that isn’t a toddler.” It’s an olive branch of friendship, you realize, or the beginnings of, and you’re startled, considering it, wondering if it would be so bad… to have a friend.
“Thank you.” She gives you her number, and you tap it in, shooting her a text with your name.
“You should sit.”
“I can help with these.”
“No, no. No offense, but you look half asleep. I’ve got it.” You laugh even though it hurts, awkward half shrug with good shoulder, and agree.
“Yeah, I’m still recovering. It’s been slow.”
“I’m sure.” You sit at the counter, watching her organize the fridge with scary efficiency. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. Just had to drop these off.”
“Oh, you’re fine.” It’s nice. You’re nice. She feels safe, the proximity to Simon and Johnny naturally leading you to feel comfortable, knowing she’s welcomed by them, she’s a part of their life. It makes you feel more at ease, and you try to convey it without getting tangled up in awkward words.
You don’t know how. Not really sure how to make genuine friends anymore, so you just sit there and watch, listening to her talk, enjoying how she rambles a little bit, laughing at herself.
When she says goodbye at the door, she promises to text you the next time she’s coming by, so you’re not surprised, and you linger there, watching her go, wondering if it’s real, surprisingly mourning the loss of companionship already.
“Johnny misses you.” The ice in Simon’s rocks glass clinks together as he sips his bourbon, corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smirk. “Not too fond of his new nurse, I’m afraid. Think he’s spoiled now.”
“How is he?” You’re on the edge of your seat for an update, but not wanting to pry too much. It’s a delicate line, one where you don’t know on which side to stand.
“Good. Wrist fracture is nearly healed, so he’ll be able to start on crutches soon. Once he does, he’ll be doing physical therapy for most of his day, and ready to come home. Should be soon.” He really smiles now, and you mirror it, unable to deny the infectious bloom of happiness spreading from him to you.
“And his liver?”
“No complications. Grafts for his burn are in great shape. Hip is the trickiest part.”
“Yeah, they take a lot longer to heal, but I’m sure he’ll do a great job of it, just like everything else.”
“Thanks to you.” You sip your wine, citrusy peach and passionfruit coating your tongue. It’s a nice bottle, and you were surprised when Simon brought it home, bag of takeaway in one arm, Penny in the other.
“No.”  Your cheeks heat. “I was just there. You guys did the hard work.”
“Wouldn’t have made it without you though. Think I would’ve lost it. Him too.”
“You would’ve been fine.” You brush it off, and he shakes his head.  
“You’re too modest.” He drains his pour, uncapping the bottle on the coffee table between you and refilling it halfway. Glass on glass chimes, and you sink deeper into the couch, relaxing, tucking your knees up until you’re half curled into a ball, wine glass cradled between your palms.
“So…”
“I told you; you can ask me whatever you like.” You knew this was the case, but hesitance is still brimming in your heart, uneasy feelings festering beneath your skin, burning question shoving to the surface.
“Did you tell Johnny we kissed?”
“I did.”
“Was he upset?”
“Only because he feels like he’s missing out. I told him we’d make it up to him.” Fire enflames your skin. We?
“And by we you mean… us. Together. Like… the three of us.”
“I do.” The girl in the mirror screams. She doesn’t understand, why you continue to act against her better judgement. Why you’re entertaining something so, so dangerous, something so stupid.
“Simon, I… I can’t.”
“You keep saying that but look where you are, bun.” He motions to the table, takeaway cartons scattered across the top, half empty bottle of wine, his bourbon, and a baby monitor. It looks like a nice night in, a simple, sweet life, not even close to being your own.
Still, the girl in mirror combats. Still.
“This isn’t… this isn’t a thing it’s just… we’re hanging out. I’m not going to be here forever, I’m looking for a place and I-“ His face changes, flicker of shadow fading across his brow before being chased away by the sunlight in his eyes. You thought he'd be easier to read, without the mask, imagined you'd be able to place his expressions but you're just as confused and lost as ever. 
“Slow down. There’s no need to look for a place to live.”
“W-what?” The wine has made you a little slow, a little sleepy, and you blink through the stupor.
“You’re still healing, sweetheart, and I know you're scared. I’ve known since the first day you stepped into Johnny’s room.”
“No.” You shake your head. Pain fizzles, numbed by alcohol, and your head swims.
“I know you weren’t mugged.” How? “I know you’re running from someone.” Oh god. The urge to get to your feet and bolt washes over you like a wave.
“I- I’m not.” The lie is bare-boned, pathetically unconvincing, and you know it. He knows it too; you can tell by the look on his face.
“You’re not ready to tell me, that’s fine. I’m patient. But you won’t be going anywhere if I don’t know you’re safe. And right now, to me, it doesn’t seem like you’re safe.” The pale yellow of your wine shines in the low lights of the living room, and you get lost in it, swirling around in his words, trying to put them together and pick them apart, desperate to understand what he means.
“Are you… are you saying you won’t let me leave?” You gulp. It’s a ridiculous conclusion, but the first one you jump to.
And in that, you know you’re giving too much away.
His face softens, and he reaches, pulling your free hand into his own, petting some sort of sequence into your skin. 
“Of course not, sweetheart. I’d never, ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But I do want you to stay, here with us. Where we can keep you safe, take care of you.”
“I don’t need-“
“I know you don’t. I know you take care of yourself just fine.” The indignant roar in the back of your mind settles. “But I’d love an opportunity to do it instead.”
“Simon…”
“Did you know the cells in our body hold onto trauma? They carry imprints of traumatic events. It can change your biology, the way you function.” He squeezes your hand. “It’s hard to realize… that it’s not normal, the way you might be, the way you think, or do things, when you’re carrying the physical memory of terrible things.” He’s not talking about you. There’s a fleeting flash of sadness in his eyes, ghosts circling the drain around his irises, and your heart aches. “We can help you. I don’t know who you’re hiding from, but I can guess what they’ve done- look at me.” You force your eyes back to him, and he cups your cheek. “You do not have to be afraid here. You are safe with me, with us. I know you don’t believe it, and I’ll tell you as many times you need, but it will never not be true. We can help you.”
“You don’t know… you don’t know what you’re saying.” Your denial is steadfast. They cannot possibly understand. 
A small seed of light blooms under darkness. It’s the sun, struggling to break free, trying to drag you into its warm, golden rays. It tugs and tugs, clawing towards you, illuminating the path forward.
The words come out before the girl in the mirror can stop them.
“You don’t know him. He’s sick and… powerful. He’s a monster but he’s smart, has connections, has ways of doing things that… I don’t even know. He’d kill you.” You clap your hand over your mouth in shock, surprised at yourself. It’s the most you’ve said about Philip in years.
You expect pushback. Expect Simon to flinch, or cower, or have good sense… a rational reaction to being told someone might try to hurt him.
He smiles instead, settling back on his side of the couch.
“I’d just have to get to him first, then.” Is he… is he? Simon watches you, reaches into your brains to peer inside, rooting around in your head. The way he looks at you, like he knows everything you’re feeling, can see what you're thinking, makes you shiver, makes you feel like you’re a tiny mouse in the shadow of a mountain. He sighs. “Give us a chance.”
“A chance?”
“A chance, to know you. Let us in, let us try. Stay here, with us, spend time with me and Johnny and Pen. No strings attached. If you decide it’s not for you… we’ll understand.”  
No strings attached. 
You could pick up and leave if you wanted. If you had to. 
What’re you doing? 
“How does it work? Would we all…” you trail off, confused.
“Date?” Simon finishes gently. “Yes.”
“So, you guys are… bi?” He chuckles.
“Yes, sweetheart. We’re bi.”
“Is this… a thing? Something you guys do?”
“We’ve never taken another partner before, no.” Your eyes widen. “You’re our first.” You don’t know why, but knowing is exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. You’re their first. 
He’s talking about it like it’s already happened. 
Fatigue settles in around you, thick fog of it draping over your shoulders and clouding your head.
“I… I don’t know.” You stifle a yawn. “I need to think.” He abandons his perch for one next to you, pulling your wine glass free and setting it on the table.
“Tired?” His fingers sweep over your cheek, skin warming under his touch.
“Mhmm.” You mumble, sleepily. Your head is very heavy, suddenly, hard to hold up.
“Alright.” He stands, bending to slide an arm under your knees, the other supporting your back in one fluid movement.
“What are you doing?” You squeak, grabbing onto him as he rises, lifting you into his chest at full height. Panic floods your nervous system, fevered tone pitching into a plea. “Put me down! I’m too heavy. Please, I’m too heavy, you can’t-“
“I’ve lifted a car off a teammate before.” He tells you, the thick of his body beneath your ear vibrating. “And I’ve dug Johnny out of a collapsed concrete wall. I’m made to pick things up, bunny. Heavy or not.” He holds you right there, all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the guest room, before settling you back on your feet, big hands around your waist for balance. Your back is to his chest now, and his nose drifts across the top of your head, slow path of his fingers stroking down your hip. “Alright?” He asks, and you nod, throat too dry to speak.
He squeezes. You stifle a gasp, resist the urge to press your thighs together.
It’s been so long since you’ve been touched, since anyone has handled you with reverence, with affection. You almost don’t recognize it.
His hand drifts, slipping between your thigh and cheek. “This okay?” He murmurs, and you manage a rough yes, word sticky and thick in your throat. Yes. Yes, don’t stop. A fingertip strokes along the crease there, back and forth, before trailing upward. He takes as much of your flesh in his palm as he can, squeezing again, caressing, mouth skimming along your neck.  
“Oh.” you breathe. The room is warm, barely lit by the bedside lamp, and you burn in the dark, sensations sparking alive that have long laid dormant.
The girl in the mirror curses you.
“Need help getting to bed?”
“N-no.” Yes! “I’m… fine.” His lips touch your cheek, then your ear, breath blowing over you, firm, solid warm mass at your back exhaling shakily.
“Get some sleep.” He steps away, but not before he swings, slowly, softly, into the pillow plush of your ass. It’s a gentle tap, but the fire between your legs roars. “Goodnight, bun.”
“G-goodnight.”
Simon's got his sweatpants and boxers off before he's even fully in the bathroom, running right into the shower, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock as the water flicks on. It's not hot enough, but he doesn't even notice, cock heavy in his grip, tip already smeared wet with pre-come. 
"Fuck, bunny." He grits, trying to stay quiet but unable to hold his tongue.
He's awful, for this. Awful for doing this after you've had such an emotional night. Awful for touching you when you're still healing, awful for grabbing a handful of your ass and imagining sliding his dick through the space between those cheeks. He can't stop, strokes himself long, squeezing the base and pulling up and back as he imagines you on all fours, perfect globe perked up in the air for him, his cock sinking into your soaking wet pussy as you moan. He knows you would make the prettiest sounds for them, sweet gasps and cries, bouncing on Johnny's cock in his lap. 
