#was laughing at how thorough he was with the signatures and then he went and did a thing like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelyiida · 11 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬.

KATSUKI BAKUGO X SECRETARY READER

A 500 FOLLOWERS SERIES!

❥SYNOPSIS: as the years went by, bakugo realized that he was the last to get married. the days grew cold and the nights turned lonely. bakugo want's to marry, but he doesn't really feel like falling in love. at least he has his trustee secretary!

❥: CHAPTERS

❥ WARNINGS: implied fem reader, aged-up!, Pro-hero MHA characters over the age of 27, vulgar language, suggestive wording and content

❥ MASTERLIST

❥ JOIN TAG LIST!

WORDS: 7.4K

CHAPTER 2: MY MISTAKE

“three strikes, you're in”

It's enough to say that you should have done your research before applying to become Dynamight's secretary—hard, thorough, strategic research, indeed.

Nothing could have prepared you for the hell that awaited you.

You've been employed at the pro-hero's agency for precisely 2 months and 20 days, almost 3 months. And throughout every month, every week, every day, hour, minute, and second, you've experienced utter torture and disrespect.

Yet, against all odds, there's an odd contentment within you. You've come to accept the harsh realities of the job. Despite the hardship, you find a strange satisfaction in the chaos. Maybe it's the unpredictable nature of the work or the resilience it builds within you. Whatever it is, you're strangely okay with it all.

Because you knew that the day you clocked in, the specific day marking the third month of your employment, you'd march into Dynamight's office and tell him to kiss your wonderful ass for doubting you in the beginning.

But for now, you're content.

As you walk through the white halls of the 21st floor, your gaze fixates on Dynamight's office door. You notice that your coworkers still give you lingering looks, but now it's not a look of pity, but rather admiration.

Turning into the break room with heavy files in hand, you slam them down on the small circular coffee table, startling your coworkers in the process.

"Jeez, how do you do it, L/n?" one of your female coworkers asks, her face turned upwards, radiating disgust as she looks at the thick stack of papers. Your other male coworker turns around, coffee in hand, and takes a slow sip. "You must be some kind of masochist-sadist or whatever to endure that," he says, waving his hand towards the pile. You roll your eyes and walk towards the coffee machine.

"It's not hard once you know the routine," you shyly smile. "Routine? Is that what you're conditioned to say?" Your male friend asks. This makes you laugh. "No…it's the truth," you respond. Grabbing a cup from the cupboard, you take the hot jug of coffee and pour some into your signature coffee mug.

"You know what? From the beginning, I knew what you were!" your female friend exclaims. Raising an eyebrow at her words, you sit down with the steamy cup of coffee, placing it on the ground by your feet, not even allowing yourself the fantasy of spilling it on the papers. Your friend crosses her arms with a smug smile. "You have to be some industry plant!" she continues with a wide smile.

"I wish," you snort.

"I mean, there must have been a nationwide distress call from all the pro-heroes in Japan complaining that they needed better secretaries. So they planted you and a whole bunch of others to frolic around and show people how it's done. Because, quite frankly…who here is really doing any work besides Red Riot, Dynamight, and you."

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head as you take another sip of your warm coffee. You watch your two coworkers make a beeline for the exit, their duties calling them back to their desks. As you sit in the comfortable silence of the small breakroom, you begin to reflect on the words they said.

They weren't necessarily wrong, or right.

In no way, shape, or form do you work as hard as your boss… But you'd consider yourself a damn close second. You've been there by their side from sunrise to sunset, through prideful moments and instances where they scream at you, making you doubt your own self-worth.

You're not a pro-hero, but sometimes you feel like one. You're always on the sidelines, observing rather than stepping onto the battlefield. Yet, you know every detail, from the way they attack to the way villains cower at their touch. Your eyes have become well-trained in the past three months of working in this field, that's for sure.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you quickly gather your things and make a beeline for your boss's office. Leaving your sad cup of spilled coffee on the breakroom floor, you knock hurriedly three times before letting yourself in, the sound of your shoes thumping against the carpeted floor echoing through the silent office.

With a huff, you slam the papers down and look at Dynamight. His face remains straight and unreadable. "Anything else you need, Dynamight?" you say, slightly staggered breath escaping your lips. The blonde hero blinks a couple of times, tilting his head as he looks at the stack of papers.

Extending his finger to lift one of the papers, he looks back up at you. "And might I know what the fuck is on my desk, L/n?" he says, his polite tone dripping with condescension. Clenching your jaw, you manage a half-smile. "Apologies, Dynamight! These are your schedules for the next three months. I've strategically organized each event to your liking, be it fundraisers, press conferences, speeches, or office schedules-"

"Even the shitty high school reunions?" he interrupts with a sly smirk. You chuckle at his response. "Yes, I made sure to make those an optional choice for you," you say with a smirk.

Dynamight scans through the papers, his face focused. Suddenly, he slams a particular paper down and points to a specific line of text. "October 16th, that's a Wednesday. Why is there a press conference scheduled on that day?" he questions.

Raising your eyebrows, you lean over to look at the indicated line. "I scheduled a press conference on that day because you'll be accompanying Red Riot to the Golden Hall to celebrate his birthday. When there are many people with similar expertise and professions gathered, it's considered a press conference," you explain with a smile. "Plus, your officials emphasized the need for you to attend more conferences, so… I bent the rules a little," you mumble.

A long pause hangs in the office, Dynamight's eyes fixed on you. "And why should I keep these papers? Couldn't you have just emailed me this as a damn form?" he growls.

"Because you only use your phone on workdays, and even then, you're barely on it. So I figured a printed form would suit you best," you reply calmly. "And what if I lose it? What then?" he retorts with an irritated tone, seemingly upset that you have an answer to all his questions.

If he paid close attention, he might notice your eye twitch.

Letting out a sigh, you place your hands behind your back. "You walk into this office with nothing, so I assume you leave with nothing as well… These papers will be waiting for you safely in a nice drawer upon your return, Dynamight," your tone edges on the brink of scolding. Your boss says nothing, tearing his gaze away from you as he settles back in his chair, focusing on his computer.

"Get out."

Blinking, you slowly bow before making your escape from the seventh ring of hell—Dynamight's office. "Wait!" he yells out, causing you to stop in your tracks. "Yes, Dynamight?" you say wearily. Your boss notices the tiredness in your tone, raising his head slightly.

"Don't come to work tomorrow. Takin' a week off," he says.

"Yes, Dynamight" you say, making another attempt to leave before you were once interrupted. "L/n!" Dynamight calls out for you once more, "Yes?" you say, on the brink of breaking right then and there.

"Rest."

Your eyes widen for a moment, that might be the nicest thing he's ever said you since you started working here. "Yes, thank you...you as well!" You exclaim, quickly bowing you make a speed walk run for it.

As you scurry to gather your belongings, you make your way to the door and leave the office, heading back home. Upon reaching home, you kick off your shoes at the entrance and set your bag down. Weary and longing for comfort, you tread towards your bedroom. The sight of your bed beckons you, and without hesitation, you sprint towards it with all your might. Jumping into the bed, you land with a resounding thump, letting out a deep groan of relief as you sink into the covers you've yearned for since the moment you woke up this morning.

Letting out a sigh, you turn to face the ceiling and begin to ponder…

If Dynamight isn't at the office for a week, that means you don't have to work… which means you can do whatever you want!

"Whatever I want, huh?" you ask aloud, sitting up on the bed as you delve deeper into your thoughts. When was the last time you had free time like this? Let alone a whole week to yourself?

There are so many things you can do! You could indulge in drawing, try out those dishes you've been meaning to cook, do some yoga, or maybe explore the town like you used to. The only difference now is that you won't be frantically rushing around the city, searching for jobs.

Or perhaps you could simply embrace stillness and do absolutely nothing. Yeah, that sounds like a plan…

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz!

Letting out an irritated groan, you reach out for your phone and answer the call. "Yes, Dynamight?" you say in a sweet tone that masks your true feelings. "This isn't Dynamight," a female voice responds from the other end. Your eyebrows raise as you glance at the screen to check the contact name. "Oh! F/n! Sorry… force of habit," you awkwardly chuckle. "So, is the prophecy really true? Are we off for a whole week?" she asks.

"Yes, the prophecy has come to pass," you respond, impersonating an old wizard. This elicits laughter from both of you. "I was just lying down, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do," you share with your friend.

"Well, that's exactly why I called you, Ms. L/n."

"Me and a couple of girls are gonna go out tonight. We're all gonna try speed dating!" your friend says excitedly over the phone, her voice brimming with anticipation. You let out a sigh and lean back against the couch, contemplating her proposition.

"Um, how about no?" you respond, your tone laced with hesitation. Your friend groans loudly on the other line, causing you to wince at the sudden outburst. You quickly move the phone away from your ear to protect your eardrums.

"What do you mean no? You're fucking hot!" she argues, her voice filled with conviction. You smack your lips together, feeling a mix of flattery and skepticism. "You're just saying that so I can come with you," you mumble, not fully convinced of her sincerity.

"No, I'm saying it because you're a babe and you need a life outside of work. I bet if Dynamight asked you to go on a speed date, you'd do it without any hesitation!" she spits back, her words filled with both exasperation and a hint of teasing.

You clench your jaw, slightly irritated by her comment. "Bullshit, I would not! I have more dignity than that, don't I?" you retort, feeling a pang of defensiveness rise within you.

"It's hard to fucking tell with you these days! Just please think about it. What if you find the guy of your dreams? What if he's the sexiest man alive and you decide to miss out because of your stupid pride!" she says, her words rushing out in a torrent of persuasive arguments.

You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of her words pressing upon you. "Okay, okay! Let me think about it!" you finally scream, your patience wearing thin as you struggle to come up with a definitive answer.

"Perfect! I knew you'd come around. Bye~" your friend sings before abruptly hanging up, leaving you with a mix of annoyance and contemplation. You stare at the caller ID as it fades away on your phone screen before tossing the device aside in frustration.

"Fuck," you sigh, your thoughts swirling with indecision. If there's one thing you have consistently had bad luck in, it's dating. From the age of 18 until now, your romantic endeavors have never quite yielded the desired results. Sure, there have been a few nice relationships you can look back on with a hint of nostalgia, but they were far outweighed by the embarrassing stories and short-lived connections.

You sink deeper into the couch, closing your eyes as you reflect on your dating history. The awkward blind dates, the cringe-worthy encounters, and the countless disappointments have left you hesitant to venture into the dating scene once again. But maybe, just maybe, your friend's words hold a glimmer of truth.

Like the time you met your first love, you thought things were going so well for both of you. You had been dating for about a year, and it was your first-year anniversary. Your partner had planned an extravagant evening at a fancy restaurant, complete with steak, wine, and a beautiful orchestra playing in the background. You were dressed to the nines, feeling absolutely beautiful. It seemed like one of the best days of your life.

As you gazed into your partner's eyes, brimming with love and adoration, you felt as if time stood still. It was a moment when nothing in the world could hinder your happiness. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed someone storming toward your table with a baby on their hip.

Time seemed to slow down as you watched the woman approach, her face red with anger. Your partner turned around, following your gaze, and his face went pale. The woman, consumed by rage, reached your table and swiftly grabbed the glass of wine, splashing it across his face.

"How could you!" she screamed, her voice piercing through the hushed ambiance of the restaurant. All eyes turned toward your table, curious and shocked. As the woman's accusatory words rang out, your partner's guilt became apparent. The truth unravelled before your eyes.

"So you like to sleep around with married men with children?" the woman yelled, directing her anger at you. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you looked around at the scrutinizing crowd. "No, I would never sleep with a married man!" you yelled back, desperately defending your innocence. "I swear I didn't know he was married!" You stared at your supposed lover, the shock and betrayal etched across your face.

In an unexpected turn of events, the woman's expression softened, and she gave you a pitiful look. Hastily, she handed you her baby, the innocent child caught in the midst of this chaotic situation. As you held the squishy bundle in your arms, you couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and heartbreak. Everything you thought you knew was shattered in an instant.

The woman continued her tirade, hurling foul words from the depths of her anger. Your heart shattered further with each word, and you realized that the foundation of your relationship had been built on lies. Overwhelmed by the weight of the situation, you made the decision to leave the restaurant, following the woman and the child she had reclaimed as her own.

It was a night filled with shattered dreams and broken trust. The pain of that experience lingered, leaving a lasting impact on your views on love and relationships. It became a painful reminder of the importance of honesty and transparency in any romantic connection.

After going through the painful breakup, you mustered up the courage to jump back into the dating scene, hoping to find love once again. But it felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke on you. Your well-meaning parents, eager to see you settle down, thought they could help by setting you up on blind dates with their friends' sons.

Let me tell you, it was a total nightmare. From the snobby misandrist who looked down on you and belittled your ambitions to the lazy and clueless guy who had zero motivation in life, you encountered the whole spectrum. It was crystal clear that these potential matches were nowhere near a good fit for you. The whole process felt like a never-ending parade of disappointment and frustration.

Feeling exhausted and disheartened, you made the decision to take a break from dating altogether. You realized that finding the right person required more than just blindly going on dates. It called for patience, self-discovery, and a genuine connection. So, for the past couple of years, you've focused on yourself and found contentment in your life.

During this time, you've embraced the opportunity to prioritize your own happiness and personal growth. You've invested in your career, chasing new opportunities and pushing yourself to reach greater heights. You've nurtured meaningful friendships and surrounded yourself with positive influences. You've explored new hobbies, interests, and passions, unearthing aspects of yourself that got neglected during the chaos of relationships.

As the months turned into years, you realized that you genuinely enjoy the life you've built for yourself. You revel in the freedom to make choices solely for your own benefit, without having to consider a partner's impact. Your independence has become a source of strength, and you've come to embrace the idea of being whole and complete on your own.

But every now and then, you feel a twinge of loneliness. You start to wonder if it's time to dip your toes back into the dating pool. Maybe it's worth exploring the possibility of meeting someone who truly understands and appreciates you—a partner who adds to your life rather than completes it.

With a cautious yet open heart, you entertain the idea of going on a date or two. You set clear intentions and boundaries, determined not to settle for anything less than what you deserve. Whether it's through online platforms, social events, or mutual connections, you're open to the possibilities that lie ahead.

You know the dating journey can be a rollercoaster, but you face it with resilience and a newfound sense of self-assurance. Equipped with the lessons learned from past experiences, you navigate the dating world with a discerning eye and a willingness to embrace vulnerability.

And who knows? Maybe this time around, the stars will align, and you'll find that genuine connection and love you've been longing for. In the meantime, you're content with the life you've created, knowing that your own happiness and fulfillment are in your hands.

"This better be good, F/n."

Stepping into the enchanting ambiance of this charming restaurant, where elegance and warmth seamlessly blend together. The moment you enter, you're greeted by an inviting atmosphere that instantly puts you at ease. Soft, warm lighting casts a gentle glow throughout the space, creating an intimate and cozy setting.