"Hop like a bunny." He'd coo, and you'd whine, riding Johnny as Simon coached you until you were so close, almost there on the edge. "Show daddy how bad you want to come, little bunny." 
He jerks himself harder, eyes closed, imagining the ripple of your flesh, the way you'd bounce so perfectly, how Johnny would be gripping your hips with his head tipped back, throat exposed for Simon to nip and suck a mark into.
His bunny. His boy. 
His toes curl. Water streams down his back, slicking his skin, forearm burning with each stroke, imagination running wild as he gets closer and closer, thinking about you and Johnny and him together, finally, your legs spread wide in front of their faces, perfect pussy on display. He can almost hear the way you'd whisper their names, and it blinds him, fills his head with white light. He knows you're beautiful when you come, as beautiful as you are when you let your guard down and give him a real smile, as beautiful as you are everyday, so pretty and perfect, kind, even as a ghost. He imagines it, pictures it, the sight of his and Johnny's come leaking out of your hole, fingers shoving it back inside, marking you as theirs. 
He comes with your name on his lips, a strangled whisper, painting the tile with himself. 
He falls asleep with a new addition in their bed, on top of Johny's t shirt and the baby monitor... there's now a long sleeved tee, plucked from your dirty laundry this morning as he was getting ready to leave. It smells like you, something he wishes he could bottle, and he holds it close, tied in tandem with Johnny's, curled in his arms on top of the pillow. 
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teamatsumu · 5 months
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CRUSH (ushijima wakatoshi x reader)
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summary: wakatoshi has a crush.
word count: 720
warnings: fem!reader, its all just fluff
tags: @keiva1000
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Ushijima knows he has fans. He might be simple-minded and a little oblivious, but he’s not stupid.
He knows girls stare at him from the balcony during practice. And he can hear their giggling when he passes them in the halls. Tendou often calls him Shiratorizawa’s Golden Boy, which Ushijima wholeheartedly disagrees with, but never voices out loud. Tendou often says strange things. He doesn’t mind.
Ushijima doesn’t understand his popularity. Sure, he is a good player. The best ace in the prefecture. But most of these girls have no understanding of volleyball. So why are they spending hours upon hours in the stands, watching him play?
“They’re not watching the match, Wakatoshi-kun. They are watching you.”
Hm. Strange. His play is very consistent. Watching him do the same thing over and over has to get boring, especially when they aren’t watching for the sake of the game.
But then he sees you for the first time.
You are in his third year English class. In his three years of high school, Ushijima is sure he has never seen you before. Because if he had, there was no way he would forget you.
He is curious. And a little enamored by you.
You are, by all means, a regular girl. You sit on the same chair every day, bring your own bento instead of eating from the cafeteria. It is always wrapped in a pretty multicolored patterned cloth, done up in a knot on top. You have a small stuffed cat chain on the zipper of your backpack. And you wear your hair differently every day. Some days it is tied up, some days it is let down. And some days it is half-up and half-down. You have one pink bunny hairclip that you wear maybe once every two or three days that Ushijima thinks is very cute. Your uniform is always immaculate.
There are so many tiny details about you that Ushijima has learned, and he finally understands why girls would stay hanging over the gym balcony to watch him for hours, because he could watch you for hours too.
You are very smart, he could tell. You always answer correctly when the teacher would call on you, and he has glimpsed at your notes. Simple, but neat and easy to understand, just the way he likes it. There are no crazy colors and highlighters, and your handwriting is neat and beautiful, just like the rest of you.
You are also quiet. You have a select group of friends that you talk to, and while you are nice to anyone who interacts with you, you don't go out of your way to stand out. Again, Ushijima loves that. It seems he loved everything about you. All the minor details that make you a little bit more unique to everyone else.
When you show up at his game, he nearly loses his focus.
It in’t an important game by any means, just a practice match with another local university team. So why are you here? Have your friends dragged you along? Or are you here by your own volition? Ushijima feels how sweaty his palms are when he clenches his fists, and it surprises him.
Is he….. nervous?
Why? Because you are watching? How ridiculous. Ushijima has never once doubted his own strength, or his ability to win. How could your presence alter that? The thought annoys him, and he is determined to prove that you being here would not be a hindrance to his play.
Turns out, he needn't have worried. It seems your presence had sharpened his senses more than ever. Shiratorizawa won in straight sets, and of the 50 points they scored, 39 had been from Ushijima’s hand.
“You were on fire today, Wakatoshi-kun.” Tendou comments as the final whistle rings. Ushijima unintentionally glances at you in the stands, cheering for the team. Cheering for him.
His heart is beating a mile a minute, and he doesn’t think it is because of the game he had just played. He hears Tendou let out a dreamy sigh.
“Ah, the miracles of having a crush.”
He feels his lips tick up in a tiny smile as he throws a towel over his shoulders. Tendou is wrong. Ushijima doesn’t think he has a crush.
He thinks he is in love.
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the-writer-arrived · 9 months
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Wait, you're engaged?!
Synopsis: you two are engaged, congrats!! how does he share the news with others?
Characters: alhaitham; diluc ragnvindr.
Warnings: gender neutral!reader, fluff, crack, this is actually more crack than fluff oh well, diluc and kaeya are brothers.
A/N: this is the third draft I wrote in two hours. IS THIS WHAT'S LIKE TO HAVE MOTIVATION????
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It all started with a simple question about your well-being coming from Kaveh.
"So, how have they been lately?" was what the architect had asked, while shaking the elemental dice in his hand. He was playing a TCG match against Cyno, not an uncommon occurrence when the 4ggravate group of friends get together at Lambad's Tavern.
"Oh, my fiancée is doing just fine, I guess they're in a bit more energetic mood than usual." was what Alhaitham had answered, nonchalant as if he was talking about the weather and hadn't just dropped a huge bomb just like that.
The cheeky bastard is actually hiding his smirk with his wine cup, totally satisfied with himself at the shocked looks everyone has now.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?!"
"Kaveh, please don't yell, you're making my ears hurt!"
"A-Ah! Sorry, Tighnari..."
"It seems like you didn't get a single dice of the elements you needed, your luck is truly something to be researched about."
"Wha-?! You...! Ah, no, wait, who cares about that?!"
I'm telling you, the guy is doing all he can to surpress the grin threatening to appear on his face.
No one was expecting to hear that, heck they didn't even know Alhaitham had bought a ring in the first place????
Dude how come you don't share these life changing plans with your homies?!
He shares the tale of how he had proposed to you... And let's just say Kaveh's romantic side was not happy about how it happened.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU PROPOSED WHILE YOU TWO WERE LOUNGING IN THE LIVING ROOM???"
"Kaveh, too loud!"
"S-Sorry!"
Much to Kaveh's dismay, Alhaitham didn't make any extravagant gesture or big preparations.
It was just you and him, in the comfort of your home and it just felt right to pop the question at that moment.
What no one, not even you, knew is that the confident, smart and aloof scribe had not actually planned to propose to you like that at all.
Ever since he had bought the ring months ago, Alhaitham had devised so many different ways on how to do it, always thinking about which scenario would make you the happiest.
But when he had you laid down on his lap, spounting your usual nonsense just to try to get a reaction out of him because you were bored, it simply felt... right to do it right then and there.
Make no mistake, he may not have shown, but his hand was shaking when he pulled the small box out of his pocket, he had to thank Lesser Lord Kusanali for allowing his voice to not come out shaky.
Alhaitham's cockiness aside, Cyno, Tighnari and Kaveh are all genuinely very happy at the unexpected, but positive news.
"Let's order some bread, then."
"Bread? Why do you want bread all of a sudden?"
"So we can offer a toast to the future spouses... Get it? Toast? As in-"
"Yes Cyno, we get it!"
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Ahhh Diluc, my sweet Batman of Mondstadt... He had always thought that the best course of action was to keep everyone at arm's length, not only for his sake, but for other people as well.
Now, as he gazes at the beautiful ring on your finger, he can only laugh at how naive he was for thinking he would be able to do that during his whole life.
On the next day after he had proposed to you, every customer in Angel's Share can see Master Diluc acting rather... odd.
He seems... I don't know, lighter? His expression doesn't look so serious anymore... Wait, is he... smiling?!
Needless to say, everyone at the tavern is dying to know what happened to the tycoon of the wine industry, but no one dares to ask him directly...
...no one but a certain cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonious, that is.
"My, someone is in a good mood today. Did something nice happened lately, Master Diluc?"
"Here's your Death After Noon, Kaeya."
"...Okay, something must have happened for you to prepare my drink before I even ordered it."
After much poking and prying from Kaeya, Diluc finally relents, just so the pestering would stop.
It's a lie, he is actually feeling ecstatic to be able to share the news with someone.
Everyone and their grandma knew about your relationship with Diluc of course, it's a bit hard not to when you are dating the uncrowned king of Mondstadt himself, despite you two not making a public announcement of being together.
So, before he could even tell Kaeya that he had proposed to you, the captain already suspected that that was the reason for his brother's sudden change of behavior.
Even so, that doesn't stop a genuine smile to appear on Kaeya's face as he congratulates Diluc.
"It's about time! I was starting to wonder how many more years you were going to make me wait, before I had the chance be your best man in your wedding."
"Who said you're going to be my best man?"
"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you've forgotten our promise to be each other's best man when we were younger?"
"...I'm surprised you still remember that.
What Diluc wasn't aware at that moment was that a certain bard had eavesdropped "accidentaly" listened to his private conversation with the cavalry captain.
It was such great news, the bard couldn't help but let it escape during the drunk conversations he had with other patrons that night.
How could he imagine that those patrons would tell their friends, who would tell their friends and so on? Of course the kind-hearted bard wouldn't do that on purpose!
It's not his fault that all the citizens of Mondstadt now know about Diluc's engagement with you!
Sorry Donna.
"Come now, Master Diluc! Good news are meant to be shared with others! Who knows? Maybe even the Anemo Archon caught wind of them, ehe!"
"...I won't sell you any wine for a month now."
"W-What?! Please, don't be so cruel, Master Diluc!"
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thanks for reading <3 likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated <3
heart divider made by @/cafekitsune
pink alhaitham and diluc banners (fluff) made by @/the-writer-arrived aka yours truly <3
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magz · 1 month
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Thread by ItsMaybeMadi on Twitter, on February 12, 2024 (source)
Quote:
Thread of information from Bisan's tiktok live on february 12th
more than 100 people were killed
dozens are still underground
the 100 that were confirmed dead are just those that were found
She is currently in Rafah
There's no other place to go
People are living in mosques
There is no internet connection
keep donating e-sims, she and a lot of others are using them
Boycott Israeli products
boycott brands supporting the Israeli regime
keep protesting
keep educating yourself
by doing this you are helping to change history
she's seen the people commenting her names on trending videos and she says it's very smart
"keep doing what you're doing"
keep pressuring your government to stop funding the genocide
the idf pretended to be nurses and women, and excavated three Palestinians looking for help
the bombing has not stopped
Donations Are Getting To The South, its not enough, but aid is getting there in very small amounts
he is not safe, no one in gaza is
she feels helpless and stuck in this "new reality"
"we are facing a genocide"
donate to UNRWA
she doesnt know if tiktok gifts are profitable for her, but she'll look into it
"the best thing you can give to an opressed group of people is to hear them, and to make them heard"
Her family is safe
She has faith, but she is very tired
Everyone is under tents
call your government and demand a ceasefire
there isn't enough food, so no matter how much money you have you can't eat
they have to wait to get canned food
She has launched a gofundme
(magz note: Even though the original goal was reached, it is way way below the actual need)
Her arm is better
"when everything is done, and everything is back to its glory, just visit gaza"
Q: "what are you doing to help your mental health?