The centerpiece of the restaurant is an elegant bar that exudes sophistication. It stretches along one side of the room, adorned with polished wood and shimmering glasses. Talented bartenders skillfully craft a variety of enticing cocktails, their movements fluid and precise, as they engage in friendly banter with patrons seated at the bar.

As you take in the surroundings, your eyes are drawn to the vibrant red seats that punctuate the space. Their plush upholstery adds a touch of luxurious comfort, beckoning you to settle in and relax. The rich hue of the seats creates a captivating contrast against the warm, neutral tones of the walls and floor.

The air is filled with a lively buzz of conversation and laughter, enveloping the restaurant with an infectious high-spirited energy. It's the kind of place where people come to celebrate, unwind, and indulge in culinary delights. The sound of clinking glasses and the soft hum of background music contribute to the lively atmosphere, creating a backdrop that resonates with joy and excitement.

The friendly staff, dressed casually but stylishly, move effortlessly among the tables. They greet you with warm smiles, making you feel like a cherished part of the restaurant family. Their genuine enthusiasm and professionalism add to the laid-back yet attentive vibe, ensuring you have a memorable dining experience.

As you settle into your seat, you can't help but feel embraced by the restaurant's inviting aura. The combination of the elegant bar, the vibrant red seats, and the high-spirited atmosphere create an irresistible charm that envelops you, making you feel at home in this haven of culinary delights.

As you settle into your seat, you pull out the menu, scanning the options while squinting at the prices. With a quiet curse, you mutter to yourself, "new job new price bracket I guess."

Glancing over to the other side of the restaurant, you spot your friend engaged in a lively conversation with a guy. They share laughter, their connection evident. Catching your gaze, your friend gives you a playful smile and waves.

You offer a half-hearted wave in return, recalling the lighthearted advice she gave you in the car on the way here: "Remember, Y/n, suck it in and smile!"

Rolling your eyes at the cliché advice, you sit back in your seat, swirling the complimentary glass of wine in your hand. Letting out a sigh, you survey the room filled with eligible bachelors. There are a variety of choices—tall, short, slender, and wide. All you have to do is approach them and say hello.

Despite the numerous options, none of the men in the room seem to catch your interest. None of them seem to measure up to the one you're seeking. But then, a voice interrupts your thoughts, asking if the seat next to you is taken. Startled, you snap out of your reverie and look up, locking eyes with an attractive man.

"N-no, it's not taken," you stutter nervously, feeling your heart race. The handsome stranger takes a seat in front of you. He's tall, fit, and his well-groomed brown hair falls gracefully just above his shoulders. His light brown eyes meet yours, reflecting a golden brown glow as they catch the light.

"I couldn't help but notice you sitting all alone, so I had to make sure I swept you up before anyone else did," he chuckles, flashing a charming smile. You respond with a nervous laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you settle more comfortably in your seat. Taking a sip from your glass, you set it down with a warm smile, intrigued by this unexpected encounter.

"Don't worry, you're the first to come by" you smiled at the man. Throughout the night you shared conversations with the man. Likes and dislikes, hobbies, and interests in goals. He seemed to be the perfect man for you. And he also had the looks to top it all off!

After the blind date, you decided to spend some more time with him throughout the few days off you were granted. And you felt as if you were on cloud 9.

He was smart, he was charming, he had a great since of humor. He was someone who you could see yourself in the future with, and you were excited to start a more romantic chapter in your life.

It seemed that more time you spent with him, the stronger your feelings for him grew. It seemed as if everything fell into place effortlessly. From shared interests to compatible personalities, you couldn't help but envision a future together.

You explored the city together, trying new restaurants, visiting art galleries, and enjoying long walks in the park. Each moment spent with him felt like a magical adventure, filled with laughter and meaningful conversations. You discovered common values and goals, and it only deepened your connection.

It seemed that now you were back at work all you could do was think about your blind date, he was in your every thought. He made you swoon over a single text and you smile in the worst of situations. And it seemed that every one around the office seems to notice it.

Even your boss

"L/n."

"Yes, Dynamight?" You ask, currently occupied sneaking a good morning text to your date. It was currently the beginning of the new week back from your much needed break and you were in your boss's office attending to his regular needs.

"Strike two," he says with a cold tone.

Eyes snapping up from your phone your face is puzzled, you find your boss holding a piece of paper. Looking closer you grow warm in embarrassment. It was a random loose leaf paper of writing—words consisting you having your dates last name and next date ideas scattered all over it.

"It's a strict policy we have here...keep your romantic endeavors outside of work, you of all people should know that." He says, voice stern and strong he stands from his chair and walks close towards you.

Looking up towards him, you can't help but feel small in comparison to his towering stature. Your eyes are caught like a deer in headlights, and your words stumble out in a nervous jumble. "I'm sorry, Dynamight… it won't happen again," you say softly, feeling a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. Dynamight takes the paper, crumpling it up and shoving it into your palm with a dismissive gesture. "Right," he says coyly, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. Without another word, he turns and walks away, and you instinctively follow suit.

You both make your way down to the basement of the building, where a private parking lot reserved for top employees and heroes awaits. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished gravel reverberates in the air as you quickly catch up to Dynamight's wide strides. As you look ahead, you notice a chauffeur stepping out of the driver's seat of a sleek, black luxury SUV. The chauffeur promptly walks over to open the door, extending a hand to assist you and the pro-hero.

With a graceful movement, Dynamight steps into the car, his air of confidence barely contained. You roll your eyes discreetly at his cocky demeanor, feeling the need to apologize for his behavior. You offer two bows, a gesture of remorse on his behalf, before you enter the vehicle and take a seat next to the hero. An awkward silence settles in, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine.

Pursing your lips, you reach into your bag and retrieve your laptop, determined to focus on your work despite the tension in the air. As you power up your computer, the glow of the screen illuminates your face, casting a faint light on the dim interior of the car. The atmosphere becomes charged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, both of you immersed in your own thoughts.

The vehicle glides smoothly through the city streets, the passing lights painting fleeting patterns on the windows. The occasional honk or distant siren breaks the silence, but the air between you remains heavy with unspoken words. You steal quick glances at Dynamight, observing his strong profile and the focused expression on his face. The hero's presence, despite the strained circumstances, evokes a sense of awe and admiration within you.

As you settle into your work, the rhythmic tapping of your fingers on the keyboard provides a comforting backdrop to the journey. The clacking sound mixes with the muffled sounds of the bustling city, creating a symphony of movement and activity outside the vehicle.

Minutes turn into a hushed passage of time, and although the silence may be uncomfortable, it also holds a sense of intrigue. The shared experience of this car ride becomes a silent connection, a shared space where unspoken thoughts and unexpressed emotions linger. Each passing moment brings you closer to your destination, both physically and emotionally, and the anticipation of what lies ahead intertwines with the subtle electricity in the air.

Lost in your own thoughts, you glance up from your work, meeting Dynamight's gaze in a brief moment of eye contact. A flicker of understanding passes between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension and the complexities of your relationship. In that shared glance, you find a glimmer of hope, a glimpse of the possibility for a deeper connection beyond the surface-level interactions.

With renewed determination, you return your focus to your work, hoping that this car ride, filled with its awkward silence and unspoken words, may lead to a turning point, a chance for both of you to bridge the gaps that exist between you.

"So… who's the guy?" Dynamight breaks the thick tension in the air, causing you to pause from your typing and look at him with a rather shocked expression. "I'm not permitted to tell you that information, Dynamight," you say, maintaining a professional tone. The pro hero rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with your response.

"Fuck the rules, I'm your boss," he retorts, contradicting himself with a hint of frustration. You swallow nervously and shift your gaze to the window, observing the bustling city of Japan at such an early hour.

"I met him during my week off. He's a good guy, and we're attracted to each other–"

"That's it?" Dynamight interjects with a snort, and you blink, trying to restrain yourself from showing your irritated state. "Well… I'm not exactly comfortable discussing my personal life in detail," you respond politely, hoping to defuse the tension. However, as you glance over, you notice Dynamight giving you an unamused look. He soon adjusts in his seat and leans his head back, signaling his disinterest in further conversation.

"Whatever," he says dismissively. Another ten minutes of silence ensues, during which you become engrossed in your work, typing away on your computer. However, before you can enter another character, a sudden bump in the road causes the car to shake roughly. Holding onto your computer tightly, you look over to see Dynamight sound asleep.

Sitting up and adjusting in your seat, you continue to gaze at him, noticing how peaceful he looks when he's asleep. Almost like a porcelain statue, he remains still, without a flaw on his face. Every scar, bump, and bruise seems to be placed perfectly on his skin.

Feeling a warm sensation, you avert your gaze, closing your laptop. Unfortunately, you have to wake the hero. Reaching over, you gently shake him. With a groan, he swats away your hand rather harshly, inadvertently displaying his strength. "We're nearing your destination, Dynamight," you say coldly.

He looks at you with a tired nod, adjusting himself in his seat as he glances out the window. "What do you have for me, maid?" he asks, his tone flat. Pressing your lips into a line, you let out a sigh before reaching into your bag to retrieve a collection of papers. Handing them to the pro-hero, you say, "It's the congratulations ceremony for young aspiring heroes, mostly middle school age. I provided their names and ages. I gave you these papers a week before we left, hoping you had memorized their faces as well."

"Alright… what else?" he replies, sounding slightly more engaged.

"Give them a handshake, a hug or two, and don't forget to smile," you inform him, reciting the instructions word for word.

As the car continues its journey, the atmosphere remains filled with a mix of tension and professionalism with maybe a hint of an attempt at small talk. The cityscape rushes by, the hum of the engine creating a steady rhythm. In this moment, you prepare yourself mentally for the upcoming event, hoping to navigate the complexities of your relationship with Dynamight while fulfilling your duties as his secretary.

Looking out the window, you watch as the large crowd grows sporadic at the sight of your vehicle pulling into the event driveway. A mixture of fans of every age and shape, gleefully cheering for the hero's appearance. Letting out a tired sigh, you look over and see your boss not excited at all.

The both of you lock eyes, as you both share a moment of fondness. Sharing the same feelings, absolute dread. Signaling your hand towards your mouth, you mouth the word "smile!" gleefully before shutting back to your regular relaxed frown.

Before you know it, the chauffeur hurriedly opens your door, and the cheers of citizens grow ten times louder than before. Showing a small smile towards the crowd, you step out and give a bow to the awaiting audience. Stepping away from the vehicle, you observe as the groggy asshole you call your boss transforms into a complete character. A confident yet cocky smile paints over his face as he raises his fists in the air and flexes his muscles. You can't help but feel a slight sense of awe as you watch him.

Shielding your face from the flash of paparazzi cameras, you make your way into the building, guided by an assistant. They lead you to a VIP powder room where, like a flip of a switch, the corporate smile fades effortlessly. Dynamight wearily trudges his feet to the open pink couch and collapses onto it with a loud thud.

Grabbing a water bottle, you hand it to him and take a seat beside him. With a slight curve in your back, you exhale, feeling the weight of the day so far. Staring deadpan into the void, you listen to the loud gulps as Dynamight quenches his thirst. A burp follows suit, and he casually tosses the empty water bottle into the trash.

Soon, you hand him the piece of paper with the children's names on it. Your boss glances over it, reading each name. However, he quickly loses interest and looks at you with a puzzled expression.

"What's he like?" he asks, attempting to revisit the unsuccessful conversation from the car. "That's none of your business, I'm sorry," you respond professionally. This prompts the pro hero to groan aloud. "Drop the act and just tell me!" he demands.

You don't know what's in the air, but today of all days, you've reached your breaking point.

"I said no, goddamn it!" you yell at him, frustration boiling over. Dynamight's expression shifts from irritated to irate, but before he can get a word in, an assistant from the event venue barges in.

"We're ready for you in 3 minutes!" they announce joyfully. Both of you turn abruptly towards the voice, and just as quickly, they disappear, slamming the door behind them. Dynamight slowly rises from his seat, rolling up the papers you provided into a scroll.

Walking away from you without uttering another word, he leaves you sitting there, throwing your hand to your face. Cursing to yourself, you sink deeper into your seat, reflecting on the intense exchange and the upcoming event that demands your attention.

As you stand in the crowd, you watch the pro-hero speak to his audience. Programmed to say whatever needed for the sake of his image, you wondered if anyone knew how much of an asshole he really was compared to just word of mouth.

You wondered if anyone truly knew him like you did, you wondered if anyone truly knew what it felt like to be in your shoes for one day. To see how much you suffered by sumply co-exhisting with a man like him.

"Looking a little low on battery there, Y/n?" a voice says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look over at the voice and gasp in shock. It's your blind date. "Holy shit, what are you doing here?" you exclaim with excitement oozing from your tone. Reaching out, you hug him tightly, and he returns the embrace.

As you release from his grip, you lock eyes with each other. "I'm reporting for a story, you know, heroes giving back to the public and all that crap. What about you?" he asks.

"Oh, same," you quickly reply, deciding to keep your true situation a secret.

Around 30 minutes or so pass as the both of you try to catch up on the lost time. The sounds of crowd laughter fill the air, but amidst the noise, his voice is the only one that seems to filter through to you.

"Hey, I was thinking… if you're free after this, we could grab a coffee and a bite to eat and talk some more?" he shyly suggests. A sparkle twinkles in your eyes at the offer. "Of course, I would love to! I'm totally free after this—"

"Yeah, she's gonna be really fucking free after this!"

Dynamight's voice cuts through your conversation like sharp ice. Your eyes snap towards him, your brows furrowed in confusion. Before you can react, you feel a strong grip on your arm as Dynamight forcefully drags you away with an ungodly strength.

Protesting and yelling, you try to resist his hold, but Dynamight remains relentless. He leads you back into the VIP room and slams the door shut behind you. Throwing you onto the couch, he stands towering before you, his expression filled with anger and frustration. Exhausted from the ordeal, you look at him with a mix of distraught and defiance, huffing your breath in an attempt to regain composure.

"What is wrong with you?" you spit out, your voice tinged with anger. His eyes widen in disbelief. "What's wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you!" he yells, his voice echoing in the small room. You plead with him, aware of the presence of other people nearby. "Dynamight, please, there are people around! Let's talk calmly."

"You think I give a shit? After you fucking embarrassed me while being too busy being dickmatized?" He screams, his frustration reaching its peak. Unable to control his anger, he grabs the papers from the table and hurls them at you. Flinching at his violent outburst, you shield yourself from the incoming papers.

The room falls into an uneasy silence as you both catch your breath. The tension hangs heavily in the air, leaving you feeling emotionally drained and disheartened. You had never expected things to escalate like this. The weight of whatever mistake and the consequences of your actions begin to weigh heavily on you.

"Look through those fucking papers and tell me what the hell the issue is," he says coldly, his voice laced with frustration. Grabbing the paper harshly from his hand, you meticulously examine each page, your gaze fixed on the words. The weight of his expectation hangs heavily in the air.

As you pour over the papers, your eyes scan every line, every word, searching for any trace of error. The room is filled with tense silence, broken only by the sound of rustling paper. You can feel his eyes boring into you, his impatience growing with each passing second.

Looking up, you finally meet his gaze, your expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "What is supposed to be wrong here?" you spit out, unable to hide the frustration in your voice. The knot of tension in your stomach tightens.

His voice drips with anger as he snaps, "The fucking kids' names are mixed up, L/n! The goddamn names! The whole fucking crowd was laughing at me, and one of the kids cried because I said the wrong name!" His face reddens, veins pulsating with anger.

Your heart sinks as the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. The gravity of your mistake hangs heavy in the room. Swallowing hard, you feel a lump form in your throat, making it difficult to speak.

"I… I'm so sorry, Dynamight," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. Rising from the couch, you stand before him, your body tense with remorse. In a gesture of humility, you bow deeply, a desperate plea for forgiveness.

The pro-hero's initial anger subsides slightly, replaced by a hint of smug satisfaction. He snorts in response to your apology, relishing in your discomfort. "Don't worry," he taunts, a smug grin playing on his lips. "You'll have all the free time in the world to feel fucking sorry."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, intensifying the heaviness of the situation. It feels as if the ground beneath you has given way, leaving you in a void of disappointment and self-doubt. This wasn't just a simple mistake; it was a strike against your credibility, your competence.

"Strike three," he declares, his voice low and menacing.

"You're out."

"What the hell do you mean you're leaving?" he exclaims, his voice filled with disbelief and a tinge of desperation.

"I'm saying I'm fired, F/n," you reply, your voice heavy with sorrow and resignation. With each item you drop into the cardboard box, the weight of your dismissal grows heavier.

Back at the office, surrounded by the remnants of your professional life, you find yourself immersed in a bittersweet wave of memories. As you gather your belongings, you can't help but reflect on the time you spent as a pro hero secretary. It feels like only yesterday when you embarked on this journey, eager to contribute to the world of heroes.

The mistake you made still lingers in your mind, and you can't shake off the disbelief that accompanies it. You had taken every precaution, painstakingly triple-checking the papers from beginning to end. How could such a crucial error slip through? Doubt and self-blame claw at the edges of your thoughts.

As you pack away your belongings, each item serves as a reminder of the connections you forged during your time here. The laughter shared with colleagues, the triumphs celebrated together, and the bond formed within the walls of this office. It's a painful reminder of what you're leaving behind.

"Strike three, you're out."

His words echo in your mind, amplifying the weight of your failure. The realization that you've lost his trust and respect settles over you like a suffocating cloak. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but you know you must face the consequences of your actions.

In the silence that follows, you gather your thoughts, determined to learn from this experience and regain what you've lost. The road to redemption won't be easy, but you're resolved to prove yourself once again, to earn back the trust you've squandered.

Looking at your empty desk, you notice one more thing left on the table. Grabbing it you frown, a golden plate with your name and occupation. frowning you toss it in your box, but then your friend grabs it back out.

"You can't keep this—" they say with a frown. "You have to return it back to Dynamight so that you don't sell it and stuff. It's what all employees have to do," he explains, his voice soft; tinged with a sense of obligation. Slamming your belongings down with frustration, you snatch the golden plate from his hands and march towards Dynamight's office.

Standing in front of his office door, your face contorts with a frown, your thoughts racing. There are so many things you want to say to this man, but deep down, you know he has heard them all before. Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door, the sound echoing through the silence. Footsteps approach from the other side, and soon the door swings open, revealing the towering figure of the pro hero.

As you look up at him, his stern expression doesn't waver. He lets out a weary sigh and gestures for you to come in, motioning to close the door behind you. Obeying his silent command, you step into the room, feeling the weight of the atmosphere envelop you. The ticking of a time clock fills the room, accompanied by the gentle hum of a fan providing a cool breeze that adds to the white noise surrounding you.

Extending your hand, you present the golden plate to Dynamight, the emblem of your job, its significance not lost on either of you. He pushes himself off his desk and walks toward you, his hand reaching to take the plate from your grasp. However, you refuse to let go, tears welling in your eyes and streaming down your face, splashing onto the golden surface.

Your body trembles with uncontrollable emotions as you collapse to your knees, bowing on the floor, your face pressed against the cool surface beneath you. Desperation seeps into your voice as you plead, "Please, I'll do anything… anything."

Moments pass in heavy silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Unexpectedly, Dynamight drops to one knee, bringing himself to your level. His strong grip pulls you up, forcing you to face him, his gaze meeting your tear-stained eyes. Something in his expression softens as he witnesses your vulnerability and brokenness, a side of you he has never seen before.

"There's one thing you can do," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes widen, your heart pounding in your chest, as you sit up straight, eagerly awaiting his next words. "Yes, Dynamight?"

"Marry me."

AHHHHH SHIT I FINALLY FINISHED!!! I literally have no excuse i've just been living life and avoiding this shit like the PLAGUE honey...

ALSO TYSM FOR 700+ FOLLOWERS!

❥: @r-ans, @xo-evangeline, @superkittywonderland, @inlovewithteo217, @im-better-than-your-newborn, @nar00, @king-dynamight, @bollzinurmouth, @gold24fish, @xasilex, @urdescentartist, @the-queen-of-sorrows, @itgetzweird08, @yoyosocks165, @zyxys1, @your-mom83, @pebblepoop, @lovra974, @suchagoodgirixoxo, @bakugospartner, @gaby-11, @smokers-sweetheart, @akqsa-xxi, @StableCreator93, @alhina, @din-O-bi-wan, @jolynegf, @sad0ni0n, @wore-for-anime, @a1hina, @goldenglow149, @aliruuiz, @zany17, @zukowantshishonourback, @uvula6927, @ilovedenk-i, @LavaLampFullOfSoup

734 notes · View notes

mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years

Text

Sleep and Other Things

Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, Grinding, Fingering (with them metal fingers babbbby), Oral (f), Mentions of Masturbation (f), Sergeant Kink, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Light spanking, Sub/Dom, Hair pulling, Pining, Sexual tension/frustration, Language, Classic Tropes (I will not apologize), Fluff

Word Count: 11K+ (I really went on on this one I’m sorry)

A/N: It’s been TOO long since I’ve written for my bby I apologize

This sucks.

Royally, royally, royally sucks.

And if you could choose from any supernatural powers at all known to man, you’d choose the power of sleep.

Because for the past few nights, it just hasn’t struck you. You’ve tried everything you can think of: punching and kicking away at the bag in front of you in the training room until your knuckles started to bruise, drinking a nice, hot cup of tea, hell even meditation. None of it seemed to work in your favor, and you wanted to punch the force that was holding you back from a full night's rest.

Please God, or you know, whatever is out there listening. All’s I’m asking a normal fucking sleep schedule, is that too much to ask?

The blaring flashes sting your eyes with every white, vicious transition of another rerun on TV. It’s the only light in the otherwise dark room, and it’s dimmed with the volume low so that every stupid little background laughter is dull instead of blaring. And judging by the big red 3:30 on your alarm clock, you’ve been awake for approximately ten hours with no hope of a fulfilled slumber. You believe this is your third night in a row.

You sigh for what seems the hundredth time, flopping onto your right side and shoving your pillow under your arm. The soft fabric and the fresh smell of your favorite laundry detergent is doing nothing to soothe your mind and your body alike, but maybe keeping up the facade that it does will lull your eyes to remain shut and your brain silent; in the back of your mind, annoyingly, you already know that it will not work.

“Fuck it.” You mutter to yourself and throw your covers off. The floor is slightly chilly against your bare feet, but not too terribly cold, and the compound is stable and quiet; more alone time for you, more time to watch the clock slowly tick by as yet another night—day you should say given the time—drags by thorough dark circles and irritable mood swings.

The door is silent as you creek it open, though it doesn’t make one sound and you’re grateful for that. No use dragging everyone down with you.

You’re not exactly sure on what you’re looking for, but it feels right to be where the food is. It’s a start, at least. The good news, too, about going to the kitchen is that it’s not that far from your room, a blessing to you now.

The hallway is dark, too dark for you weak eyes you realize as you stub your toe on a corner of a wall. “OW—oH fuckfuck what the fuckity fu—”

“Shoulda paid attention, doll.”

You whirl around mid-tantrum, hopping on the uninjured foot rather ungracefully towards the raspy voice you recognize in a heartbeat.

The root to your problem is sitting there—short, chopped dark hair, eyes that are sometimes grey and others times blue, like a storm and a ocean living and correlating together to create a beautiful color that you often dream of, and built, toned body hiding behind a black tank top and you’re going to assume matching sweatpants—with a coffee mug in his hands, sitting by the kitchen island and stifling a shit-eating grin as you wallow.

Normally, you’d be very happy to see Bucky. Over the year that you’ve been on the team, Bucky has been nothing but kind to you, even after a rocky start to the friendship. As quiet and closed off as he is, you had managed to weasel your way into his circle; you leave him alone whenever you sense he needs it, not wanting to overwhelm him. Watch TV with him on the couch when it’s just the two of you; sometimes you’d barely say a word to each other at all, happy with the comfortable silence. He jokes around with you if you manage to burn another pancake or whatever concaussion you could scramble up or he’ll invite you to have drinks with him and the others—others being Steve and, despite the pranks and banters, Sam, and so, so much more. It’s as easy as breathing, just being with him, and the comfort and stability that you find in him never fails to put you at ease.

But it’s like somewhere down the road something shifted. You don’t know when or how it happened, but when it did it hit you like a freight train. There’s a pull towards him when you catch yourself paying extra attention to the way his body moves, alerting yours with a sudden new and ferocious need; the daydreams that come from it are even better. The soft, barely there brushes as you pass by or the barely fingertip touch when you’re standing next to each other. The longing stares that makes you wonder if there ever could be more. There’s no denying that you can’t stop looking at him differently now, as more than just the friend you cherish deeply, but as someone who could become more than just.

Sometimes, you even dream of his hand between your legs.

What makes this even worse is that you’ll occasionally catch Bucky doing the same thing to you; he may be faster than you in oh so many ways thanks to his enhancements, but there are moments where you catch him looking quickly away and towards whatever was in front or next to him, eyes glaring like he’s—he’s scolding himself.

“Sexual tension.” Wanda told you when you first explained your worries to her. “That’s what’s happening.”

You shook your head, laughing it off. “Nooo it can’t be Wanda. We’re just—”

“Friends?” She smirked.

“Yes.” You defended. “Just friends. I mean maybe—maybe we’re just going through a phase, and everything will soon go back to normal.”

Wanda rolled her eyes with a smirk. “We’ll see.”

Deep down, you knew that she was right. And that terrified you. Still does, actually. Why would you want to ruin such a good thing over what may be just a stupid, silly crush?

Now, exhausted, frustrated, and hopping around like a moron in the dark, the smug look on his face heavily annoys you more than ever.

“Thanks.” You snarl.

He puts his hands up in mock surrender, easily taking in your disdained mood. “Sorry.”

You finally let your foot drop back to the ground, your toe still stinging. Bucky continues to watch you as you limp towards the cabinets and reach for your favorite mug, setting it too harshly down on the marble counter before opening the fridge.

“Try drinking tea,” he says. “It’ll be better than…Dr. Pepper.”

You shrug as you uncap the bottle and pour the sweet soda into your mug. “I’ve already tried that.” You mutter. “Nothing’s been working.”

You hear Bucky shift in his chair, hear the clicks of his metal arm as he stretches it out; he rarely does it when there’s too many people around, letting himself be free with the metal prosthetic. You feel special knowing that he’s comfortable enough to be free in your presence.

“How long has this been going on?” He asks quietly.

You lean your back against the counter and bring the cup to your lips. “Almost a full week now.”

You see him nod from your peripheral vision, straightening his back and taking a sip from his own up you didn’t realize he had until now; it smells like green tea, with a hint of something sweeter. Honey, most likely.

You expect him to ask you more questions but he stays silent as you both take small sips of your drinks. Your eyes are heavy and your body is on the verge of completely slumping against the small space behind you, but you’re still too wired to sleep—okay, Bucky was right on the soda, but you’re not going to admit that to him.

“Why are you awake?” You ask him.

He just shrugs. “Same reason as you.”

That gets you to snort. Yeah right, buddy.

“Tried sparring?” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence, causing you to jump from the intrusion.

“Sorta.” You iffley say. “Still didn’t help me much…I really don’t know what my problem is.” Liar.

He hums softly. “Well,” he puffs as he sits up from the stool. “Let’s go then.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”

For such a heavy man, it still surprises you when he walks silently towards you, so quietly that if you weren’t looking you’d had no idea if he was moving at all. The familiar smell of his soap overwhelms your senses as he leans in, his left arm stretched to put his cup in the sink. You can’t help but inhale the alluring musk, which causes a shiver to run through your body.

“Sexual tension.” Wanda’s voice rings through your head.

God he really does smell good and he’s warm...stop it!

“So?” He scares you again out of your thoughts, and when you look up he’s close. He’s really close—well, closer than you anticipated for only putting away a dish. He’s looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher, but that smirk of his returns and your heart flutters at the close proximity of it.

You set your now empty mug in the sink next to his with a sigh and nod your head. “Take it easy on me. I’m not exactly coordinated right now.”

Bucky only chuckles, hearty and gruff, at your warning. “Whatever you say.”

You really like the way he says it. It sounds stupid, but you do.

He leads the way to the training room, turning every now and then to make sure you’re still following—and that you don’t stub your toe again.

“Turning the lights on.” Bucky warns you just seconds before the lights blare your vision, making you wince and blink against the onslaught.

When you can finally make out the shapes moving around, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the mat, watching you with his signature smirk. You can’t help but give him a small closed lip smile of your own as you make your way towards him.

“I’m totally gonna kick your ass.” You tease with a slight slur.

He grunts, face squished as he rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, hurry up.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to be here, Barnes.” You chide as you start to wrap your knuckles. “You’re the one who suggested this.”

“Doesn’t mean you gotta be a turtle about it.”

You give him the best glare you can muster as he struggles to hold in his laughter. Your grimace deepens when they finally escape, and his face is really fucking adorable when he laughs like this; without a care in the world. That makes you stare at him longer than necessary as he recovers.

“Okay I’m sorry!” He gasps, putting his hand up. “I’ll stop, I swear it.”

The scowl doesn’t disappear even as you start to adjust the strings on your sweatpants; tightening them. You know you look like a child right now with the way you’re stomping dramatically heavily towards the ex-assassin, but you’re too tired and slightly agitated to care.

“Alright,” he huffs. “Just come right at me and don’t hold back. Think you can handle that, doll?”

You smirk despite yourself and prepare a simple stance; attack. “Sure, ice bucket.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch from the playful tease. What he does is pat his chest with a closed knuckle and says, “I’m waiting.”

You watch him, take in his posture and immediately go for the legs. You’re a good agent, not the best, definitely in need of improvement, but you’re good. What you’re sort of forgetting here, a habit with him it seems, is that he is. in fact, a super soldier.