A: "nothing, we can't"
She feels its important to stay where everything is happening to be the voice of the people
from week to week everything changes
(responding to someone asking what her name means) Bisan is the name of the most ancient city in the whole world and in Canaanite means "the home that is lived"
the situation has been complicated since 1948
1.5 million people are displaced
there isn't any bombing currently in Rafah, but there is in Khan Yunis
she wants to tour the world, and visit countries that supported palestine
Khan Yunis is still invaded
Keep educating yourself
end of thread (end quote)
unrwa.org
gazaesims.com
Bisan's TikTok account: tiktok.com/@wizard_bisan1
Extra: (different) Summary Instagram video about attack on Rafah by Bisan Odwa (wizard_bisan1) - posted february 13, 2024
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smileycarat · 5 months
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idol!wonwoo x idol!reader
small instances where both of your fanbases start to notice lingering looks between the two of you until it becomes so much more
a/n: this isn’t much but i had fun writing it, lmk what you think! :)
pt 2
the first interaction is when you’re presenting an award that seventeen happens to win
as you and your co-announcer pass out awards, your fingers brush against his as you congratulate him, and he flashes a smile at you
both of your fan bases were quick to screen grab the interaction, and it very quickly became a cherished moment of more to come
it was closely followed by a different interaction where both of your groups were talking on stage, and you were moving to the side and had tripped over the length of your gown
he was quick to catch you by the elbow to steady you on your two feet
the people around you gasped and moved to make room
which left a spotlight on the two of you
it was slightly comical the way you both looked at each other before turning to the audience with shy smiles
wonwoo stood behind you the rest of the time on stage
when it came time to leave, he offered you his arm as you stepped off the stage
with a bright smile his way, you accepted and walked off together
fans nearly had a heart attack
since then, people would point out almost every interaction between the two of you
if you would be in the same room and happen to make eye contact
during a game competition, you two get paired up together, and safe to say, you demolish the rest of the teams
wonwoo is an extremely smart man, and as are you a smart person, and after the episode airs, fans make memes on how you both make a dangerous and powerful duo
you were both quick to devise a plan, hushed whispers in the few seconds you had together, his shoulders shielding you from the rest of the room from where you both stood
your mics caught your plan clearly, and fans were impressed by how in sync you both were
he worked with distracting other people, making it seem like he was the one they should look out for
however it was you who gathered information and the hidden objects you were supposed to find to complete your mission
in the end, not only were you both able to complete your mission, but you were also able to hide the other object other groups were supposed to find, making it near impossible for them to find
the prize you both won was a coupon to a nearby cafe
it was adorable the way you both cheered in excitement for the coupon, wonwoo even raising your hands clasped together in the air in celebration
you would have thought that you both couldn’t afford your own coffees with the way you both cheered
the video ended with vlog footage of you both walking to the cafe
you held the camera in your hands facing you as you both walked to the location, camera tilted up to capture wonwoo in the frame
fans were surprised to see the way that wonwoo joked with you and tugged on the end of your hair to catch your attention to point to a billboard with your group in it
he took the camera from you to capture a shot of you smiling and posing in front of the billboard
when you took the camera from him, you also made him pose in front of the billboard, which was comical since you couldn’t see much of his face due to his hat and mask, but he did make a peace sign when posing to amuse you
he opened the door for you and stood behind you in line, even crouching down slightly in order to hear your answer when he asked what you were going to order
when it was your turn to order, he walked forward to place your orders before handing the cashier the coupon you both worked hard for
wonwoo even paid for the difference despite you trying to pay, and he stepped in front of you to block your way from the pin pad
you both sat down at a small table in the corner of the cafe side by side so you could both be in frame, and you rated the coffees you had bought
you weren’t the biggest fan of your own coffee, stating that it was slightly too bitter, and he was quick to switch out your straws and give you his cup
the video ended with you both waving goodbye, and safe to say, the video was trending for a week
when you posted a selfie together after the episode aired, it quickly became your most liked image on instagram
wonwoo also posted a different picture of you together standing back to back with your arms crossed
he captioned it “partner in crime”
you commented “dream team”
other svt members would comment under your posts demanding a rematch and wondering how they won
wonwoo would comment the shrugging emoji in response 🤷🏻‍♂️
you once post a picture if you out in the city
a few days later wonwoo posts a picture taken of him holding a camera, and fans were quick to notice the similar locations you were both in
when at other music events, there was footage of you waving to him from your seats with your group, and him shyly waving back
later when he walks with the rest of svt on the red carpet, fans notice him wearing a ring with the top facing in, and it’s not until he waves that people capture your initial on it
on your birthday when you post a clip of someone recording you with a cake while people sing happy birthday, fans swear they can hear wonwoo’s voice singing amongst the rest
one day you post the cutest kitten on your instagram page, showing your fans how you recently adopted a cat
a few months later, wonwoo posts a selfie of the same colored cat, only slightly bigger, sitting on top of an open book (presumably the one he was reading)
fans once spot you both visiting a bookstore and they just about died when they saw you walk out with the same book
at times, sometimes wonwoo is spotted exiting your company building while other times you are exiting his
fans are waiting for the collab tbh
you are both extremely private people, and any interactions you have together publicly has fans eating it UP
rumors of your potential relationship are all anyone talks about leading up to major events where both your groups will be attending
wonwoo surprisingly is the one to confirm the rumors two years later when he posts a mirror selfie of the two of you on your birthday with a simple cake emoji
the internet broke
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downbadf0rficppl · 2 months
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someone's there
Bucky x F!Reader
Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.
Word Count: 2.5K
Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack
Repost
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You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.
You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.
Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.
And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.
The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.
You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.
She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"
Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.
Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.
You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.
Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.
The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.
The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.
Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.
The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.
You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.
The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.
"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.
The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.
"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.
You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.
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By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.
You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.
But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.
To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.
You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.
You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.
As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.
Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.
He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.
You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.
You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.
He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.
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You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.
It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.
The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.
You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.
You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.
"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.
"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.
"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.
"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."
"The pizza place?"
"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."
You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.
"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.
"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.
"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."
"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.
The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.
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"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."
June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.
Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.
Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.
You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.
Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.
A teenager was on the phone with the police.
You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.
The door swung open, letting in a draft.
Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.
Sirens.
"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.
A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.
"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.
You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.
"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.
"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.
You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.
You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.
"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"
He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."
You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.
"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.
"Take me home, Buck."
fin.
buy me a coffee
1K notes · View notes
navybrat817 · 6 months
Text
Within You
Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky shows a different side of himself when you venture into a corn maze. Word Count: Over 3.2k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, DUBCON, unprotected vaginal sex, semi-public, breeding kink, spooky vibes, established relationship, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Welcome to Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! Special thanks to @ghotifishreads who suggested soft!dark Bucky with a breeding kink and @tumblin-theworldaway for listening to me (s)cream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @vonalyn ​, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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It was your first Autumn with Bucky. The two of you had been dating for less than a year, but you were completely enamored with him. Not only was he doting and smart, but he was a man who made your heart flutter in your chest whenever he looked your way. Even thinking about him sets your heart ablaze. He was the one for you.
“Come on,” you smiled as you took his hand and pulled him toward the pumpkin patch entrance.
The two of you took turns regarding date nights and outings. Today, you chose a pumpkin patch. You told him it wouldn’t feel like Fall if you didn’t go and listed off the fun things to do. There was a hayride, pumpkins and apples to pick, a corn maze, and much more. He obliged since he knew it would make you happy. He even gave you a small smile when you told him the website claimed that the maze was tricky, but you knew he’d find his way out easily.
You stopped and inhaled the cool air, the scent of warm apple cider drifting your way from the stand nearby. The temperature dropped just enough that you were comfortable in a sweater and the sun peeked out through the clouds to greet you. It wasn't overly crowded and it was the perfect weather. Even better because you had the perfect man by your side.
It was going to be a good day.
“Where should we start?” You asked, smiling when a small group of kids headed toward one of the tractors. “Hayride? Pick a pumpkin to carve later?”
“Where do you want to start?” Bucky replied, a small breeze blowing some of his dark brown hair back.
Your answer died in your throat as you gazed at him. His hair was the third thing you noticed about him, long enough that it almost touched his shoulders and soft to the touch. You loved running your fingers through it, whether it was to soothe him and pull it when he was between your thighs. The second thing you took notice of was the massive size of your now boyfriend. Over 6’4” with broad shoulders, a puffed out chest, and thighs made for riding, he intimated most while he excited you.
His cool blue eyes, of course, were the first thing. Gazing into them was like swimming in a private sea, ready to ride a gentle wave or get swept away in a storm depending on his mood. You could handle the entire range of emotions because you were his girl. It was that simple.
“You’re staring, doll,” he smiled, your cheeks warm at being caught. If any other guy called you "doll", it would've sounded silly. It was endearing coming from him.
“Well, I can't help it. You’re gorgeous,” you said.
“You are gorgeous,” he argued, the compliment sending more heat to your cheeks.
“You said that this morning,” you teased. The two of you moved in together recently and you had a hard time getting out of bed some days. Waking up beside him was like a dream, but it was your reality.
“And I'll say it again,” he smiled before a girl stopped in front of the two of you with a tray.
“Hi,” she greeted with an ear-to-ear smile. “Would either of you care for a sample of cider? We have warm and chilled.”
“Ooh,” you smiled, glancing between the cups. You loved apple cider. “I'll take warm, please.”
“Same. Thanks,” Bucky said, selecting cups for each of you. He blew on his before he drank it, a weird look crossing his face as he swallowed. “Is something on the bottom of my cup?”
“Nothing on mine,” you said, glancing at his cup once you tried your cider. “I think it's a sticker. Is it a cauldron?”
“Oh! You got the lucky, special sample!” the girl grinned as you and Bucky shared a confused look. She balanced the tray in one hand as she handed your boyfriend an orange coupon and took the empty cups from you. “Free cider for two. Enjoy!”
“Thanks,” Bucky said before she went to give samples to others.
“Lucky guy,” you smiled, raising an eyebrow as he slowly licked his lips. “You okay?”
He blinked and nodded. “Yeah. Was just warmer than I expected.”
“You didn't burn your tongue, did you?”