The air leaves your lungs with an oof as you land flat on your back. His hand, warm flesh that feels like is scorching your skin through your shirt, holds you down by your upper chest. You blink dumbly up at him as you struggle to catch your breath, your body jolted from its heavy, sleepless form.

“C’mon,” he says your name disappointingly. “You know better than that.”

You roll your eyes and grunt, swatting his hand away and standing yourself up. “I don’t see the point of this.” You complain. “If anything, I feel more awake than tired.”

“Oh you know what the point is.” Bucky scoffs. “Stop complaining and fight me.”

“Fine!” You growl.

The next charge at him, you honestly thought that you’d get the upper hand. Where he goes to block, you quickly change course and go for a punch. It all happens in a blink of an eye, and suddenly his metal arm is wrapped loosely around your neck in a lock, the other locking your wrists in his wide grip.

“You’re not even trying.” He breathes in your ear.

“I am.” You say through gritted teeth.

He finally lets you go with a small chuckle. It makes you angry. “If you’re just going to keep laughing at me then I’m—”

Bucky lunges at you. Your body reacts on instinct and ducks away from his attack, bouncing on your feet to the other side. The muscles in his back strain as he runs his fingers through his hair, flashing you a grin as he turns around.

“There ya ‘re.” His brooklyn accent runs thick through his praise.

That praise—and it’s not like you’ve never heard it from him before, always in playful banter—raises goosebumps and there’s no way he doesn’t notice it. You fight the rush of blood flooding to your cheeks.

“Here,” you try, bouncing around him and playfully trying to grab him, distracting yourself from your own confusing thoughts. “Just stand still and let me punch and kick at you until I pass out.”

He laughs with you and dodges your weak attempts with liquid ease. “Oh I’m sure you’d love that.”

“I would, actually.”

“You’re jus’ bein’ a sore loser.”

“So what—” You grunt as he slides to his right and pushes your hit lightly away from him. “—if I am.”

You do this for some time, aimlessly throwing weak kicks at his shins as he teases you—you’re really fucking jealous at how he seemingly floats with each bounce to his dodges. You finally manage to knip him around the ankle, causing him to wince and curse.

“Ha!” You cheer. “I bet that hur—”

Bucky takes your short moment of victory to sweep around you and kick your legs out from under you. You land ungracefully yet again on the hard mat, but this time you quickly recover and loop your legs around the arm closest to you and pull him down with all your strength. He flips hard on his back, gasping as soon as he makes contact and now you’re the one laughing at him as you have the upper hand.

“Well Barnes,” you tsk. “Looks like you’re losing your touch.”

“Don’t get cocky.” He warns as his hand flexes still in your grip. “Or else this happens.”

You blink and feel a harsh tug at the back of your neck. Everything is a blur as you feel yourself being lifted and flipped into the air, like you weigh nothing at all. Your eyes automatically shut and your body awaits for the hard impact.

It doesn’t come.

Bucky softens your fall by quickly rolling his body into yours and wrapping his arms around you, practically caging you in. Your hands reach for the first solid thing they can find, which happens to be soft skin and hard muscle. His legs cage yours between his, his hair lightly curled and there’s a strangled noise coming from somewhere and holy fuck he’s—

“You alright?” He asks, panting.

Your breaths mix together as you stare into each other’s eyes. You hear what he says, the words playing through your ears but your brain doesn’t register the nerves to actually respond to him. It feels like you’ve never been this close to him before, not like this anyway. It feels… suffocating. In such a good, intoxicating way that you don’t want him to move.

And then you realize that the reason why he must be asking that question is because he thinks you’re hurt; that strangled cry was from you.

He shifts, just slightly to adjust, that gets his arms to tighten around you for a split second. Your jaw clenches as you struggle to hide the hitch in your breath and the pool of arousal flooding between your legs.

“Y-yeah.” You finally answer, swallowing thickly. His adam’s apple bobs as he does the same, and that gets your body tingling with a familiar sensation that has your eyes widening. “I think I’m tired now.”

The second those words escape your lips you want to take them back. His eyes fall as he shakes his head and chuckles, looking shyly down as he sighs. He unwraps himself from you and holds his hand out for you to take. It takes you a moment, still reeling from—well from whatever the hell that was.

Now it feels awkward. You both can’t keep your eyes on each other, looking anywhere’s else like it’s fucking interesting. You gotta stop this.

“Than—”

“Can I—”

You both say at the same time. Bucky’s soft, harmonic—in your very humble opinion—chuckle joins yours and you shake your head to clear away the fuzziness clouding your brain.

“Sorry, uh what were you going to say?”

Bucky hesitates, and there’s something in his eyes that tells you that he’s nervous. It worries you, and instinct takes over to walk to him and comfort him.

“No it’s—,” he inhales sharply. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re more…awake.”

“I’m plenty coherent, Bucky.” You scoff. “Just tell me. I’m your friend.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes; it goes without the same brightness that usually greets you and that makes your stomach drop and your heart clench with an uncomfortable grip.

“I know.” He says softly. Then his eyebrow raises in a mischievous arch. “Need me to walk you to your room?”

This time it’s you who hesitates. On any other circumstance, you would’ve immediately said yes and that would be that; no awkwardness, no tension or—or whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you.

“Um… yeah. Yeah s-sure.”

You curse yourself mentally and berate yourself to keep it together. The walk back is quicker than the walk to the training room, and a part of you is entirely grateful for it. Bucky stays close as he paddles softly through the hall until your door is in sight, and you’re standing with one hand on the handle while chewing on your bottom lip. Now what?

“Goodnight,” he says your name softly, so softly you can barely hear him.

“Goodnight Buck.” You whisper back.

He gives you one last smile and walks away, and as simple and normal as this is, it feels wrong. Like he shouldn’t be walking away, because there’s something obviously going on between the two of you and you have no idea how—well, you know one way—to fix it because you’re a goddamn coward and that smile isn’t the same smile he gives you.

You lean against your bedroom door as it shuts. Your eyes sting with unshed tears and the aching pressure between your legs is long gone, but the evidence of it sticks to your panties. Ignoring it, you hop onto your bed and fling yourself against your lush pillows, and the rest of the morning is spent with you staring at the tv screen overthinking every interaction you ever had with the man responsible for your turmoil, and fall asleep with frustration seeping through your veins.

When you come to, early afternoon you think, the ache in your pussy is too much to ignore and you cum with Bucky’s name a sigh from your ecstasy. It’s the first time you do.

–

“You look…better.”

“Thank you.”

“So what was the trick?”

I masturbated thinking about my best friend. “Training. With Bucky.”

That gets her eyebrows rising up as she ahhh’s at you. “How are things between the two of you?”

“Good.” You feign. “Really good, actually.”

“Mhmmm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Just fuck already.”

“Wanda—”

“Seriously, I’m getting pretty sick of watching you mope around like this. You’ve got to talk to him.”

You sigh through your nose, throwing your head back against the couch cushion. “I know.” You groan. “It’s just—I don’t know how, you know? I mean, what if this ruins our entire friendship? I can’t…I can’t live with that.”

Wanda purses her lips and rubs your shoulder comfortably. “I know,” she coos. “But don’t think you’ll feel better getting it off your chest? How do you know that he doesn’t feel the same way?”

A pause. “No.” Yes. Another pause. “And no.” One more. “How did this happen?”

She understands what you mean when you say it in a whine. She opens her mouth and is about to reply when—

“Did what happen?”

You freeze, eyes going wide as Wanda stares back in equal horror; you also detect the glint in her green eyes that spells nothing but trouble for you.

“She just agreed to have a movie night with Vis and I. My pick, which she’s still sulking about.” She throws in, so casually that you’re kind of surprised and impressed. “We were just talking about asking you to join us.”

You should’ve seen this coming. Really, you should have. It pisses you off.

‘Calm down.’ Her voice whispers in your head, a skill she’s been working on. ‘I’m sorry, but this is for your own good.’

“Yeah?” Bucky says, all rich honey. “When?”

You roll your lips and force a smirk as you turn towards him. “Tonight, around nine.” If she was going to force you into this and pick the movie, you wanted to at least have some control over this situation.

His eyes meet yours and the crinkles around them washes away the annoyance that was starting to build. He nods while shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and grins towards Wanda.

“Alright. Pick a good movie, would ya?”

Wanda laughs. “I will!”

Your fingers twinkle in a wave as Bucky awkwardly waves back. Once you’re sure he’s gone and out of earshot, you nudge Wanda’s leg with your foot. “What the hell was that?” You hiss.

“Oh hush,” she clicks her tongue. “I just gave you an opportunity, and who knows maybe something good will happen, and you’ll be thanking me after you fuc—”

“Alright alright I get it!” You stop her, a part of you still scared that anyone will just waltz in and hear. “I’ll stop complaining under one condition.”

“Okay.” She says suspiciously with narrowed eyes.

“I get to pick the movie.”

—

Your legs hurt.

Curled up crookedly under your blanket, back at an awkward angle as you stare at the moving faces and listen to the screams as they run through the forest.

The Blair Witch Project has always been one of your favorites, and you figure there’s no sex, no nudity, nothing that could put you in a weird position with the man you can’t stop thinking about sitting right next to you on the plushy loveseat. Yeah, why not?

But of course, Wanda had to be Wanda, and insisted that the two of you lounge on the small couch while her and Vision take over the other, bigger one. As if they needed the space.

Bucky, although, doesn’t seem to sense your discomfort, and if he does he’s kept quiet about it. He seems just as stiff as you are, but more relaxed and attentive.

It’s been almost an hour of this.

There’s a little giggle from the couple to your left, and when you look over you see Wanda putting her finger to her lips, shushing Vision as she holds in more of her laughter.

Glad she’s having fun.

Stop it. You’re doing this to yourself.

You let out a soft sigh and shuffle to your right, closer to Buck as you gingerly uncurl your legs and sit them criss cross. Much better. You can pay attention to the movie better now that you’re more comfortable, so lost in the panic on the screen that you don’t hear him move but rather feel the brush of his thigh against your knee.

Once you realize it you decide to ignore the onslaught of the electric shock rushing through your core—it’s embarrassing that a touch of his leg of all things gets you going.

Bang!

You gasp and jump, gripping onto the first thing your flying hands find. It happens to be Bucky, naturally.

“Sorry!” Wanda whispers yells.

You roll your eyes with a loud, annoyed sigh and settle back into the loveseat. Your hands still grip onto his bicep, and it’s his subtle clear of the throat that brings your attention to it.

“Sorry.” You flinch and let go of him.

“It’s okay.” He sounds off, a little dejected.

You’re about to over analyze it—because that’s what you do best—when Bucky scooches closer to you and hands his arm up to rest on the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers barely reaching your shoulder. Willing yourself to relax and focus, you don’t notice the side glances he’s throwing you or the hushed whispers of your friend, who is no longer paying attention to the movie at all, but rather at you and Bucky.

“We’re gonna turn in.” Wanda announces.

Your mouth opens in a small o as you stare at her in disbelief. “Are you sure?” It’s hard to hide the plea. “It’s almost at the end!”

Vision gives you an apologetic shrug and mouths ‘sorry’ as Wanda drags him away by his hand. “Yeah, we’re sure. Don’t have too much fun without me!” Her accent thrums with pure tease and you can only blubber like an idiot while watching them disappear to their room.

“Well,” Bucky sighs and shifts lower until he’s more comfortable. “Just us.”

“Hm.”

You don’t mean to sound so annoyed. You can tell it hurts his feelings because his arm moves back to his side, effectively putting more space between you. Your heart clenches at the fact that you’re the one doing this, no one else, and seeing him now, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as his leg starts to bounce anxiously, makes you feel even worse.

“I think I’m going to bed, too.” Bucky says.

He stands up before you can say something, though you’re not exactly sure what you want to say to him; there’s so much and your brain is in too much of a scramble of self wallowing and fear that it’s hard to put them coherently together.

“Goodnight.” He doesn’t say your name, or give you your smile. An awkward wave and heavy steps is all you get, and when they become more faint do you curse yourself and fight the stupid tears clogging your throat as you sit there in the dark.

–

It’s been a week since that night.

Wanda, much to your relief, has left you alone about Bucky, but you know with every look when he enters the room that she’s still thinking about it; still scolding you for not taking the leap of faith into what could lead to so much more. To be honest, you don’t blame her; you’d be doing the same if you knew she’d be happy.

This time it’s so bad that the rest of the team starts to notice yours and Bucky’s sudden thrift. Steve, bless him, has been the most frequent next to Wanda.

“You know you can tell me anything Buck,” Steve’s voice rang through the empty room.

This was the night after the movie incident. Restless once again, you decided to punch out your feelings and frustrations at two in the morning with the hope that you would be alone. You almost walked in on them, not paying attention, when you heard him.

“I know.” Bucky said. “But I’m telling you, it’s not going to happen. There’s nothing there.”

Your heart leapt in your chest and your stomach dropped. Somehow, you knew they were talking about you.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked; you imagine he did so while crossing his arms.

A bang, followed by a grunt. “Nothing. Just as I said it.”

A stab deep in your heart with a jagged edge made your knees nearly buckle.

“Buck—“

“Listen punk,” Bucky interrupted. “I know you’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it, but I don’t want to…I want—“

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY interjects robotically. “But I’m afraid Rogers has a call waiting for him and it’s very urgent.”

You heard Steve sigh and something moved or fell, but you hurried away before you could get caught.

Ever since, you can’t get those words out of your head. They play over and over like a broken record, chasing you to insanity.

Why oh why did FRIDAY have to say something?

It was like a sign from the universe itself. Whether it was good or bad, you weren’t quite sure yet.

Tonight is a particularly warm night, which you’re not complaining about, especially with Stark’s AC. It looks to be another night of staring blankly into space until you get tired of that; covers thrown haphazardly across the room, cool air breezing against your bare skin, a new set of dark bags under your eyes brewing. A typical night for you.

This time you debate on whether you should move. It’s getting old, just sitting here but you’re too afraid of running into—well into anyone at this point. You just don’t think you have the energy for it.

So you decide on sitting by your window and watching the cars drive by, lights flashing through the busy city. Count the stars that barely shine through in the dark sky, too many city lights blocking out the natural brightness. Finally, after several long and agonizing minutes, you throw on a pair of shorts and quietly open the door, peering at the hallways to the best of your ability without any light with ears straining to detect any type of sound no matter big or small, and once you’re satisfied that you’re alone you close the door and blink.

Where to this time?

You could try the training room again, but the last time makes you hold out on that. The living room maybe? Kitchen? Game room?

Suddenly it hits you, and you want to wack yourself on the head for not thinking of this sooner. Quickly tiptoeing back to your room, you grab the fluffiest blanket you own and wrap it around yourself.