“No, but you should massage your tongue with mine anyway,” he half joked.
You smiled and nodded toward the maze. “Why don’t we check that out first?”
“So, you’d rather check out a maze instead of soothing your boyfriend's tongue?”
You giggled as you made your way to the start, grabbing a small sheet of paper. There were different sets of “animal tracks” to find throughout the maze. Anyone who found them all got a prize. “Why check out a maze when I can check you out?” You asked, unable to keep a straight face. “That was cheesy.”
“It wasn’t cheesy,” he said before his smile widened. “It was corny.”
“Oh, my god,” you laughed more. One thing about your boyfriend, he could always bring a smile to your face. “You think you’re so…”
A little boy ran out of the maze with a smile before he lost his footing and pitched forward, his sheet of paper floating to the ground as it flew from his hand. You rushed over to help when he began to cry, carefully helping the poor child sit up. “Ouch,” he sniffled.
“Hey. You okay?” you gently asked, making sure to keep your demeanor calm as you brushed some of the dirt away. You also grabbed his sheet before it could blow away. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”
He wiped his face and pointed to his knee once he rolled up his pant leg. “Right here.”
“Okay. Let’s take a look,” you nodded as Bucky joined you, crouching down on the other side of the boy. He looked worried, too. Minus the small scrape, he looked fine overall. “Poor little guy. Scrapes are no fun. But you know what? You’re a strong little boy.”
“I am?” he asked in a small voice.
“Yeah. Very strong,” Bucky agreed. "My girl wouldn't lie to you."
It was sweet how he spoke of you. “And you found all the animals, so you get a prize,” you smiled, showing him his paper where all of them were shaded. “You’re strong and smart,” you added, which brought a smile to his face, too.
“Timmy!” a woman shouted as she jogged out to the maze. “I told you not to run off. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” he replied, taking your hand so you could get him to his feet. “Hurts, but I’m strong and smart.”
Timmy’s mom bent down to inspect his knee herself before she gave you a relieved smile. “Thank you for helping him. How can I repay you?”
“That's not necessary. We're glad we could help,” you said, making sure he had his sheet. “You enjoy your prize and listen to your mom, okay?”
“Okay,” he nodded, waving as he went with his mom. “Thanks!”
“Cute little guy,” you smiled as Bucky slowly stood up. Your boyfriend had a few expressions that you were used to seeing, but you couldn’t read the current look he gave you. It was as if he was seeing you in a different light. “What?”
“Why haven't I knocked you up yet?"
You opened your mouth to say something, a feverish and unexpected heat moving through your body. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard what I said,” he said, his piercing gaze rooting you to the spot. “Just wondering why I haven't."
Though you knew Bucky was the man for you, the topic of kids hadn’t come up much. Partially because you hadn’t been together a year yet. Wouldn’t it be too soon to have a little one running around when you weren’t even engaged? Not that the two of you had to get married to have kids.
Maybe him seeing me comfort Timmy brought it to the front of his mind.
“I don’t know, Bucky. Why haven’t you knocked me up yet?” you teased. You almost shrank under his gaze a moment later when he didn’t laugh or crack a smile.
“Maybe I should. We can go home and get started right now,” he said. There was no hint of a joke in his tone. “This would be a fun place to bring our kids one day. Don't you think?"
“Why don’t we talk about it after the maze?”
He looked hurt for a split second and you almost assured you weren’t blowing him off. You wouldn't do that. It was merely a serious talk for another time. “Sure. After the maze,” he agreed, taking your hand as you made your way back over.
A chill ran down your spine when you walked through the entrance. It was strange. You weren’t afraid, especially since it wasn’t dark outside. So where did the unexpected chill come from?
“You okay?” Bucky asked, his voice a little rougher than usual as his grip tightened on your hand. Did he feel weird being in here, too? “I didn't freak you out, did I?”
“I'm fine and you didn't freak me out. You know you can tell me anything,” you replied, shaking it off the chill as the two of you began to walk through. The maze took up almost a third of the entire place, the stalks high enough that neither of you could see over them. “I think we should find the werewolf tracks first. Because they're one of your favorite animals.”
Before you could turn right down one of the paths, he brought his mouth close to your face. “That and I wouldn’t mind sinking my teeth in and leaving my mark on you.”
The breath rushed out of your lungs when you turned your head and caught the darkness in his eyes. His pupils were larger than normal as he stepped closer, almost backing you into the corn. “Is that right?”
“And you’ll let me,” he said, your heart racing as he leaned in. His kisses stole the breath from your lungs and your eyes slipped shut just before his lips touched yours. “Won’t you?”
“After we find the first set of tracks,” you whispered, pressing your hands to his chest so he’d back away.
He didn’t budge.
“Seriously, doll. Why haven’t I knocked you up yet?”
This again?
“I thought we were going to talk about that after we got out of here,” you reminded him, stepping to the side to go further down the path. “Where is this coming from anyway?”
“Been thinking about it for some time. I just haven’t said so,” he answered as he followed close behind. Was he afraid to say something before because it was too soon? That admitting it would scare you off? “Now that I'm talking about it, I can't stop.”
You were tempted to make a joke that there was something in his special cider sample making him talk. “You're serious about this?”
“You moved in with me. We love each other. I want a life with you. Of course, I'm serious.”
Glancing over your shoulder to find him watching you, you couldn’t help but smile. “I love you, too, Bucky,” you promised before you focused on the path again. You weren’t sure just how far the two of you had walked through. “But something like that is-”
You shrieked when Bucky spun you around by the shoulder, a wild look in his eyes before his mouth met yours in a persistent kiss. Compelling desire moved through you, but it didn’t matter how much you wanted him. The two of you were still in public. There were families around.
This wasn’t the time or place for this.
He broke the kiss before he shoved you almost painfully to your knees. He was never that forceful. “I’ll lose my mind if I’m not inside you.”
“Bucky, what the hell?!” you asked as he moved behind you and dropped to his knees, too. He yanked your pants and underwear down before you could stop him. Did you want to stop him? “We’re in a maze. What if someone catches us?”
He scoffed as he pushed you forward, forcing you to brace yourself with your hands. The cool breeze touched your exposed pussy, sending another chill down your spine. “You think I care if anyone catches us? I need you and they can’t stop me. They'll see that you're mine.”
The corn seemed to move in closer as you heard him unbuckle his belt, as if to give you some privacy. It had to be your mind playing tricks on you. “I'm already yours. Can you just slow down for a second?”
“I’m sorry, doll,” he swore, clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “I’m tired of waiting.”
Bucky sheathed you in one hard thrust, your cry smothered by his hand. You admitted to him once that he was the largest you’d ever had, which he both loved and hated. While it made him feel good that your ex-boyfriends weren’t as big as him, could never stretch you the way he could, he hated thinking of anyone else being inside you. He liked to remind you that no one else ever would be. And because of his size, he usually took great care in prepping you.
His need must’ve clouded him, the burn from the stretch more intense than usual.
“I’m sorry, doll. I don't know what's come over me. I can’t help myself,” he apologized again as if he sensed your discomfort, your cunt gripping his cock like a vice as you breathed through your nose. “But it’s okay. I’ll make you feel good. Just take me.”
You whined as he nearly pulled out completely and shoved himself back in as deep as he could go. That was your only warning before he set a steady pace, your hands fisting the dirt and your ears ringing as blood surged through your veins. It wasn’t long before your wetness coated his cock, the burn fading to pleasure from the friction. He fucked you before, but it was nothing like this. Bucky was like a man possessed. No, not even a man. More like a wild animal rutting into you, claiming you.
Where anyone could stumble along and find you.
“So soft. So warm,” he groaned, leaving sloppy kisses along your neck. “So fucking good.”
You tried to push yourself higher on your hands and knees for better support, but the force of his thrusts surged you forward. Removing his hand from your mouth, he placed it on the back of your neck as your cheek hit the dirt. The hold gave him leverage to fuck you deeper with your ass in the air. The soil felt cool in contrast to the hot palm against your skin.
“Better keep quiet,” he warned you, even as the angle sparked ecstasy within you. All you could do was bite your lip to try and keep the sounds in as much as possible. “Or do you want someone to catch me breeding you?”
“What?” you gasped, unable to lift your head as a new sensation hit you.
“You heard me,” he growled, draping himself over your back and maintaining his harsh pace as he breathed against your ear. “Gonna breed you. Gonna fucking drown your womb with my seed. ‘Cause you’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine.”
The sweet doting boyfriend you were used to was nowhere to be found as his cock wrecked your cunt. Was there something unexplainable causing him to act this way or had he been holding back? You would question him later. For now, you could only go limp as he fucked you into the dirt with vigor. And it felt good. You couldn't deny it.
“Gonna be so full of me. Fuck, you’ll look so beautiful carrying my baby,” he grunted, barely able to make out his words his thrusts increased in speed and strength. The slap of skin on skin filled the air and you almost had to cover your mouth yourself to stop your mewls. “Your belly round. Your tits nice and full. Might keep you knocked up so you remember who you belong to.”
The image of Bucky with his hand on your belly filled your mind, sending jolts of unexpected pleasure down to your toes. “I can’t take it, Bucky,” you gasped, even as you felt the tug of your building climax ready to snap. “It’s too much.”
With a deceptively soft kiss to your neck, followed by a small nuzzle, Bucky let out a deep moan. “You can take it. You always do ‘cause you’re mine. My good girl,” he rambled on as you whined, the wet slide of your pussy squeezing him tighter as you got closer. “Need to pump you full. Need your cunt to milk every drop from me. You want it. I know it. Come.”
You couldn’t hold on any longer, your fingers curling in the dirt again as you came with a cry. You were overwhelmed by the pure bliss, shocked at just how powerful your orgasm was. He hadn’t teased your clit, yet you gushed around him like he had. The squelching sound blended in with your whimpers as he fucked you through it.
Maybe you liked the idea of him breeding you more than you realized.
“That’s it, doll,” he groaned as he chased his release. “Take it. Every. Fucking. Drop.”
Bucky's rhythm faltered as his cock pulsed, spilling inside you with a growl. He kept his hips flush against yours as he breathed raggedly against your neck, keeping your bodies joined together for as long as he could. He didn’t move until he began to soften, making a whimper spill from your lips when he pulled out of you. His fingers quickly replaced his cock to keep his spend from sliding out of you.
“You okay, doll?” he asked, his voice still a touch of gruff mixed with softness. “I didn’t mean to be so rough.”
“Mmm,” was the only response you could give him.
It was like a switch had gone off as he helped you up, keeping you from collapsing as he got your underwear and pants up. He wiped as much of the dirt away with his hands as he could, softness in his eyes once again. Minus his disheveled hair, he looked fine. Like he hadn't just fucked you in the corn maze.
You two were lucky you hadn't gotten caught.
He hugged you as close as he could while you tried to make sense of his behavior. Whatever raging beast was inside him was satisfied for the time being. But what came over him?
Large hands framed your face as you tried to get your shaking under control. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” you mumbled.
“I’ll draw us a bath when we get home, okay? Get you cleaned up and make sure you aren't too sore,” he offered with a tender kiss to your lips. “After I throw out your birth control pills. You won’t need those anymore.”
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So, how are we feeling? What do we think? Love and thanks for reading! 🧡
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
2K notes · View notes
webslingingslasher · 1 year
Note
hey, i loveee your writings! i was wondering if you could write a fic or one shot of peter parker and reader getting into an argument based off of peter parker saying something to his friends behind readers back about reader that hurts her feelings? ending is up to you! thanks!
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii dunno how i feel about this
You were many things. 
Beautiful, talented, smart, caring, affectionate, loyal, honest, needy. 
Needy. 
Needy, needy, needy. 
Needy, he called you needy. 
Were you needy? You didn’t think so, but then again, would you be aware if you were? 
Maybe he didn’t mean it, it was a private conversation. He could’ve been just venting, ranting about small things. You’ve done it before with your friends, it could be harmless. 
But, god it hurt. It was so casual coming from his mouth, like it’s a common thought passing through his mind. 
“Hi petey,” you said with a hum, he had just left yours to hang out with his friends when he called. 
Silence drifted on the line. 
“Petey?” 
Shuffles, maybe a cough? Murmured voices, nothing too solid. 
“Peter, you there?” 
Laughs break through, you understand it was a buttdial. 
You were about to hang up but Peter moved around, suddenly the voices were crystal clear. 
“So, how is it with your girl, parker?” 
You think it’s Mark. 
It’s wrong to eavesdrop but if your partner accidentally called while they were about to talk about you, wouldn’t you listen, just for a second? 
Notes from future self, don’t. 
“Eh,” you imagine him rubbing at the back of his head, “good, good. It’s good.” 
Good? 
Good, that’s it? 
Good? 
You thought everything was great, wonderful in fact. When your friends ask about Peter you take your time on the soapbox preaching, he wants to end the conversation immediately. 
Is that a good sign or a really bad sign? 
“Just good? Don’t tell me she stopped putting out, I know how chicks are.” 
“Don’t talk about her like that, Logan.” 
Peter came to your defense, point one for parker. 
On the other side of the line Logan holds his hands up in surrender, “didn’t mean to poke the bear there, parker. Get your girl to suck your dick, you’ll be fine.” 
Next time you see Logan you’ll clobber him. 
Peter grunts, he’s never liked Logan and neither did the friend group. But every group needed that one person that was mutually hated so there was always something to joke and talk about. 
“She sucks my dick just fine, you sound jealous. I’m sure she’s got a friend that’ll pity fuck you.” 
Your eyebrows furrow, Peter doesn’t talk like that. At least not around you, is this what the ‘saturday’s are for the boys’ boys mean when they say locker room talk? 
Mark cuts back in, he lights up a joint. 
“I’m sure parker is just fine, he can barely rip himself away from Y/N.” He coughs on the smoke between laughs, Peter stays quiet. He’s wondering if he should tell his friends this, it’s nothing serious and it didn’t really bother him, and he didn’t want to say anything to you because he knows you’d take offense and stop it; and he’d miss it way too much. 
“Yeah, that’s kinda the problem.” 
He mumbled it, but he said it and what the fuck did that mean? 
You couldn’t stop now, you pray he doesn’t see you’re connected to the call. 
“Trouble in paradise? Do tell.” Mark offers the joint to Peter, he accepts it and passes it to Logan. 
“Sometimes I feel like she’s all over me and needs me for everything, I dunno.” 
Peter tugs at his hair, he’s not saying it right. 
“I think I feel like no matter how much I’m there it’s not enough, she’s so needy.” 
Gut punch. You took such a sharp inhale you have to stop breathing to make sure Peter didn’t pick up on it. You’re reeling trying to look at it from his side, you didn’t seem needy, but everyone’s idea of needy must be different. 
Sure, you do try to extend his visits for as long as possible but that’s because some weeks you feel like you don’t see him but for a few hours and you’re willing to scrape up as much time as possible. And because you love him. And sure, there have been times you ask him to do things or help you but you love watching him fix things around your apartment and have him take extra time to dote on you. And because you love him. 
You want to hang up, you don’t want to know why he thinks you’re needy. If you do then you’ll spiral and question everything you do from here on out. 
On Peter’s end he pulled his phone out to check to see the time, and if you’ve texted. His eyes widen at the screen, he feels like he stopped breathing before he whispered a “fuck” under his breath, he looked at the screen and tried to pretend it wasn’t real. 
It was. Bold and in his face, your saved name and small lettering below it, ‘call connected’ you’ve been on the line for six minutes. You heard absolutely everything, in a panic he hung up the call which was the worst thing he could’ve done, because now you know he knows, and suddenly you realized that if he thought you were needy you’d show him you weren’t. 
—----------------------------------
There is no surprise your boyfriend is pounding on the door. 
Not loudly, but constant and quickly, demanding to not be ignored. 
Like his four missed calls. 
After two straight minutes of his rapping you finally swung the door open, waiting for him to bombard you with reason and apologies. He looked surprised. Peter opens and closes his mouth, he doesn’t know what to say exactly.
Your eyebrow raises at his silence, “you had forty minutes, four missed calls, seven ignored texts, banged on my door for two minutes, and in all that time you didn’t think of one thing to say?” 
“I’m sorry?” He looks sheepish, he gave a tiny shrug. Hoping you’ll find him cute enough to be let off the hook, like a kid with cookie crumbs around his mouth claiming he didn’t know who ate them. 
You run your tongue over your teeth and click them, “yeah, no.” You try to swing the door shut and he foot catches it. 
“Baby,” he catches your eyes, his own look wet and sad. He looked remorseful for his words but didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.” 
You know what you want to say, you want to tell him that it hurt your feelings, that you didn’t know you were being that way, why he didn’t tell you, why he felt that way, a million things ran through your mind. 
But that would make him right. Needy about answers, about why he would think that. That would prove him right, and you weren’t needy, you didn’t think you were but anything he might deem as needy wouldn’t be done anymore. 
“It’s okay.” 
Peter pulls his head back, he’s unsure if you know what you said. 
“It’s…okay?” 
You nod, “yeah, sure, I understand, you were just venting, and I shouldn’t have been listening.” 
“But that doesn’t make it okay, because if you did that to me I’d be hurt.” 
But I wouldn’t do that, I only praise you around my friends.  
“Yeah, well, fuck around and find out, you know.” 
It feels off, this is why Peter didn’t want to tell you anything. He knew you’d pull away from him, you already are. 
“Wanna watch a movie? I heard there’s -” he tries to move around your shoulder to come in but you move to block him entirely. He looks at you half confused, half offended. 
You didn’t need him. He had plans with his friends and you weren’t about to prove them all right and have Peter come running back to you, like he always does, and try to fix things. 
This time Peter wouldn’t fix things, you were. It was clear what he didn’t like, so you’ll stop doing it. 
“Don’t you have plans tonight?” 
Peter snorts, “since when do you care? You always beg me to stay with you anyways.” 
Is that one? One of the things that made him think you were needy? 
Not tonight. 
“I won’t beg tonight then, go have fun.” 
Peter regrets everything about the past two hours, he should’ve stayed when you asked the first time. 
“I have more fun with you, lemme in.” Peter tried to push past but you were adamant he leaves. 
“Go smoke some weed with Mark, come back when you have the munchies. I’ll make cookies.” 
Peter shakes his head, “I don’t wanna hang out with them right now, I want to hang out with you.” He tries to move past you for the third time, you put a hand on his chest to push him back.
“No you don’t. You feel guilty and want to prove something to me or yourself or whatever, and I don’t need Logan thinking if you don’t grovel at my feet then I’ll stop sucking your dick.” 
Peter jumps in immediately, “that was fucked up, and I know I said some shitty things too but I didn’t want him thinking I wasn’t getting laid.” His eyes blow up, he moves his hands around, “not that that matters! Cause I’d love you no matter how much we had sex, but we are having sex and he-” 
You hold up a hand to stop him, “I don’t know where you think that’s going but it’s nowhere good. You’re just digging a deeper hole.” 
Peter’s voice is panicked, “there’s a hole?” 
You sigh and clasp your hands, you point them at his chest. 
“I’m not mad and I don’t need you here, I also don’t need you trying to make a point about not meaning it. You said it and you meant it, don’t lie to my face. Either man up or go back to your friends.” 
You were right, this is going nowhere good and Peter knows it. 
“This shouldn’t be a fight, right?” 
You shrug, “I dunno.” 
Peter pleads with you, he wants anything, something he can work off of. 
“I’m sorry, I really am.” He reaches for your hands and you let him hold them, he rubs his thumbs over the back of your hands. 
“Are you sorry you said it or sorry you got caught?” 
Peter doesn’t know how to respond yet, he doesn’t know how to be honest without offending you and he doesn’t want one thing to change. 
“I just….” He groans and tilts his head back, “can I please come inside?” 
You take him in and decide it’s okay for him to enter, your head looks at your roommates door to make sure it’s still closed. 
Peter flops on the couch and slaps the coffee table, you take a seat where he called and waited. 
“You’re not needy. Not at all, and don’t think I’m just saying that because I think that’s what you want to hear. Needy is the wrong word, it makes you seem annoying or unbearable and I promise you’re my most favorite person in the world, so it’s not that.” 
You whisper your words, your thumbnail being nibbled on. 
“So what did you mean?” 
“I don’t even know!” Peter stresses his point, you can see how upset he is, that he not only said it, but couldn’t place it. 
“I just think maybe,” he groans, he doesn’t like being vulnerable. He’s the strong one in the relationship, it wasn’t very manly to cry over loving your girlfriend too much. 
Peter rubs at his cheek and shrugs, “I don’t know.” 
Your eyes narrow, “liar.” 
Peter folds his cards, the only thing he has to lose here is you, and he will if he doesn’t be honest. But it’s a whole new level to him, a layer he’s about to peel back, one that isn’t so light and happy. It’s a side very few people have seen, he’s scared to show it to you. 
“Can we talk?” 
You look at him oddly, “we are?” 
“Private.” 
You’re confused but lead him to your bedroom. Peter didn’t know how to tell you he was about to cry, but when he did he didn’t want your roommate seeing it. 
You wait for Peter’s lead when you reach your room, he pushes you towards your bed for you to take a seat, he stands between your legs and cups your face. Peter tilts your head up until he’s looking down into your eyes, he looks troubled. A small tired grin hugged his lips, “hi baby.” 
“Hi, peter.” you whispered soft, his thumb brushed your bottom lip. 
He takes in a deep breath like he’s remembered the task at hand. 
“I’m about to tell you something I haven’t told anyone else, and it’s a different Peter than you’re used to.” Peter presses a kiss to your forehead and steps back, this time he takes a seat at your desk chair. 