You usually prefer taking the elevator up, too lazy for the stairs, but it’s too late for that so, stairs it is. Thankfully, it’s not that many flights and when the first breeze of fresh, cool air hits your skin you immediately sigh and inhale deeply. The night is filled with miscellaneous noises of the common city, but after being here for so long you’re more than used to it. You can see the moon now, hiding behind slivers of a dark cloud, and to your right a gruff,

“What’re you doing up here?”

It’s not unwelcoming, just a question out of curiosity. You turn to him, shocked to find him up here.

“Uh.” You drawl, mouth hanging open as you think of something to say. “Well—well I…” Why is this so hard?

“Why are you up here?” You ask instead, wrapping the blanket tighter around you.

Bucky shifts in the lawn chair—a cheap brand that creaks a little under his weight—and offers you a timid smile. “Don’t you remember?”

You shuffle through your memories, trying to understand the meaning behind his question. He’s patient with you, even shuffling deeper into his stance as you stare quizzically at him. What the fuc––oh. Oh you know what he’s talking about now.

“Oh Jesus Bucky I’m––” you run a palm over your face in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to say sorry for,” he assures you.

But you do. You do because he’s your friend, one of your best friends even, and with all of this going on, he deserves to have a good friend.

So it makes you feel terrible that you forgot the quite frankly huge significance of this roof, and even more specifically the very spot he’s sitting in right now; this is where he goes when he has nightmares. When he wants to be alone. This is where your friendship started.

You had snuck up to the roof in the middle of one of Tony’s parties, clad in a simple short blue dress and an armful of drinks and snacks for yourself.

It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun, you were never one to turn down a good party. But that night you had just wanted a little alone time, and the roof was one of your sanctums of escape from the world and its responsibilities.

Balancing everything awkwardly and praying that you wouldn’t have to bend down and pick any of them up, you finally twisted and pushed the door unceremoniously.

It should’ve banged against something with the amount of force you excurted—out of pure annoyance—but instead it was stopped by flashy, shiny fingers, curled against the rim of the door with quiet clicks.

“Fuck!” You gasped. “I’m sorry, didn’t know anyone was up here.”

Bucky stared down at you wearily, eyes full of surprise and wonder as he eyed you up and down, particularly taking in the overflowing variousity of items in your arms.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just needed…to get away for a moment.”

At this point you already knew how Bucky was with large crowds; you didn’t blame him for coming here, especially on warm summer nights such as this.

“Yeah,” you repeated. “Me too.” You looked down at your feet, shifting your weight. “Do you… would you like to join me?”

He froze. The blood to your cheeks was prominent, you could feel that from the heat of it. You shifted again, lifting a foot to help shove a box back into your arms.

“Okay.”

You smiled then, bright and toothy. “Here,” Bucky said, reaching for the snacks. “Let me get that.”

That night was filled with nothing but small talk and laughter, and it was one of the best nights of your life in a long, long time. From then on, you and Bucky grew closer and closer until you started to dream about riding his cock until he screamed your name and you started to push him away.

“Buck.” You sigh, shaking the perverted thoughts away.

“Just come here,” he says, reaching his hand out. “I want you to see something.”

You hesitate, but only for a split second before you find yourself walking towards him. His eyes, grey tonight, bare deep into yours like he’s trying to see into your soul; to figure you out, more likely.

Once you’re within hand’s reach he gently tugs at your blanket and your heart skips a beat at the sheer…domestically of such a minuscule motion. He tugs again, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the armrest.

“That chair is gonna break as soon as I sit on it.” You argue.

“It’s not,” he defends gently.

He still senses your hesitance and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Can I—?” He scrunches his eyebrows and carefully wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you to the left side of him. You let him guide your body until you’re half seated on his lap, legs practically curled over his thighs while his arm stays wrapped around you.

The heat from his body is searing, even through the extra layers of fluff you have on you. His breath ghosts over your cheek, casting a whiff of something sweet and minty on his breath. The hard, metal muscles dig into your back, although not uncomfortably, but enough for you to have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together at the thought of his arm tightening around you as he pounds into you—

“Look up.” He suddenly whispers in your ear, husky and deep. It causes a delectable shiver to run down your body and your pussy clenches around nothingness.

Keep it together.

Bucky must mistake it as you being cold because he pulls you tighter against him, which for you only makes it harder to control your thoughts. Your heart pounds and your ankles cross to try and relieve the increasing pressure growing in your pussy; thank goodness you brought your blanket out here.

You finally muster your eyes to follow his pointed finger and squint. “What am I looking at?”

He shifts a little more to the left. Closer to you. “There.”

You try to ignore the way his words literally hit your lips. A brush of his breath that feels like an imprint on your pink flesh and gets your mouth watering; you start to wonder what he tastes like.

“That?” You stick your hand out to the pointed stars.

“You know what that is?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you think. You’re not an expert in astronomy by no means, but you took a few classes back in the day, and somehow this piece of information resonates high and mighty in your memories.

“No.” You say before you can stop yourself.

He smiles again, that toothy smile that you love. “Cygnus. The swan, I believe. Mostly comes out during summer months and it forms this triangle,” he traces the stars. “See?”

And that is why you said no. The way he describes it, giddy and excited because he learned something new and he’s telling you…you hate yourself even more for the way you’ve been trying to avoid him.

“It’s beautiful.” You murmur.

Bucky hums in agreement. Your eyes scan for any more constellations, but you can feel him staring at you. You want to look down, your neck is even starting to strain from it, but you just…

He says your name. It comes out a whisper, and he sounds… scared. You slowly, very slowly, look down and find a swirl of gray and blue. Facing him like this makes you realize you’re closer to him than you thought; tilt your head a little down and you’d be kissing him.

As if he read your mind, he licks his lips and, unconscious or not, you start to lean forward.

This is it.

Bucky’s leaning up and holy shit you’re about to—

“Hey, lovebirds!”

The both of you jump and turn towards the intrusion, you with shock and Bucky, a murderous glare. Both his arms are around you, as if to shield you from the outsider.

“Emergency meeting.” Tony smirks. “I don’t like it either but,” he shrugs. “Duty calls. Let’s go.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches out of your peripheral vision, and you find yourself filled with the same agitation because fuck you were so fucking close.

“We should go.” You tell him, like it’s not obvious that the moment is already ruined.

“Yeah.” Bucky grits out.

You miss the safety of his arms as soon as you leave them.

–

This time you find him on purpose.

You start by going to his room. It’s late, but not too late this time. You knock softly against the door once, then twice and wait.

“Bucky?” You call out softly.

A sharp, defined meow answers you back from the otherside. You grin and give the knob a try, twisting it open slowly as you glance around the room.

“Buck?” You try again.

Alpine, Bucky’s white feline, greets you with a purr and rubs against your legs. You bend down with a coo and pick him up, scratching his head as he closes his eyes and continues to purr.

“Where’s your daddy?” You whisper to the cat.

He meows like he understands you, making you chuckle. The cool floor feels nice against your bare feet this time, a nice contrast to the heat flaring through the summer air. Alpine settles himself in your arms as you search for Bucky. Everything is quiet, no signs of anyone up and moving around, and you start to wonder if Bucky is up on that roof again when you walk by the kitchen. There’s a dark figure by the corner of your eye, but you don’t register it until Alpine starts squirming and you do a double take.

“Hey.” You put Alpine down.

Bucky nods at you and follows Alpine with his eyes as the cat rubs up against his owner, adding an arch to his spine.

“I was looking for you.” You explain when Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Hmm.” He hums nonchalantly.

You nod, because you don’t know what you want to say now that you have him and twindle your fingers together. This is… a lot harder than you expected it to be.

“Soo,” you start out. “How… are you?”

He shrugs. “‘M alright.”

Okay. You got that out of the way. Now let’s—

“Let’s go to my room.”

He’s whizzing past you before you can even blink, Alpine in tow. It takes you a moment before your muscles move and you’re following him. Your heart thuds wildly against your ribcage and you take a deep breath when his door comes into view.

Bucky has always been in a state between organized and messy. Most days you can’t even call it an organized mess, it’s more separate if you can make any sense of it. You’re reminded of this as soon as you walk in, stepping over a t-shirt and combat boots. “Sorry, sorry.” Bucky mumbles as he quickly ducks down to pick them up. The rest of his room is about the same, but it’s not too bad to make a big deal of.

“Can’t really sleep.” He offers an explanation.

“Ah.” You nod. “You got my problem now.”

He smirks mischievously and it shamefully sends a wave of blazing arousal through your body, ending at the pulsing ache quivering in need.

“It seems I do, doll.”

Is this—is this a double entendre? Is Bucky messing with you right now? Enjoying the way you’re trembling with a hold that’ll give everything away?

If so, he’s doing a fantastic job.

“So,” you clear the lodge in your throat. “S-so do you want to, uh, train? Like last time?” Okay, that might not be such a good idea—you won’t be able to control yourself then, you’re positive of it—but you genuinely do want to help him, so you’re willing to fight your animalistic pulses for the sake of your friend. No that—that doesn’t sound right. Just calling him your friend. Now, it’s leaving a distaste in your mouth.

He sits down on the edge of his bed—dark covers that match the aesthetics of his personality—and plants his elbows on his knees as he, dramatically you have to add, thinks thoughtfully with a slight pout to his perfect lips.

“Push ups.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Alright?”

“But I’m gonna need a little help.”

He leans forward, just a bit more, and—and maybe it’s just your uncontrollable imagination—his eyes are dark and blown wide.

Okay, your pussy is throbbing now, the pulse achingly worse in your clit. “O-okay.” You lick your dry lips.

His smirk widens and stretches to put his cup onto his nightstand, making his shirt pull up, showing you a sliver of chiseled abs on his toned stomach.

Holy fuck. You’re not going to make it.

Bucky catches your eye before he gets down on the carpet, the muscles in his back straining deliciously and mouth watering as he stretches his legs out and holds himself up by his palms.

“Sit on my back.”

“Wha—” You sputter with a slight giggle. “What just…just sit on you?”

“On my back, yes.” Bucky teases and glances up at you. “It’ll tire me out faster.”

It makes sense. Logically. And he does have more of an immunity than most. But you just can’t help but feel that this is part of a game of his, thinking of any and every way to torture you and watch you squirm in your helpless state.

You’re silent as you take short steps towards his crouched form and place a hand steadily on his broad shoulder. You check on his face, still as lucid and beautiful as ever, and carefully settle your weight atop his.

“Good?” You ask.

“Yes, so you can relax sweetheart.” He says without a strain. So you do as he says, sitting more comfortably on him and crossing your legs.

He bends his elbows and leans down, your fingers automatically gripping his shirt to gain more balance, and pushes himself back up at a steady pace, barely a noise coming from him. Each time he moves you feel his muscles stretch and tighten beneath you; you have to bite your lip to stop from digging your nails into his skin.

Alpine watches as Bucky continues the workout, all the while you’re sitting on him wondering just what you’re supposed to do other than sit here, anything to clear your head and appease the burning ache coursing through you.

“Say something.” He grunts.

“Like what?” You scoff despite yourself.

“I don’t know, talk about anything.” Up, down. A heavy breath. “Count for me then.”

“I don’t know how much you’ve done already.”

“Ten.” He answers immediately. Up. Down. “Eleven.” Up. Down. “Tw—“

“Twelve.” You interject with a mimicking tone. “Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”

Up. Down. You highly doubt he’s even breaking a sweat right now as your body hobbles on the muscles of steel. Up. Down. A tick, sounds like from a watch, sounds lowly in the room, but to you it sounds like it’s echoing loudly through your ears. Up. Down. You need to tell him. Up. Down.

“Alp,” Bucky sighs annoyingly.

You look over and see the white glob bend its head down by Bucky’s wrist, and when Bucky leans down the cat boops his nose against his and sits.

“Oh no, c’mon.” Bucky complains. “Move.”

He tries to sweep Alpine away with one arm but you’re moving too, not holding on to him and when he leans most of his weight onto his left side, your body goes with it.

“Woah!” Your hands fly wildly as you attempt to grab onto something. That something happens to be soft and you mistake it for his shirt and pull.

“Hey—shitmhm!”

You freeze. He does too.

Did that…did that just happen?

The air is thick, so fucking thick, you’re not sure if you can breathe properly under the weight of it.

Now what the fuck do you say?

“Um are you—” you’re breathless, like you’ve been the one doing the push ups. “Are you okay?”

He still keeps his stance, Alpine long gone by now towards his bed most likely. You don’t care about that right now. All you can think about is how his arms flex as he keeps you up and how you can see his jaw tick; it shouldn’t turn you on, but that groan does nothing to help you as it echoes through the air silently.

“Buc—”

There’s a tug on your calf and suddenly the room is a blur. You feel yourself being pulled down and flipped onto your back, and again you brace yourself for impact but it’s—it’s just the soft carpet, and he’s leaning over you, legs between his now open ones with a dangerous look in his eyes that you can’t tear away from. A bead of sweat dribbles down the tip of his nose until it drips down onto your cheekbone, but that’s not even enough to break the spell you’re currently in. It breaks Bucky’s, however, because he curses and wipes the small line from your cheek and wipes the front of his face with an open palm.

You should say something. A word. Just something. He turns back to you and just…looks at you. And you look back. Breaths mix together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and there’s a battle waging in his mind, you can see that in his eyes; they’re barely recognizable now, no blue or gray.

“Can I kiss you?”

It takes you a second to register what he said. It’s soft, so fucking quiet and gentle that it pierces straight through your heart. Your stomach erupts in nerves and your legs tighten together on their own accord, pussy fluttering at the question.

Bucky waits patiently, never once moving a muscle. You lick your lips and that’s when he moves, a flicker of his eyes and a part of his lips.

You don’t answer him with words. You don’t think you can trust your voice enough to. Don’t think at all, actually. Instead you nod and wait with baited breath as he nods back, leisurely, and starts to lean in. It’s tentative, careful but eager. You never take your eyes off his, only when you feel the soft press of his lips against yours do you indulge yourself.

The kiss starts off slow. Barely even a kiss, just lips against lips. You crane your neck up and back a little and press harder against him, making him moan softly in the back of his throat and shit that’s one of the most beautiful sounds you ever heard; you need to hear more of it.

Sensing your eagerness, he presses back and kisses you like you’re sure he did back in the 40’s, slinging every gal and wooing them with just a wink of an eye. His tongue traces the outline of your bottom lip and you open your mouth with a gasp, inviting his curious tongue into your warm crevasse. He sighs at the taste of you, swirling his tongue with yours in a fight you know he’ll win. Your hands lift up and wrap around his shoulders, pushing him down on to you. He presses down on your knee and you spread your legs for him to settle in between.

“Why—” He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connected to your lips trailing along as you whine from the loss. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

You giggle, deep and low and he joins in with his own, harmonizing perfectly. “I don’t know,” you say. “That’s sorta my fault, I guess. I just—” you look away shyly.

Bucky places two fingers underneath your chin, prompting you to look at him. “Didn’t want to risk our friendship.” He finishes for you.