“I don’t think you're needy. I don’t even know what to say, cause like, fuck… I don’t, look, spider-man has a lot of people that need him, right? And he works hard all day and has no one to share it with, but I do. I get to tell you about my shit days, and you’ll patch me up and I’ll pretend to leave just so you can ask me to stay over, and honestly? It feels nice to have someone who needs Peter and not spider-man for once.” 
You try to speak but he stops you, he looks like he’s about to cry. 
“I look forward to it too much. I fucking sit here and play pretend, like it’s a chore to spend time with you, and you always ask me how I do it so good and I’m just so used to hiding it. I’m so used to hiding this lonely feeling, like nothing is enough, and then I had you.” 
Peter shakes his head slowly, he wipes at his nose. Tears drop casually with every few blinks as he speaks, you want to hold him to you forever. 
“I didn’t have to do anything because you did, you made all the decisions I wanted to in the first place. I love when you ask me to fix things, and when you want me to spend every second with you, when you want me to skip a night out, when you get me to stay over for the third night in a row.” 
Peter wipes his eyes, he sniffs and breathes out shakily, this is what it’s about, right? 
“Baby, you aren’t needy. I am.”
“And you projected that on me.” It wasn’t a question. 
He laughs, a tear drips down his nose, he wipes it away.
“I’ve never felt so needed and wanted in my life, and I am so terrified I’ll fuck it up and lose it all.” 
You’d never do that, if the relationship ends it won’t be on your terms.
Finally you stand and sit on his lap, he welcomes you and for the first time you notice how tight he’s always wanted to hold you, forever stuck in his grasp. You straighten the collar on his shirt and fix his hair, his eyes shiny from his tears. 
“You could, you could fuck it all up and lose it.” 
You press your forehead against his, “but I need you too much.” 
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Text
THE EXPERIENCE PROJECT | EP. 2 SECOND GUESSES
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“You’re such a good girl, hm? I finally figured out how to turn you into a good girl for me, princess.”
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[ abstract ]: Hyunjin—your long time crush—finally wants to ask you out. One small issue: you’re absolutely inexperienced regarding that matter. Going on dates and, yes, also everything physical. Gladly, Minho—your long time enemy who is part of your friend group—is there to help, teaching you all you need to know. Going on dates and, yes, also everything physical. All while he dearly hopes you won’t find out about the crush he has had on you for years.
[ general ]: minho + fem reader, [ hyunjin + fem reader ], enemies → lovers, college au, smut + angst + fluff, experienced minho, virgin reader, sunshine x grumpy, he falls first but she falls harder, please refer to series m.list for more info
[ warning ]: explicit sexual scene [ softdom minho, corruption kink, masturbation, slight exhibitionism, fingering ], very brief mention of cigarette smoking and drinking alcohol, lots of messy emotions :(((
[ words ]: 6.7K
[ note ]: the second part is here. Thank you SO MUCH for all the kind feedback on the first part I am still so shocked?? I would have never expected so many people to read and like it. I seriously feel so honoured 🌸 If you enjoyed this part too I’d appreciate it a lot to read your thoughts about how this story unfolds. Make sure to reblog/comment/send an ask my way! 🩷
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To say you’ve had a very pleasant dream about Minho last night would be an understatement. He doesn’t seem to leave your mind, constantly keeping you occupied with thinking of him and the way his lips felt attached to your own. His touch still lingers on your body, how he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you closer, guiding you through your high without even needing to take off your clothes.
You would say no man has ever achieved that but, yeah, obviously no man has ever achieved that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have this contract and agreement with Minho. He’s here to help and tutor you (his words) until Hyunjin and you get closer. Hyunjin. Right. Your long time crush. There are only a few days left before he comes back and until then you still have some time to meet up with Minho and while all this is happening, get through the first week of this new semester. You’ve always hated Mondays—well, who doesn’t? But Mondays on a fresh start of a new college year are even worse. Nothing can come close to last semester when you spend the first seven days crying your heart out because Hyunjin left for Paris, but it’s still a rather annoying day.
Felix—the sunshine he is—made some breakfast for you, reminding you that you need lots of energy to get through your first classes. The two of you head to campus together and part your ways before you enter the building where your first course will be. Sinking down on one of the chairs further in the back of the room, you grab out all the stuff you need and check your phone another time. No message from Hyunjin. And neither a message from Minho although you don’t quite get why you’ve been secretly hoping for him to text you.
Suddenly, the seat next to you gets occupied, when a girl your age sits down and shoots a soft smile your way. “Hey, I’m Areum. Is this seat taken?” The name rings a bell but then again, there are a lot of people on this campus and many different personalities you’ve gotten into conversations with these past three years. “Please sit down. I’m Y/N,” you say, giving her a smile back. She looks at you as if she’s heard your name before as well but you try to not read too much into it. 
“I’m excited what this course is gonna be like,” the girl says, starting some small talk. It’s unusual for people in your classes to chat with one another but since you’ve heard this one is gonna be a course where you have to partner up—you hate those—it’s probably smart to talk to whoever is sitting next to you.
“Oh, same! Although I’ve heard that the professor is pretty strict,” you say. Areum giggles and you watch her brown hair wave around. She gives you a soft glance, as you take in the scent of her perfume that lingers in the air. You usually don’t feel insecure about your appearances but sitting next to a woman dressed like this—a business outfit and stilettos, a flawless crimson red lipstick and hair hair half up with a butterfly clip that has pearls attached to it—makes you wonder if you look a little silly in your yellow dress and the lemon earrings you are wearing. When you see the men entering the room looking her way, it only gets worse. God, why are you like this? She seems nice and you are in no position to judge her. But sometimes, when we meet new people, something just feels off about them and we aren’t able to explain what the unjustified issue we have. Okay, calm down. It’s literally nothing.
“He is a bit strict, yes,” Areum starts, “but if you do your coursework on time and participate in every class, it’s gonna be fine. I have attended some of his courses before. No need to worry.”
You nod, “That’s good! Are you in your last year too?”
“I am. I’m not sure if we’ve met each other before but I could swear I’ve seen you around,” she says. It seems as if she had the same thought as you. “I had a similar feeling. But I can’t explain where or when.”
Areum reaches into her purse, grabbing some mint gums and offering one to you which you accept. The door of the classroom swings open and you wait for the professor to get inside but instead someone else is revealed. No, how high are the odds? Your rommate’s gym crush takes the seat in front of you, placing his backpack on the floor before he turns around. He sends a smile—that looks more like a smirk—to the girl next to you, as he greets her. “Areum, hey, how’s it going?”
Oh, so they know each other?
“Fine, Binnie. How’ve you been?” she replies. It’s him. Felix’s crush Changbin. “Great, great. Minho isn’t with you?”
Areum rolls her eyes. 
Wait, what?
Is he talking about your Minho? Well, not your your Minho but the Minho that you know. The one that you visited yesterday and made sign a makeshift contract on your iPad that the two of you are gonna have sex with each other in the name of science? Is Areum perhaps Minho’s ex girlfriend that he has never really talked that much about despite the fact that they had been together for quite some time?
“I told you we broke up…”
Oh, fuck. It’s her. It must be.
“You know Minho? Lee Minho?” you ask her now, moving your body around to see her full face. As if this would answer the question because, once again, Minho had never introduced his back then partner to anyone in the group. Which is a big red flag. Perhaps, Jisung has met her but you aren’t sure about that. Was it that smart to start some tutoring lessons with Minho of all people?
“Yeah, he’s my ex. You know him too?” Areum tilts her head and looks at you like a fawn. It makes sense, she kind of has similarities with the animal. You chuckle, while your lemon earrings start dangling around.
“N-Not that well.” I just came all over his thigh last night and my lips got all puffy from making out with him. We also signed a contract that he is gonna take my virginity in order to teach me how to pleasure his good friend Hyunjin. “My friends are friends with him but that’s it.” You’re such a bad liar. Well, Minho can’t be considered your friend after all. However, you are still closer than normal acquaintances or even enemies would ever be.
“Waaait. Now it all makes sense,” Areum lets out and you can basically observe a lightbulb appear above her head. “You are Y/L/N Y/N, aren’t you?”
“Yup, that’s me!” you reply, awkwardly waving your hand as if you are introducing yourself another time. Changbin turns around in the meantime when another guy he seems to know plops down on the chair next to him. Your attention is fully on Areum, who is reaching for your hands to place them into her own as if you are best friends. She’s smiling brightly, perfectly white teeth almost blinding you, as she shakes your hands.
“I’ve heard lots of things about you,” she says, absolutely amazed and you don’t know what to think about it.
“I hope only good things though,” you half-jokingly answer.
“Of course, dear,” she reassures you. “It’s a shame that Minho has never introduced us. Well, to be fair, his lack of participation when it comes to getting introduced to friends and family was the main reason why the relationship ended but I don’t want to bore you with stuff like this.”
Yeah. Back to the walking red flag called Minho’s approach on his last relationship. You remember when he casually mentioned a girlfriend in a conversation with your friend group and all of you started wondering why he hadn't told you earlier. Sure, there are people in this world that keep all things private but there’s still a slight chance for another reason being there. You probably won’t ever find out and it doesn’t really matter to you anyway, right?
“I’m sorry about that Areum,” you say then but she tells you that everything is alright and it’s not your fault. Oh, if you only knew, Y/N. There is in fact a reason why Minho was so hesitant to introduce his now ex to the friend group but if that ever reaches you he might as well leave the country and adapt a new identity.
You get startled when your phone that’s placed with the screen up on the table receives a message, the device vibrating on the wooden surface. Your eyes snap towards the source of the noise, reading a notification of none other than the ex boyfriend of the girl who is currently sitting next to you. Fuck. You reach for it, clumsily trying to lock it again but successfully failing your attempt. Watching your phone drop down, you listen to the sound of it hitting the floor.
“Oh, Y/N, be careful,” Areum says, reaching for your device and picking it up. You pray that she doesn’t read the notification and when she gives you back your phone, you see that she respectfully didn’t catch a glimpse of your screen. “Thank you,” you say, taking it back, before your eyes hover over the message.
[ Minho ]: I’m gonna pick you up at 4PM from your house. Wear something comfortable that will keep you warm.
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At 4PM sharp your phone vibrates again, another message being sent by Minho in which he tells you he is here. The two of you agreed that it isn’t the smartest idea if he rings your doorbell—after all, Felix shares this apartment with you and gets suspicious about even the smallest details. You feel bad about the fact you have to kind of lie to your best friend that you are gonna meet with a friend from uni for studying, especially when he offered to go there with you. So, here you find yourself now, dressed in another bright dress—a green one this time—and apple earrings swaying back and forth that match the exact same shade. You’ve got your hair in the most comfortable style that fits you. Throwing your jacket over your shoulders after you put on your shoes, you grab your bag and leave the building.
Minho looks the same as always, a smirk on his face when he sees you stepping down the stairs, combined with the emotionless glance his eyes always shoot anyone’s way. If there was a Wikipedia entry of what a resting bitch face is, you are sure someone must have put a picture of your frenemy beside it. Wait. Frenemy? Sorry, enemy of course. A little kissing and dry humping obviously doesn’t turn you into friends or something on the verge of that. Minho nods as a way to greet you, before he tells you to follow him to the subway station close to your house. The whole way inside the public transport he doesn’t tell you where the hell you are heading to and it plays stupid games with your level of anxiety. However, you manage to get there and after an additional five minute walk you are standing in front of a building that lets your eyes widening.
“How did you know that I like ice skating?” you ask, your mouth falling agape. The request of what to wear today makes absolute sense now. How haven’t you realised? Well, in your defense you weren’t even aware that Minho knew that you love said activity.
“You’ve mentioned it once,” he says, shrugging his shoulders as if it’s nothing. Once. You mentioned it once. And he remembered it? God, you’ve gotta slow down now before your heart does jumping jacks. One could say that Minho just uses this agreement as an excuse to subtly date you but he would never admit that. He’s already too deep inside a mess he’s willingly created. Shit, you’re here with him because you want to prepare yourself for what’s yet to come with his friend Hyunjin and Minho finds himself thinking about an ideal world where you are his girlfriend. How stupid is he?
When he’s on the ice rink with you, said thoughts don’t quite get eliminated. In fact, they only grew in quantity and size. It’s a shame this is all just for or pretence. One could think it’s weird he is even taking you here, after all he promised to teach you all the physical things you lack skills in but he is also aware that—especially regarding the dynamic between you two—he needs to build some trust first. Hopefully, it’ll help and not just make him fall even more for you. Speaking of falling—one second he doesn’t pay attention and trips over his own feet, crashing right into you. Minho swings you to the ground, almost landing on top of you. “Shit! Are you okay?”
You giggle, “I am, no worries. Are you okay though, Min?”
Min. You’ve never called him that before but he likes it, he has to admit. You use this name in all those dreams and fantasies he’s had about you, as well. Fuck. He’s gonna fall down and kiss the ice surface with his face any minute again if you keep messing with his head like this.
“Minho? You okay?” Right. You were talking to him. He clears his throat, pretending to be completely normal when he is anything but that. He’s always felt normal in his life—except for on occasions when his heart was touched. By you, to be specific. Not by any of his friends and, as sad as it sounds, not even by Areum during their relationship. Minho feels ashamed and disgusted about himself sometimes.
“I’m alright,” he manages to let out. “Another round?” You nod and help him get up again. In the process, you both almost trip and drop another time but luckily this time his strong arms hold you. God, has Minho always been this… muscular? You’re gonna go insane any time soon. You’re not entirely sure if this is such a good idea but there’s no backing off anymore. Once you start something you are gonna finish it too. That’s a trait of yourself that’s both a curse and a blessing. When the two of you are standing upright again, you cruise another few rounds on the ice rink, holding Minho’s hand whenever he starts tumbling around. You’ve wondered why he’s even invited you here but you are, firstly, a bit nervous to ask and, secondly, already sure that he probably does this to establish some bond of trust between you two for everything physical that’s about to follow. For a second you think it might be more than just this—until you get reminded again that Minho doesn’t really like you in the first place so you push those delusional thoughts aside.
However, you keep wondering why on earth he’s even agreed to this. After your first class this morning and meeting Areum, you keep thinking it must have something to do with her. Maybe he’s still not over her and uses you as a rebound. If that’s the case, you wanna be mad at him until you remember that you are technically only using him to get closer to Hyunjin too.
Oh, Y/N, this is gonna be some rough ride of a roller coaster.
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You’ve been back at Minho’s apartment for a couple of minutes, he offered you something to drink but you only opted for water. It’s not like he wanted to give you alcohol anyway since the two of you know that studying works best when sober, right?
“Make yourself comfortable,” he tells you, pointing at the sofa where you sat on just yesterday. God, the images of last evening haven’t left your mind. You sink down on the soft cushion. You clear your throat while you wait for Minho to join you and half a minute later he’s there. He leaves some respectful space between the two of you, mostly to be blamed on the fact of how nervous he currently is. What the hell is this? He’s supposed to be the confident one here but somehow ends up having his heart bursting out of his chest.
“Do you have…anything on your mind? Anything you wanna try out?” Minho cringes at his own words but desperately tries to hide it. Judging from your face, he is successful with it. On top of that, you are rather occupied with your own thoughts right now. You’ve thought about a lot of things that you would like to learn from Minho. Many, many things appear inside your head when reminiscing the sensual scenes of last night.
“I.. I really liked what we did yesterday,” you confess, only now realising this is the first time you are talking about what happened twenty four hours ago. Which is quite ironic since the picture of you on top of him, straddling his lap and grinding over his muscular thigh has basically been the main focus of your thoughts since then.
“Well, thanks for the compliment,” Minho says, clicking his tongue. Shit. You forgot that you should definitely not feed him with any more praise since this man’s ego is already big enough for whatever reason. Well, you know the reason. Minho is handsome, you can’t deny that, he’s a pretty good kisser—not as if you are the best judge in this case with not knowing many people to compare him to—and hopefully has great skills beyond that, which he must have because otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed to your little odd arrangement. “But what would you like to try out? We said that we would do things at your pace, so tell me what you wanna do at that pace.”
The thing is—you don’t know what you want to do. You are inexperienced, after all. It’s not like your fantasies aren’t creative but you still have no idea what your sexual preferences and perhaps even possible kinks are. Whenever you’ve tried to let your mind run free, during some lonely nights, two fingers passing your pyjama pants and playing a little with your pussy, it didn’t always get you somewhere. Sure, you’ve managed to make yourself come from time to time but it didn’t feel… great. Perhaps, you’ve been doing something wrong, who knows.
“Y/N? I need you to be honest with me,” Minho continues and for a second you wonder if he is a mind reader, “you won’t be able to have a good time with Hyunjin if you don’t even know what you yourself are into. This is the key for a good sex life, trust me. Apart from communicating with the other person which we are currently doing.”
You gulp and a nod follows. You know that he’s right. Still, you feel kinda awkward about this whole situation but you try to remind yourself that it’s alright. This is all new for you so it’s probably normal to feel a bit weird to talk about such intimate topics.
“I’m… not sure, honestly,” you admit. Minho takes a deep breath, contemplating if he should just talk further with you about this or just make a move. But then again, he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. “Please don’t get mad at me for asking but when was the last time you touched yourself?”
“Uhm, I think two or three weeks ago. It didn’t get me anywhere, though, so I haven’t tried again since then.”
“Okay. Have you come before while masturbating?” You let out an awkward giggle, your arms reaching around your upper body as if you are hugging yourself. “I have… but it wasn’t the best.”
“I see, I see,” Minho says, “how about… and you can always decline—please know this, but I believe that you learn the best while doing and presenting, you know? How about you show me… how you usually do this, hm?”
Oh, God. Your heart is pumping out of you, on the verge of exploding.
“S-Show you?”
Minho shifts a little in his seat. He obviously doesn’t want to scare you off with his suggestions that he is wording but he also doesn’t want to make some mistake in just rushing things with you. He’s never been overthinking this much with a woman. He’s never worried about making mistakes but here he is. “Only if you are comfortable of course. You will guide me and tell me how to touch you. We can kiss a little and just see where things lead to, hm? You liked kissing me, didn’t you?”
“Y-Yeah… liked kissing you, hm,” you admit. That’s the little push he needs to get closer to you. It all feels as if it’s happening in slow motion, when he guardedly eliminates the space between the two of you and gets closer. You catch a glimpse of his beautiful brown eyes, your glances wandering down to his pretty lips. You think back to how they felt pressed against your own, fitting so perfectly. Okay, calm down. It’s just kissing. And today also a little more but you can do this, Y/N. It’s gonna be alright. No big deal.
Minho’s lips catch your own in a passionate kiss and you could swear this one is even better than the ones yesterday. If that’s even possible. Warmth spreads through your body, when he grabs your jaw and pulls you closer. He’s taking the full initiative this time and it makes you feel confident, comfortable, safe. When he pulls away from you for a second, it needs all the strength you’ve got to not slip out a desperate little noise. But Minho quickly continues, his hands now wandering down your sides, roaming over your curves and taking in every part of your body. He’s absolutely in love with the way you dress—the green dress really compliments you and in combination with the apple jewellery dangling from your ears you complete this look adorably. However, he’s a little scared to do some damage to the earrings which is why he tells you to maybe put them away and you follow suit.
Once you’ve done that, he gets closer again, placing a hasty kiss on the side of your mouth before the little patterns start blossoming on your jawline, your neck and wander down. But he holds himself back. You’ve agreed to do this step by step, slowly at your pace. His fingers travel south, passing your waist, your hips and your ass, until they slip under your dress. Minho keeps his eyes on yours at all times and when you whisper a small ‘yes, please’, he knows he’s doing everything correctly. He has to hold back a mischievous chuckle but you seem to be so deep in your thoughts that you wouldn’t notice anyway.
Your dress gets pushed a little upwards, revealing your tights to Minho. “Pull them off,” you let out, not quite getting where the sudden confidence is coming from. But Minho does as he’s told, taking off the fabric and revealing your underwear to him. You observe his tongue grazing over his lips, wetting them and for a second he imagines how it would be like to go down on you until he decides against it. Step by step, right? However, his hand is already back right between your legs that you obediently part for him. His fingertips are grazing over your soaked panties, forcing a whimper out of your mouth. You sound so adorable, it’s unbelievable.
“Can I take these off?” Minho asks, his gaze colliding with your own. You hastily nod, spreading your thighs even further. “Yes. Take them off.” Minho follows suit, sliding down the last remaining material that hides your pussy from the man hovering above you. Your cunt now exposed to him, you start getting a little shy, although you are completely forgetting that this is in fact Minho who is doing this with you. The guy in your friend group who you don’t get along with and suddenly he’s so gentle with you. But you’ve got no time to worry about any of this, when he says, “Y/N. It’s okay. It’s just me, yeah? You wanna keep going?”
How does he manage to make you feel like this? It should be illegal. Still, you nod and dare to part your legs a little further again. The view makes his mouth water but he holds back a little, only spreading your pussy lips apart with his fingers and finding exactly what he’s been looking for—you’re absolutely wet for him. He’s gonna lose his mind tonight, that one is for sure. “Show me what you like, Y/N,” he lets out, barely a whisper.
You’re unsure if he wants you to guide him or do it yourself but when you reach for his hand, he takes control instead and lets your own fingertips graze over your wetness. “Come on, touch yourself, princess.” You do as you’re told, heavy breaths escaping you and Minho, when you start pleasuring yourself. Two of your fingers find your clit, drawing circles around it while you keep your eyes fixated on his. You’re sure you’re gonna faint at any second, especially when he whispers again, “Yeah, just like that. You look adorable like this, you know that?”