You nod. Your chest feels lighter now, a new sense of…of an increasing, raw excitement growing inside you. He must feel the same way, too, because he swoops back in for another kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. Your arms flex as you hold him still, running your hand up the nape of his neck and into his locks, gripping a handful of it to stable yourself. Bucky moans again and drops his hips into yours, where you feel the hardening outline of his cock through his sweatpants, grinding purposefully against yours.

“Bucky,” you gasp, moaning when his lips trail down your jaw and stop at your neck.

“I’m so sorry we ever waited this long,” he groans into the skin, planting a kiss on your rapid pulse. “You’re so fucking beautiful, малышка.

You don’t understand much Russian, but Bucky has been trying to teach you on and off and this one you understand; babygirl.

“Fuck.” You moan. He sucks a mark on your neck and bites down on it, making you whine and arch your back into him. He pushes back down, and his cock feels impossibly harder and you know he can feel your hot, dripping cunt, too.

“Please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for. “I-I need…”

“What?” He asks sweetly. When you continue to sputter at him, he gives a hard thrust against your clothed cunt.

“A-ah fuck.” You keen.

“Tell me what you want.” He orders. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you. C’mon.”

It feels like you can’t breathe. He hasn’t even been inside you yet and you’re already on the edge, chest heaving and thighs quivering with the anticipation.

Bucky suddenly drops down to his forearms, leaving a searing kiss that has you whimpering for more. “Want me to taste you?” He whispers huskily. “Like I dreamed?” His hands slide under your shirt, skimming against your sides. Your breath catches, caught in your throat as your skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Kiss that pretty pussy of yours? Fuck you with my fingers? Get you alll—“ He palms your breasts and pinches your nipple; you bite down on your lip hard, indents digging sharply through the tender flesh. “—nice and wet for my thick, fat cock? Would you like that, doll?”

Would you like that? You’d fucking kill for it.

“Yes!” You moan loudly. “Oh please Bucky, please.”

Bucky loves to see you beg. His dick twitches in response in his pants and you dig your nails into his back.

“Okay baby,” he says against your open mouth. “Get on the bed for me, legs spread.”

You don’t hesitate as soon as he lifts off you. You crawl on the bed with shaky limbs and lay on your back on his pillow; it smells distinctly Bucky, filling your senses with fueled desire.

Bucky looks at you like you’re fucking treasure. Like you’re the sun, the moon, everything to him, and it makes you blush and flutter under the intensity of it. You hold your arms out with a slight pout.

“Please?”

He huffs a chuckle and reaches behind him to pull his shirt over his head. Your mouth waters at the beautiful specimen before you; you want to kiss the faint scars that littler his body. He pulls down his pants next but keeps his boxers on, the outline of his hard cock prominent and strained through the fabric; if it’s bothering him, he’s doing a pretty good job at hiding it.

Bucky crawls towards you, slow and with a curve, like a predator capturing its prey. You reach out for him and grab his shoulders, pulling him towards you for a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped but otherwise soft, move against yours in perfect synchrony, as if your bodies are already so in tune with each other. He breaks the kiss, diving back to lick your top lip, and slides the palm of his hands back up under your shirt, this time pulling the fabric with him. You help him slide the shirt off and throw it casually across the room; your nipples perk under his wandering and trumpeting gaze.

“Fuck, doll,” he whispers.

Before you can react he leans down and envelopes your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the perky bud. You gasp and hold his head to your chest while his hands grip down on your hips, hard enough to where you know there’s going to be bruises. He bites down on the bud, causing you to roll your hips against his and your toes to curl.

“Bucky.” You whisper, just because he’s all you can see and feel and smell…

He lets go of your breast with a pop and trails his kisses down the valley between your breasts and to your stomach, stopping at the pant line.

“Yes.” You say before he can ask. “Please, Bucky. I need you to touch me.”

“I already am, sweetheart.” He replies innocently.

You don’t want to argue right now. “James.”

He laughs and dips his fingers inside the waistband, the cool metal making you shiver. “You know,” he says as he drags your pants down your legs at an agonizing pace. “I kinda like it when you say my name like that.”

You chuckle, but it comes out weird and without much air. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He bites your hip bone, making your hips jump and your pussy clench. “James.”

Keeping your eyes on him—somehow, you know that he wants you to keep watching him—Bucky licks the very same spot he just bit and catches his teeth on the lining of your panties, pulling back and tugging at the flimsy fabric. The act alone almost makes you cum.

You moan lowly and lift your hips to help him pull them down your legs, kicking them off once they’re at your ankles.

“Jesus.” He murmurs, his breath hot against your pussy; if it weren’t for his broad shoulders, you would’ve closed your legs to relieve the pressure. “You’re fucking dripping, baby. Did I do that to you?”

You swallow and open your mouth, but no words come out. It’s like your brain is short circuiting, cut off from oxygen. Bucky grimaces and slaps your thigh with his flesh hand, making you cry out.

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes.” You stutter. “Fuck, Bucky yes, only you.”

He grins and kisses the top of your pubic mound, gripping your thighs tighter and scooching closer to the bed. “Gonna taste you.” He whispers, almost as if he was talking to himself rather than you.

You wiggle your hips impatiently, waiting for him. You think he might slap you again if you continue moving, so you will yourself to relax and…and wait. Because he can’t stop fucking staring at you, and kissing everywhere but where you want him the most and it’s so frustrating you’re going to cry.

“Pl-EASE!”

His hot, wet tongue slides up the strip of your folds and settles around your clit, circling the sensitive bundle. You preen into his mouth and clutch at the bedsheets, already writhing against him. He immediately throws an arm—his right one—over your lower stomach and pins your hips down, preventing you from moving an inch away or towards him; you’re completely under his will.

Bucky explores the velvety slit of your pussy, humming all the while like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The groans that are escaping you doesn’t sound like you, doesn’t feel like they’re coming from you, but they are and it finally catches up to you—James Buchannon Barnes, your friend, best friend, your co-worker, is eating your pussy like there’s no tomorrow.

“Oh fu—” He nips carefully at your clit. You can’t focus. Not on your words, your surroundings, nothing but Bucky and the sensations he’s bring you. Every lick and suck on your pussy has you keening into his unbreakable hold, whining and clutching the sheets until you’re sure you’re going to tear right through them. This is too much, way too fucking much but you’re so close, so desperate for him, that you’ll—

He slurps lewdly and loudly, making you throw your head back and choke on a moan. “Bu-Bucky I—I need…”

He pulls back just slightly enough to say, “I know.” And he shifts, getting ready to switch arms.

No. Oh no no no no.

Your hand darts out and stops him. Gulping, you wordlessly place his flesh arm back on your stomach and reach for his metal fingers. Bucky’s eyes widen as soon as he figures it out and stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head.

“R-really?” He asks indubely. “You want me to—Jesus baby you—fuck.”

“Please.” You whine. “I can take it.”

He—he snarls and buries his face back into your weeping pussy, attaching his lips around your clit. You gurgle out a low curse and feel his cold fingers prod at your gaping entrance.

“You sure?” He asks cautiously.

“If you don’t I will literally—OH!” One thick, wide finger breaches through your hole and slides into your cunt with ease, curling as soon as he’s knuckle deep. Your body spasms, like you’ve just been electrocuted, and your fingers curl in his hair.

“Taste fucking delicious,” he begins to babble. “Sweet like candy. Nevr’ gonna get enough of it, doll, never.” He pumps his finger in and out of you, curling each time he slides back in, brushing up against your sweet spot. After a few pumps, he dips another in, stretching you.

“Bucky I’m—” The coil in your lower stomach tightens, your pussy fluttering against his fingers painfully, but in a way that’s everything pleasurable. “Oh fuck I’m gonna c-cum.”

His lips are around your clit again, fingers pumping faster now to the point where you can hear the squelches from your cunt, and without any warning he sucks. Hard.

“Fuckfuckfuck.” It comes out of you without preamble, mindless babbling that doesn’t even make sense at all. Your thighs cage his head, shaking and quivering as your orgasm approaches. “I’m g-go-gonna—” Your pussy clenches harshly around his thick digits and you’re gone. White flashes behind your eyelids, a numbness searing through your entire core as you shake and gush around his fingers, and a strange sound emanates through the room again; you don’t have to question who it is.

Bucky works you through your release, moaning and lapping at everything you have to give him. Eventually you come down when it becomes too painful to bear and you push his head away from you. Giving your clit one last kiss that makes you whimper, he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking down at you all the matter.

“You did so good, baby.” He praises you; you shutter, legs jumping slightly as your body flexes. “Gonna let me fuck you? Huh, babygirl?”

You’ll let this man do anything to you. Your limbs feel like jello, but find enough strength to keep your legs open and open your arms invitingly to him. He makes a show of pulling his boxers down, your eyes following the patch of dark hair and bulges at the long, thick cock that slaps against the hard plains of his stomach, precum smearing from the red angry tip. Next time—and you really fucking hope there will be a next time—you’re going to put him in your mouth.

“Like what you see?” There’s more of that cocky, playboy Bucky Barnes you’ve heard so much about.

“Yes.” You answer honestly. “Kiss me.”

The bed shifts slightly and creaks under his weight as he crawls towards you and locks his lips with yours; you can still taste yourself on his lips, sweet and tangly. The tip of his head brushes against your clit as he lays down on top of you, hot and smearing more of his precum across your stomach.

“Fuck me,” you moan into him.

Bucky groans lowly and you reach down to grab his cock; it’s hot, thick enough to where your fingers don’t reach and pulsing in your hand. “Shit.” He hisses, hips stuttering in your grasp.

Nex time, you’re going to tease him, too; give him a piece of his own medicine. You would now, but this has been a long time coming and you’re tired of waiting, so you line him up at your entrance and keep your hand on him as he slowly pushes in.

He moans your name the same time you moan his, looking down to watch himself sink into your warm depths. He stops when he’s balls deep, and you feel so full that you’re positive the tip of him is about near your cervix.

“Bucky.” You wiggle beneath him. “Move.”

“I got you, princess.” He croaks. “I got you.”

Pushing himself down on his forearms, Bucky pulls out painfully slow, his dick already wet and slick with your juices, and pushes back in. You roll your hips into his thrusts, taking him deeper. Every single muscle in his body flexes under your touch as you wrap your arms around his back, rolling into you with perfect thrusts that hits a spot deep inside you. You're too wired, too engrossed with the fact that it’s him, that your still overly sensitive pussy clenches around his cock.

“Baby,” his voice presses sweet and deep in his throat as he gasps. “I’m not—fuck I’m sorry I-I’m not—”

“It’s okay.” You tell him breathlessly, pressing your forehead against his and giving his lips a quick peck. “Just fuck me, Bucky. Use me, like I’ve dreamed of.”

Bucky chokes, eyes wild and neck red, and pulls almost all the way out until the tip is barely in and thrusts back in harshly. You cry out and dig your nails into his bare skin, leaving angry marks in their wake. He grabs your leg and hitches it over his hip, bringing his arm back down to wrap around you.

“You ever touch yourself thinking about me, doll?” He grits. “Huh? Have you?”

How—oh Jesus fuck how are you supposed to answer that when he’s fucking you so deep that you can barely remember your own name. Your pussy clenches in answer to what he already knows, and that gets him to grind down at you; the curls of his hair brush heavenly against your clit. “Yeah, you have, haven’t you?”

Pleasure rips through as his hips meet your harder and faster, the slap of skin against skin becoming louder and louder, as is your cries, but you don’t care if the whole fucking world hears you.

“You’re tight,” he gasps, closing his eyes. “How are you s-so fucking—fuck tight?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that, but the only thing you can do is bring him down to kiss you again, clashing teeth as you moan and cling to him. He breaks the kiss and buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. His arms slide back down to grope your ass cheeks and lift your lower half up to meet more of his heavy and hurried thrusts.

“I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns you in a moan.

You kiss his neck while your hand slides down his back to grope at his ass—as if you can push him even more deeper inside of you—and you lick his earlobe, tugging at the end with your teeth until he shivers.

“I want you to cum,” you whisper seductively in his ear. “Sergeant, please.”

Sergeant. Sergeant. You have no idea where it came from, but as soon as the words leave your mouth he growls and starts to plow you, fingers digging into your flesh as his hips snap into yours.

“Shit. Oh fuck babygirl I can—I can’t.” His rhythm falters, your pussy fluttering and clenching around him, trying to get his cock to say within you after each delicious drag against your walls. He whines—a pitiful, deep whine that resonates throughout the shocked nerves—and you can’t—

“I’m cumming.” You manage to break out. “B-buck—fuck.”

Your ankles cross around his waist, and it takes his teeth in your neck to have you cry out onto the ceiling as your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in and clenching until your muscles feel spent and sore.

“Oh God,” Bucky whimpers and it sends another wave through you, making him sputter and choke as his hips slam into you unevenly. “Shit shit, fuck.”

“Please baby.” You encourage softly. “Cum.”

He abruptly pulls out, your protest lodged in your throat as you feel the hot, thick ropes of cum spurt out onto your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck.” Bucky continues to gasp, his hand flying to his weeping cock and fisting it.

You moan as a few more land on your chest, painting your body with his pearly white cum; you know it’s over when he starts to slump. Without a second thought, he pushes back into you. “Bucky.” You can only say in slight confusion and pain.

“Sorry, I’m sorry I just—“ he winces as his hips connect with yours again. “—just wanna feel ya. Too good.” He slurs.

He kisses you then, slow and unhurried unlike earlier. This kiss says so much more in its language, lost in the dance of your lips. He trails his lips up to your forehead and places the softest and faintest of kisses there before settling on your chest.

You hum and rub his back soothingly. You’re both sweaty and sticky—Bucky doesn’t seem to mind this fact as he presses himself closer to you—and your body is satisfyingly numb and exhausted. Finally exhausted for what seems like ages.

Once the haze evaporates from your mind, questions start flying: what does this mean for you and Bucky now? When and how do you tell the others? What does this mean for missions? What does—?

“Stop thinking.” Bucky mumbles, voice covered by the breast he’s laid his head on. “Too loud.”

He’s right. This time, it can wait.

You smile and whisper an apology, snuggling deeper into the hug. You try to get comfortable, but the sticky evidence is drying uncomfortably on your skin.

“Bucky,” you sigh. “We gotta shower.”

You feel his nose squint. “Few more minutes.”

You fall asleep before those few minutes are up.

Tags: @scarlett-berserker, @justlovetoreadfics, @lil-baby27, @mando-vibes, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch, @im-the-music-whore, @certifiedhunter, @softpedropascal, @domino-oh-damn, @okaydacre, @lemongrove, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd, @elusive-ivory, @dizzydazed, @bluejeancntrygrl, @dadzawas-eyebags, @moonstruck-witchy @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi, @evalynanne, @purplewaterbird, @vikingqueen28, @tedpicklez, @blunt-cake-yes, @agoldin, @lustriix, @readsalot73, @kateb013, @eupphoriaaa, @imalovernotahater, @everything-lost-and-unsaid, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale, @fangirlfree, @amarvelousmandalorian, @ironheart-hanako, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997, @adikaofmandalore, @cahooter, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell, @acrylics-and-sunshine, @sunkissed-winter

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes #bucky x you #marvel #mcu #reader insert #fanfic #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfic

2K notes · View notes

roll-da-credits · 3 years

Text

Lycoris Radiata -Izuku Midoriya x Reader-

Inspired by the piano piece, "Lycoris Radiata," Written by Spikes, played by MusicalBasics.

Highly recommend listening to it whilst reading.

[1] [2] [3]

Word Count: 1.6k

When a childhood love shows up after being lost to time, it's unnerving to be presented by something so familiar yet different. Deku, lost to his own love and presented with the stresses of life and unrequited love, it isn't easy to see the world with an unbiased gaze.

!WARNING!

(This is for the entire series and not just this part)

BIG TW for death, suicide, abuse,

Minor TW for death imagery, toxic relationship, toxic friendship, toxic shit all around

A/n: The summary sucks ass I really don't know how to summarize this ahahaha, btw this is going to be a 3 parter and I hope all of you follow me for the ride cause its a bumpy AND angsty one. Like heavily angsty. The first part doesn't have that many triggering topics, but the second and third do, so read with caution.

Imagery used

Red camelia flowers

Deku felt his entire body freeze at the sight. Like seeing a piece of his past that was lost to time. He yelled your name and without looking back to see you already knew who it was.

His very voice brings warmth in your entire being, a soft chuckle left your lips. You could hear his footsteps getting closer and closer, he was running to greet you. To greet the girl who left so long ago. The girl who disappeared from his life the moment he went in UA.

He never knew what happened or why it did happen. Though all of his questions bubbled into non-existence when you stood and closed your arms around his torso. He wanted to lift you up to the air, hug you even tighter. After all, it wasn’t everyday he would find his childhood friend sitting in a park bench all alone.

“You know him?”

A lone voice interrupted Deku’s complete bliss. He felt you quickly release your hold on him, though the beautiful smile he admired never leaving your face.

He watched in curiosity as the lone voice wrapped his hand around your waist. A bitter feeling etched its way in his throat. He pushed it down as far as it would go, afraid by his own jealousy he would push you away from his life once more.

“We were friends back in Grade School and Middle School, we stopped talking in Highschool though.” “Izuku, this is my boyfriend.”

Deku smiled and held his hand out for your boyfriend to shake. Which he does so with a big smile, “I didn’t know you were friends with the number one hero, that’s incredible.”

His intimidating tone at the beginning turned to almost fascination. Deku simply chuckled to himself and scratched the back of his neck in nervousness.

Your boyfriend leaned down to give you a small peck on your lips and Deku couldn’t help but shift in his place. Feeling rather displaced at watching a shameless display of affection. He slightly looked away to watch the rose bushes not very far from where he was, missing the grip that tightened around your waist. The flowers were beautiful, bright red and imposing. He thought to himself how hard it must’ve been to take care of such a delicate flower.

“Why don’t we all head out to lunch?”

Your boyfriend suggested.

To which you quickly agreed and your eyes locked with Deku’s green ones. A gaze almost as if you were begging him to come along. He, of course, would never deny an offer like that, not when you seemed so desperate to get him to go along. A feeling of gratitude bubbled in his chest, he felt as if you were looking at him like that as a sign to reconcile. Maybe even apologize for your sudden disappearance.

He followed the both of you to a nearby restaurant, getting stopped here and there for photos or signatures by passers-by. Every time he’d glance over to you and your boyfriend with an apologetic gaze, only to be met with the warm smile of your boyfriend and slight chuckles here and there.

He was extremely thankful you were able to find yourself such a considerate and patient lover. It quelled the jealousy in his heart a tiny bit. He would never jeopardize your happiness just because of his selfishness to have you as his.

Finally arriving at the restaurant, he watched your boyfriend closely the entire meal. It wasn’t he was scared of him being terrible or a bad company, he was simply making sure your boyfriend was the right person for you.

His suspicion would soon disappear though, the moment both of you went in, he greeted the waiters. Even apologized when one of them bumped into him. He was kind to give up the table he reserved for a family with hungry children. And he patiently waited for another table to open up for him.

When the waiter messed up his order, he simply smiled at your request of getting a waiter to correct his order and ate it without complaints.

Deku watched in front of him as he always kept his hand slung around your shoulder. He watched as your boyfriend complimented you, flick away a piece of food that fell on your clothing. Deku observed him with a keen eye and yet could do nothing but smile.

He truly did seem like a good person.

Despite his keenness and thorough nature, he missed the way you’d often shift in your seat when your boyfriend’s body nudges yours. Or how you’d flinch when a waiter dropped a plate rather far from the table.

The entire meal Deku along with you and your boyfriend made small talk here and there. Deku grew to like your boyfriend more and more.

At the same time, he felt his romantic feelings for you lightly watering down. He knew it was still there, but once again he’d rather it completely dissipates than ruin your relationship with a good person.

After all, he was a hero, he would always care for you and give you the best of the best. Even if it meant letting you love another.

“Izuku!!!” At the call of his name, Deku ran as fast as his tiny legs could carry him through the forest and to you.

Both of you still children laughing and exploring the forest with Bakugou and his gang of miscreants.

He finally found you crouching, watching intently at something he could not yet see from his distance.

Deku stopped for a moment trying to catch his breath, he thinks you haven’t heard him yet since you weren’t turning your back to him. Still intent on watching whatever you were looking at on the ground.

Just as he started to walk to you, Bakugou jumped out of his hiding spot and landed right in front of you. Causing you to scream from the scare.

Bakugou laughed out loud, prideful that his little prank worked. “I got you!!!”

Yet, no laughter followed from your side. You didn’t laugh like you usually did, both Bakugou and Deku who was now already behind you grew slightly anxious. What if you had gotten hurt from Bakugou’s landing?

What they didn’t expect was for you to cry ever so loudly.

Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you stood and pushed Bakugou to the ground, still wailing.

“You dummy!!! You stepped on it! It's dead now!!!” You wailed and cried, before turning your heel and running back to your home.

Bakugou looked at Deku for clarification, as he was still dazed from the harsh shove. Deku looked to whatever you were staring at before Bakugou’s scare and saw a crushed red camellia flower. Bakugou finally realizing what he had done still didn’t want to admit he was in the wrong.

So just like the child he was, crossed his arm on his chest and huffed.

“It wasn’t my fault the flower was in my way!!”

He too soon left Deku to his own devices, looking for his previously left behind gang.

Deku feeling incredibly bad took the crushed flower in his hands and brought it home with him.

The next day he got his mom to bring him to your place since for some reason you didn’t come over today to play with him like you usually do every day.

“Oh Inko, please come in. They’ve been crying since they came home yesterday, something about something red dying. It was probably another flower.”

Your mother welcomed both Deku and his mother in, explaining why you had been absent from your usual playdates. Deku got the green light from your mother to meet you upstairs, and so just like a little kid excited to show his friend a new toy. He ran up the stairs holding a tiny box in his hands.

He barely bothered to knock on your door and barged in, causing you to lightly flinch at surprise.

“Izuku?” He swiftly apologized when he saw he interrupted you whilst you were reading.

Waddling his way over to sit next to you, he smiled and asked what you were reading about. You explained it was an English book called The Very Busy Spider, in which the main character was a red spider with a green head. A character you enjoyed so very much.

Deku listened to you retelling the children’s book to him, all whilst gripping the box extremely tight. Ecstatic to see your reaction when you opened his little gift.

“What did you bring Izuku?” Your little fingers pointed at the box tied neatly by Deku’s mother in a red ribbon.

Deku grinned and gave the box to you, “I’m sorry about Kaachan yesterday.” He sincerely or as sincere as a child could, apologized for his best friend’s actions.

You nodded at him and opened the tiny box. Inside was a dried version of the red camellia flower you had thought died after being crushed by Bakugou.

You held it close to your heart and almost cried tears of joy before enveloping Deku in a bone-crushing hug. “You’re my hero!!!” Your words made a flicker of flame igniting in his chest. He didn’t realize your words impacted him so much until he went back home and couldn’t get it out of his mind. He was extremely proud of himself to bring a smile back on your face.

After all, if he was going to be a hero, he would need to ability to make people smile all the time. Even if it meant racking his brain to find new solutions to odd problems.

#deku angst #izuku midoriya #deku x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya angst #deku fluff #my hero academia #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #deku x you #izuku midoriya x you #bnha x reader #izuku fanfic #deku fanfiction

68 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 4 years

Text

Love Talk - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 6.1k words

Genre: romance, minor fluff, mild smut

Rating: suggested 18+

Hello cuties! Welcome to the Love Talk scenarios.

In these small series we’ll see how the guys handle the turn-ons turn-offs conversation, talking about their previous relationships, kinks and limits.

In this first piece we’ll see how our perfect leader plays his cards with his not-yet girlfriend, fondly nicknamed Vixen. It’s their fifth date and Vixen meets him at hers for a lovely homecooked meal. Expect the situation to escalate.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Consumption of alcohol (wine), swearing, toxic past relationships. Discussion of sexual topics, [DDLG/daddy kink, oral, voyeurism, sex toys and impact play, restraints (handcuffs and manacles, spreader bars), lingerie fetish, discipline and rules, mind games, pornography, slight roleplay, sensation play, edging, orgasm deprivation and control, bruising and marking kink, blindfolds. Mentions of angst about Vixen’s past relationship. Mentions of a series of hard limits (hardcore bdsm, heavy pain kink, knife play, electric play, suspension play, water sports, degradation and humiliation, chastity devices, infantilization, dubious consent, asphyxiation, triple penetration, touch deprivation). Just in case you didn’t know already, Vixen is a brat and Joon is the smoothest brat tamer to exist (Can you imagine him sweet talking and tricking his brat into obedience? I. Am. Shaking.)

Wordcount: 6.1k (listen, these two flirt a lot, they like talking to each other and Joon could dirty talk for days. Anything less than 5k would be an insult to them and I GOT CARRIED AWAY) Also, here is my Masterlist

Do you want to read what happened next? You can find it here!

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

He didn’t expect it. Yeah, last time you’d made out in the backseat, the driver hopefully uninterested in your anthem, but that doesn’t mean he expected you to ask him out. Usually he was the one texting first and asking out.

International, Korean or fusion? The text read.

Are you thinking of bringing me lunch?

I’m thinking of asking you out this Saturday. If you’re free, of course.

Picnic at Han river? He asked, hopeful.

They say it’s gonna be stormy. Dinner at mine. I’ll cook.

You can cook? His computer went on screensaver mode. He was too caught up texting. He was already done with the demo anyway.

You’ll see. You teased.

He smirked. Then it’s a deal. Want me to bring wine and dessert?

Just wine, you wrote before adding a flirty smirk.

He was blushing. You’re so naughty. He replied. A pause. Cook your signature dish.

Don’t get ideas. You texted back cheekily.

That was nice. However, a few seconds later you found yourself questioning how long it would take you to lose your cool and throw yourself at him. The night was going to be disastrous.

That’s how you found a drenched Namjoon on your doorstep the following Saturday. “Sorry, my umbrella broke on the way. I’m a mess.” He spoke, checking how bad he looked, the words spilling out of his mouth lightning fast. With an apologetic smile he looked up at you, his jaw going slack, a little shocked. “Wow.”

He noticed you had dolled yourself up. You blushed and thanked him for the compliment quickly, your main interest focused on taking care of his situation. You quickly dragged him in, already fussing over him before he got cold, your apprehensive side taking control.

You smiled at him and asked him to wait for a towel. When you came back you noticed he was wearing a thin cotton t-shirt, now perfectly sticking to his skin. You were ready for self-ignition. Fortunately, you managed to find a spot for his dripping jacket and tell him to get comfy. He was already barefoot, his sandals on your entry mat. You offered him your oversized sleeping t-shirt and left as he dried himself and got dressed.

“Let me see if I have a pair of sweats for you.” You came back a few minutes later with some basketball shorts you didn't even know you had. “Sorry, I don’t have boxers. You could use one of my thongs, if you fancy those.” You smirked, giving him an awkward thumbs-up. He snickered at that, shaking his head.

God, he felt fond of you already.

After a few minutes he was sitting at the kitchen table, looking like boyfriend material in his exceedingly domestic outfit, and fidgeting with his hands. Previously you had led him to the bathroom, giving him space to change and asking him to give you his stuff so you could put it in the dryer. In the meantime he had noticed the small details in your bathroom. Your pink toothbrush. Your sleeping robe hanging from the heater. And a small collection of delicate lace — too delicate for machine washing and drying — hanging from a small rack.

Fuck.

“It’s almost ready. I hope you like lasagna. It’s a classic.” You called from the stove.

“That’s nice.” He admitted. “It feels amazing in here. Smells good. And it’s nice, toasty. Great autumn vibes.”

He was probably talking out of nerves. He should stop. He was painfully close to slapping himself.

“Thank you. I know you like hardwood. And that’s exactly the vibe I go for.” You said referring to your furniture.

“Your house is truly lovely, ____.” He spotted more details, trying to ignore the rumbling of his stomach, both from nerves and the mouth-watering scent coming from the oven.

“I’ll give you a tour later. Don’t expect a lot, though. It’s just the living room, the studio and the bedroom. Other than the bathroom and kitchen, that is.”

Bedroom. Hell. Keep calm, Namjoon, she said don’t get ideas. “I’d love to.”

Dinner was easy, you talked about his job and your job, and how you’d moved to Seoul and found that incredible, small apartment in such an exclusive neighbourhood.

Together with conversation flowed the wine. You both were red cheeked by the end of the meal and your head felt a bit light when you stood up. He noticed and smirked kindly. “Need help?” A hand sweetly supporting your waist.

You were standing in front of him now and you couldn’t help but notice how his head reached your navel while he was sitting. “Have I already told you you look breathtaking tonight?”

You blushed. “Maybe.” You stroked his hair back, the gesture incredibly intimate. He closed his eyes and pushed his head against your hands, inviting you to do that again. You obliged. “And you look ravishing in my pink and frilly sleeping shirt.” You joked.

“Yeah I feel incredibly cute. But don’t jump my bones, please. Right now this place feels like the dragon’s den.” He confessed. “And you keep luring me in.”

“I might eat you. Be careful.” You teased. “This dragon can be very hungry.”

He looked up at you and smiled, his eyes crincling. “That sounds amazing.”

You took your chance and poked his dimple, then you grabbed his hands and removed them from your waist, getting ready for dessert. You started collecting the dishes and bringing them to the dishwasher, leaving only the wine and glasses on the table. As you turned and bent he let his eyes run down your tight-fitting dress, biting his lip as he noticed the lack of panty lines on your behind. “Do I get the dessert now?” He growled quietly. You turned your head, pretty sure that he was enjoying the view, which you had no intention ruining.

“Have you been a good boy?” You questioned playfully.

“I’m always good.” He replied “Maybe not a good boy, but good for sure.”