For some reason, the fact that Minho is more experienced than you and the one who’s guiding you, just turns you on more—if that’s even possible at this point. You continue with your little movements, moans slipping out of you but it doesn’t feel good enough. Just like those times when you tried it on your own, home alone. It’s nice, for sure, but not nice enough. Your eyebrows are scrunched together, chest rising up from the fast breaths you let out and your heart racing at the speed of light. But no matter what you do—if you adjust the pace, change the movements a little or part your legs further—it’s just not enough. So, gathering up together all your confidence and ask Minho for help is inevitable at this point.
“Minho… please. I… I can’t…” you let out. By now, Minho is rock hard inside his pants, his poor cock being neglected in there but you don’t seem to noticed, way too focused on your own little issue. “You can’t what?” That stupid smirk on his face just arouses you more.
“Need your h-help,” you confess and all that menace does is chuckle. Rough kisses erupt on your neck, leading you on even more and it is so much fun to him, it’s unbelievable. “You need me, huh?” You can’t with him. Not in the state you are in right now, your legs spread and your fingers playing with yourself, entirely exposed to the man above you. “Stop teasing me.”
Minho scoffs, his lips getting close to your ear, “Says the tease herself, hm?” But then he lets go again, just to add, “Okay, darling. Lay on your back for me, yeah?”
You nod, following suit. Your entire body hits the sofa, the soft cushion shifting under your weight. Minho is hovering over you, his hand replacing your movements, now right at your wetness where you own had been just seconds prior. “Can I touch you?” It’s barely a whisper but you still tell him to keep going.
And it feels a thousand times better, as if you leveled up and are close to tasting heaven, when his fingers start grazing over your sensitive nub. He riles you up even more, before two of his digits come dangerously close to your soaking entrance. When Minho receives a little encouragement from you, he pushes one of them aside. You instantly start clenching around it but he takes his time to let you get used to the new feeling. His fingers are a lot bigger than your own, so one of them surely feels like two of yours. He’s stretching you out so nicely, always making sure to continue the sensual motions on your clit with his thumb. Minho is thrusting in and out of you until you’re ready to take another one of his fingers. A moan leaves your mouth, but you allow him to take the upper hand in this.
Minho is driving you closer to the edge without doing much, but the way he uses his fingers to pleasure you is beyond this world. This doesn’t even come remotely close to every time you’ve tried it yourself.
“Feels good, Min” you praise him, the name threatening to make him come untouched inside his pants. God. He’s never witnessed himself being so pathetic but he doesn’t mind at all if he thinks about it. Well, if he was able to think straight right now. It’s not easy to focus on anything else, if you are whimpering for him, while your liquids are coating his fingers and your walls are tightening around him.
“And you’re such a good girl, hm? Finally figured out how to turn you into a good girl for me, princess.”
Without a warning, you reach your high, when you clench around his digits and sparkles start blinding your vision. Utmost pleasure rushes through your veins, when your legs are shaking again like they did yesterday and the sensation takes over you. Your soul leaves your body for a second that you are sure of, but Minho keeps guiding you through your high, praising you some more, before his pace drops. When you’re breathing normally again, he pulls his fingers out of you again. You watch him guide them to his mouth before they slip inside and he licks them clean. An almost animalistic sound leaves him and you gulp, not yet realising what kind of mess you’ve entered here.
How is one supposed to go on with their life normally when Lee Minho just gave them the best orgasm of their life only with his fingers?
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You’re somewhat back to reality half an hour later. Minho has made some food for the both of you, once again playing all gentleman and swiping your feet off the ground with his cooking skills. Okay, it’s enough. Calm down, Y/N. It’s just food. But also a good way to conquer your heart–
“Would you like some more?” he asks, ripping you out of the spiral of thoughts that’s running through your brain. You shake your head no but give him a smile that is rather just the motion of your lips pressing against each other. Minho gets up then and carries away the dishes, telling you to sit down again when you offer any help. Why is he like this? So… kind? You’re seriously getting second guesses if this was such a good idea. The dynamic has grown weird to say the least. But then again, today has also shown that you can in fact feel comfortable and safe around him, despite the two of you not being that close. At least up until now. Sometimes you wished you could worry less but that’s how life is. Unfortunately.
“Thank you for today, Minho,” you decide to say then, a little nervous and still so very much confused about all this. Maybe you should just get some sleep and think about it tomorrow when you have a much clearer mind again. Hopefully.
“Oh, don’t forget your earrings,” Minho lets out, reaching for the jewellery that he had placed on the couch table earlier in order to not accidentally damage them or anything. Your fingertips graze over his, when he hands you the two green apples but you ignore the rushing sensation sprinting straight through your chest. When you are about to put them back in, he suddenly decides to help you, turning this whole situation even more domestic than it should be. But you let him. Half a minute later, he helps you back into your coat and reaches for his own jacket.
“Are you going outside, too?”
He nods, “Yeah, I’ll bring you home. It’s already dark outside.” Oh. You seriously haven’t expected this. But you are smart enough to not argue with Minho and despite that, you are also very much a woman and walking home alone at such a late hour isn’t the smartest idea in order to feel safe. And Minho grants you exactly this—safety. As ridiculous as it sounds. He puts on his shoes and you do the same, before you throw your bag over your shoulder.
All of a sudden, there’s a knock on his front door. From the other side, the hallway. Minho’s eyes are widening and he places his index finger on his lips, telling you to keep quiet. He carefully opens the door and you hide behind it. Why on earth does his apartment not have a spy hole? He doesn’t let the person in but judging by the shrill and annoying voice you can clearly tell who is visiting Minho tonight.
“Jisung, why are you here?”
Oh, fuck no. Under no circumstances your friend can find out that you are at his best friend’s—aka your enemy’s—apartment. How would you even explain this situation to him? Oh, Ji, by the way, we haven’t told you but I’ve been meeting Minho these past couple of days because he is teaching me how to make a man come so I can satisfy Hyunjin better once he’s back. Yes, I know you found this idea about asking someone to tutor me hilarious, funny that I’m actually doing it, right? Yeah. Sounds ridiculous just like this whole situation.
“Bro, that’s not how you greet your best friend when he’s here for you with beer and takeaway,” the younger one says and without being able to see Minho right now you know that he’s once again rolling his eyes. You can also hear him scoff which adds to it.
“What did you do?”
Of course Minho immediately suspects that his best friend must have gotten in trouble and you wouldn’t be surprised either if you are honest. “What do you mean? Why do you instantly think that I—alright, okay. I need to crash on your couch. There was a leaking pipe in my student dorm and they are currently taking care of it. Like an emergency. But I brought drinks and snacks as well as my Mario Kart game that you always love to play,” Jisung rambles.
“Fine,” Minho says. He obviously can’t decline his best friend entrance, especially if said best friend is in need and doesn’t have a place to sleep tonight. “Uhm, just a second.”
“Are you hiding something, bro? Or someone? Are you back together with Areum—please don’t say yes especially not if we both know that you are actually–“
“Will you just cut it? If you wanna know—you kinda… uhm, interrupted me in the middle of something and I have to clean some stuff, you know,” Minho explains. Well, a good half-lie. He makes it sound as if he was jerking off, which he technically was but how he’s wording it Jisung believes that Minho spent some good time on his own. A great idea to hide the evidence—you.
“Oh, yeah. I mean, no issue for me. But I know you are always weird and secretive about this. You know what? I’ll hand you these,” Jisung offers, giving Minho the drinks and food he brought with him, “I’m gonna head downstairs again and buy some other snacks and a pack of cigarettes.”
“No smoking inside. You’ll have to use my balcony,” he reminds his best friend. “Of course, boss. No worries about that. I’ll be right back.”
A second later, Jisung runs down the stairs again and Minho closes the front door. “That was risky,” he lets out and a breath he’s been holding escapes out of his mouth with it. “I’m so sorry about this, about him.”
It's not like it’s Minho’s fault. Maybe it was a little careless to believe that Jisung wouldn’t just appear here. After all, he often spontaneously knocks on your apartment’s door too. “It’s alright. I’ll see you tomorrow on campus?” you ask and Minho nods. “Sure. Good night, Y/N.”
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[ Minho ]: Please text me when you’re home so I know that you’re safe.
The message pops up on your phone when you’re on the subway. You are glad that there’s a group of women on your train with you, making you feel a little safer. Sure, not as safe as Minho could but still. You still can’t believe what happened and thinking back to the scene on his couch makes you giggle like a teenage girl, someone could almost think you’ve got a crush on him or something. Which you obviously don’t. Minho is still Minho and you are still you. Besides that, there are only four days left until Hyunjin is back and he will hopefully ask you out.
A few minutes later, the public transport reaches your station and you get out. When you reach your apartment building, you run up the stairs, ready to get home and take off your makeup and change into comfort clothes. You type in the code for your front door and it opens, before you enter your flat. You call out Felix since you hear some of his giggles echoing from the living room. It sounds as if he’s talking to someone. Strange. He didn’t announce any company tonight but maybe a friend is visiting. You take off your shoes and jacket, get into your slippers and walk toward the source of the noise. Just when you are about to enter the room, Felix stands up and runs to you in order to hug you.
“Y/N, you’re back! Guess who’s here and came back early from Paris?”
Oh, wow. This can’t be. You take a few steps forward and a tall certain someone reveals himself. You let out a chuckle, not quite grasping that Hyunjin is actually here, before he pulls you into a long and tight hug, too. “I missed you, angel.” God, that name. He’s called you by that name a couple of times but tonight it sounds extraordinarily pretty spilling from his beautiful lips. “I missed you too, Jinnie.” It almost looks as if there are tears in his eyes but he’s probably just happy and released to be back in his hometown. He’s been far away for far too long after all.
“How’ve you been? You’ve got some studying done?” Right. That’s what you told Felix what you’d be doing tonight. You gulp, feeling a bit bad for lying to both your best friend and Hyunjin. “Y-Yeah. Quite boring but you know how it is. I’m so glad you’re back, though!” You notice Felix walking away, disappearing somewhere in the kitchen to give his two best friends some space.
“Y/N, listen. I’ve meant it by the way. My text and all. Once you’re ready and have time I’d love to take you out on a date,” he tells you, confirming that he actually might be serious this time. A bright smile is shining all over your face, when you excitedly nod. “Yes, of course.”
Hyunjin explains then that he wanted to surprise you and this is why he showed up at your apartment but only Felix was here. He’s still got all of his luggage with him and since you already seem to be tired and have classes in the morning, your roommate offers to drive Hyunjin to his old apartment. You tell them good night, pulling your crush into another hug and he places a soft kiss on your cheek. You’re gonna turn into a puddle anytime soon. Watching them leave the house, you head toward the bathroom and get ready for bed, before you fall down on the mattress and doze off into sleep within minutes. 
And of course with only Hyunjin on your mind, totally forgetting that you were supposed to text Minho that you made it back home safely…
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