“You can go in the living room, we’ll eat dessert there.” You directed him.

He let his hand caress your lower back, catching your attention. “Need me to take the wine and glasses there?” He asked.

“Yes, thanks, sweetie.” You whispered, somehow entranced by the small touch.

You were starting to get intimate and it felt right. Comfortable. You took a few minutes to yourself, cleaning up the kitchen and loading the dishwasher, then trying to get dessert ready, your movements slower both because of the wine and because you felt like you needed more time to get psychologically ready for him and your bantering.

Meanwhile he reached the other room and fumbled around a little, searching for the light switch. Suddenly the place felt comfy. And dangerous. The lights were low, the sofa looked soft and inviting with a big woolen comforter thrown over it.

You were well-read. He knew that already, but noticing the big library and the books laying a little bit everywhere really made him wonder how many things you knew. He put down the glasses and bottle and explored, careful of where he put his feet.

You had Korean books and English ones. A few in one or multiple languages he didn’t know. On your wall there were a few movie posters. Studio Ghibli. The Grand Budapest Hotel. Lost in Translation. Lolita.

He knew that one. He would ask about that later.

Moving back to the library he noticed other books he knew. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Again, Lolita. The Memoirs of a Geisha. The Delta of Venus. A thorough guide to the language of sex… A thorough what?

“You found my forbidden stash.” You asked him, propped against the door jamb, dessert in one hand, spoons in the other.

“If it’s forbidden, then why are you displaying it so openly.” He asked, moving away and innocently sitting on one edge of the sofa, legs closed, trying to occupy as little space as possible.

“No one visits here, usually. And why should I hide being interested in erotism?” You laid the heavy bowl on the table. “It’s tiramisu. It’s coffee-based. I thought you would like it. If you’re bold enough I might tell you the story of it.”

“Come on, try me.” He teased.

“It was invented in Italy. It’s said that prostitutes would make it to reinvigorate their clients.” You took a spoon and dipped it in before bringing it to your mouth.

He laughed. “Really.”

“It’s a quite popular legend.” You smiled.

“Did you learn that in The thorough guide to the language of sex?” He asked flirtily, his ears blushing.

“I learnt that during my cuisine lessons.” You replied matter-of-factly.

“And what did you learn from that interesting book?” He wondered, keeping eye contact as he fed himself some cake.

“A lot of things, actually.” You lowered your eyes, playing hard to get.

“And have you ever used them?” He asked, his curiosity now poked and fully awakened.

“Are you asking me if I’ve had sex before?” You questioned.

He shook his head. “I assumed you have.” He stopped, embarrassed. “I mean, you’re in your mid-twenties and you mentioned having a couple past relationships.”

“Correct. Even though those factors are actually insignificant. But yeah, I’ve done it before.” You shrugged. “So have you, right?”

“Yes. I’ve had three committed relationships. A few casual flings. That’s it.” He admitted, completely unbothered by the fact.

You looked at him, swallowing your mouthful before asking: “Now we’re gonna talk bodycounts and turn-ons, right?”

“Only if you want to, darling.” His voice became soft, caring. He was your boy now.

“Then yeah. Well, let’s go through some history.” You poured some wine in both glasses and took a sip of yours. “Lost my virginity at 19. First serious boyfriend. He was a lot older than me. A lot. Like a loooot.”

“How old?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Like… twelve years...” You said, as if it were a question.

“He was… thirty-one?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah...” You exhaled.

“And why did it end?” he asked.

“We were together for two years. Then he wanted family. I wanted career. Seems fair.” You told briefly.

“He must have been important, then.” He assumed out loud.

“We’re actually still friends. He has a family. But he really made me what I am. Actually, he helped me grow up and past some traumas.” You admitted with a smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, again warm and comforting.

“The usual. Daddy issues.�� You giggled.

He bit his lip anxiously. Now what?

“I was overly responsible from a young age. I wanted rules, restrictions. Attention from my parents. I was always wound up tight and with no one taking care of me.” You shrugged. “He helped me find an outlet and discover how my mind works. I realised sometimes I just need someone to take care of me when I'm too tired to do it myself.”

“I noticed the Lolita theme. I was going to ask you about that, honestly. Is that what you’re into?” He asked, tiptoeing around the huge black hole that was calling to him. Asking you to get into his lap and then praise and cuddle you until the little girl eventually came out to play.

“Are you asking me if I have a daddy kink or if I like owning multiple versions of the same book in different languages?” You asked, putting some humour in the heavy conversation you would be diving into shortly.

“Obviously the different versions.” He shrugged with a teasing smile.

“Yes.” You took another small sip. “To both of those.”

He felt like he needed to stretch his neck. “I’m glad this came up.”

“I’m pretty sure you have one yourself, don’t you?” You licked your lips before taking some more dessert.

He took a sip of his wine. “Yes. I think.”

“From one to ten, how far up?” You asked, eyes sparkling bright.

“I would say eight. Maybe nine.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re safe with me. I was hoping that by now you knew I wouldn’t ever judge you.” You murmured, a pout on your lip.

“A solid nine. But I won’t go higher up. There’s some kinky stuff out there that I’m seriously not into.”

“What’s that?”

“Stuff like pacifiers and drawings and plushies and playing tea party. That’s not me.”

“No, I’m not into infantilization either.” You agreed. “Honestly I’m more of a brat than a baby girl.” Now that the ball was rolling it was easier getting to the core of things, using terms and explaining kinks. The initial dive is always traumatic, but now you only had to swim. Metaphorically speaking.

“I could tell.” he smirked. “Too teasing and independent to keep your head low and say “yes, sir”, aren’t you?”

“You got me.” You lifted your eyes to him, batting your lashes a couple times. “And where’s the fun in that? The fun is in the chase. All the sweet talking and the manhandling that lead to surrender and conquest. I need to be won, earned, deserved. Of course I will bend, but I want you to show me how much you want me, how far you’re willing to go to get me. If it suits my taste, I will give in.”

He swallowed and took another spoonful of tiramisu. You were getting to his head faster than the wine. “So you’re a brat.” He stated, then licking his lip.

You nodded.

“What else are you into?” He asked, his stare dark and serious.

You subtly clenched your legs. “I like the fight. I like the sensationof my partner overpowering me. But I also like feeling loved and taken care of.”

“That’s right and natural, darling.” He supported you.

You felt your body caving in slowly, the desire in his eyes felt intoxicating and the sweet understanding and tenderness oozing from his mouth made you want to please him immensely. You were already yielding without him even touching you. “I like rules.”

“Oh, you do, sweetie?” He lured you in, inviting you to share more details.

“They make me feel like the other person is giving me boundaries to protect me.” You confessed.

“I like those too.” He diminished the power imbalance between the two of you, showing you his more delicate side. “I like giving them. And I like receiving them. I also feel like the other person is teaching me how to respect them. How to love them right. And is also indirectly protecting me from harm.”

“That’s right.” You agreed. “That’s exactly how I feel.” You smiled shyly.

“Do you like punishment, in any forms?” He asked, his voice so delicate it felt like a butterfly landing on the tip of your nose.

You blushed and exhaled. “I like spankings.” You bit your lips, hiding your face in your hands.

He caressed your hands tenderly. “I’d love to spank your perfect ass, Vixen.”

You giggled at the nickname. He’d used it at the end of your fourth date, when your hand had started playing with his belt.

Mood lightened, you lifted your head, smiling brightly. “I like it barehanded. It’s my favourite. But I also like the paddle and the hairbrush.”

“Not afraid of bruises?” A shiver ran down his spine, even though his blood was boiling.

“Not really.” You took more dessert. He stared at the spoon as it disappeared in your mouth, your lips latching and sucking at the silverware. His eyes then moved to your fingers as they held the spoon elegantly but energetically. “Actually the more the better. But tell me about you.”

He took in a deep breath before exhaling quickly. “I like bruising. Of different sorts. As I said, I’d love to cover your behind in those, if you’ll ever allow me to, that is.” He put down the spoon after he realised he was gesticulating with it. Dangerous. He was getting dumber. “This might sound very horny teenager but I like hickeys. Loads of them. Like marking. I really like marking.”

Your attention sparked up. He could claim you like that whenever he wanted to.

“And other stuff like biting. Licking. A lot of mouth activity in general.” He admitted, toying with his hands and shifting in his seat.

You couldn’t contain a small squeal and a giggle. “Oral fixation. Sounds nice. I have that too. Official member of the oral squad.” You grinned as you saw the gleam in his eyes. You took a small pause analysing your next move. “However, I can assume from your size that you’re a lot.” You gestured to his shoulders and height.

He only opened his mouth, raising his eyebrows and averting his gaze.

“And my gag reflex sucks. So I can only guarantee you I’ll try. Enthusiastically. Over and over.”

He felt like evaporating. “The only thing that counts is that you’re okay with receiving.” He waited for your answer expectantly, eyebrows raised, heartbeat galloping.

“Yes. Anytime.” You deadpanned. Eyes already closing at the thought of his mouth between your legs. “But don’t expect me to be shy about it. I will ask for it. Repeatedly. Until I’m a blabbering mess.”

He could make you a blabbering mess right in that second. He took a deep breath. Don’t start thinking of that.

“Come on, say it.” You flirted.

He laughed his big old grandpa laugh. “Say what?” He looked at you, happy and excited.

“Come on, you’ve admitted it to national tv but won’t talk to me about it.”

“Oh, you mean porn.” He blushed to the tip of his ears. “Fuck. I’m so fucking dumb.”

“Just clumsy. It’s lovely.” You complimented. “It’s a nice contrast to the hot daddy look you have eighty percent of the time. But don’t get distracted. Talk to me about your voyeurism kink.” You spurred him on. You needed to unlock that part of him. Craved it.

“Okay, fine. but we’re getting back to the hot daddy part later.”

“I’ll make sure of that.” You quipped. God, the chemistry was getting insane.

"Honestly, back then I used to watch it a lot more. Now I'm sort of… Lazier. It's so difficult finding what I like, and actually liking it the way it is carried out."

"Like, you're not sure you like how they're doing it." You suggested.

He clicked his tongue in agreement. "Yes. And it just lacks that… Spark. The intimacy, you know."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I one night stands aren’t it for me. I need to build that trust.” You admitted.

"I feel the same. And I get it, sex is amazing and everything, but only when you do it right. Like — with the right person. Someone that understands you and someone you're free enough to do it with. Someone you know, mentally and emotionally."

"Sex that comes from knowing and understanding is so much more intense." You said with a dreamy tone.

He looked at your face, longing blatant on your lineaments. He wished he could give you that. He wished he could take it from you. "That's the right word. Intense. You know, like the way lovers look at each other, like ‘yeah, I know your tits look great but you know what looks even greater? The way your chest flushes when you're close and your eyelids flutter and you subconsciously wet your lip with that little, oh-so-familiar flick of tongue’."

You felt your body soften at the words, secretly answering to his description. "You just explained intimacy." You agreed, nodding along and picking up a spoonful of dessert.

"That's why I watch a lot more amateur stuff these days. I would never have the audacity to film anything — too risky for my taste — but I like watching, at least."

"And how do you feel about watching… Live?" You asked, curious but also guarded.

"You mean watching my partner as she touches herself?" He asked, eyes blown wide.

"Yes." You said, shrugging.

He licked his lips and gulped, though his mouth was awfully dry. Wine. That's what he needed.

As he downed a large sip, you waited for his answer expectantly, almost ready to change topic when he started talking.

"Yeah." His voice was deeper now and an obscure part of you stood to attention, your hearing enhanced to capture any order he was ready to give you. None came. "I would love to. I love looking at a confident woman showing off her lingerie — and don’t think I forgot about your little collection.” He licked his lips and parted his legs, trying to ease his discomfort. “Sadly, I think that the vision would be an exercise in restraint, since I have zero patience and I can't stand being provoked. But I would watch, were she to touch herself with bare hands or with… Toys."

Lord, save me. You thought, your legs squeezing tighter.

This time it seemed Namjoon had noticed, although he did not show any reaction except for a cocky smirk, which he hid readily.

"If it's such an exercise in patience maybe some restraints could help you rein yourself in." You suggested.

"Being tied up by you as I watch you take off your lovely, expensive lingerie set and then watch you touch yourself? Is that what you're asking me?"

"A girl can dream." You teased with a cheshire grin.

"Good thing dreams do sometimes come true." He suggested, an eyebrow raised, mouth quirked to the side, panty-dropping dimple in tow.

You smiled and moved half an inch closer to him.

"You said once you did it a lot more. How much then and how much now?

"Well, back then I did it at least once a day or every two days. Now it's three times a week, roughly." He looked just slightly ashamed, but not really. You couldn't quite decypher his mind in that second. "May I ask about your… Needs."

Your brow creased, fingers entangling. "If I watch stuff? Or how often?"

He looked stuck somewhere in his brain and you tried helping him out. "Yeah."

Both, then. "Not films. Usually it's just pictures or short clips. When I'm especially needy I might listen to audios—”

"Of people having sex?"

You nodded. "Yeah, or just having some alone fun-time. "

God, he wanted one of those. Of you. "That sounds interesting."

"Sounds interesting in more ways than one, indeed." You offered back with an innuendo.

Your silver tongue and quick brains would be the end of him. "Talking with you is like a dangerous tango. Like that scene from Mr and Mrs Jones."

You laughed. "I'll have to catch up on that one."

"We could watch it together, next time." He suggested.

"I'd love to." You were sure that watching the film would probably be the last thing you’ll do. If you did it at all… "About frequency…" You took a pause, trying to verbalise decently what you felt wasn't decent at all. "I must say I'm quite high maintenance."

He poked your side, leaning across the sofa, but staying respectfully two feet away from you. He wanted to see if you would come closer. "Don't be shy. You made me grade my daddiness, now grade how needy you are from one to ten."

"Nine?" You were getting panicked. "Ten?"

"How often, baby?" His voice was so deep and husky it made your stomach shake with the reverberations of it.

"Like normally at least once a day?" You confessed in a shrill, insecure voice.

He nodded with a dark smirk. "Very needy indeed." He turned towards you slightly, his body language showing openness and inviting you to cuddle up next to him.

He wanted to touch you. Platonically. He wanted to comfort you throughout this conversation as you opened up and showed your vulnerabilities to him, but he also wanted to respect the distance you were keeping. Little did he know it was just a facade. All you wanted was to feel his hands combing your hair, his solid chest pillowing your head, his lips whispering sweet nothings at your ear.

"So you said you like rules, spankings, power struggles and discipline, anything oral, toys and mature content. Anything else you need me to know, little vixen?" He asked, and the addition of "little" to your nickname made you understand that you were completely out of your mind for this man. You were ready for anything he commanded you.

"I like restraints." You admitted. "I tend to fight back a little unless my daddy sweet talks me into things. Sometimes I like feeling a bit helpless, like my daddy can manhandle me and maneuver me into positions. That's why I like harnesses and cuffs, especially thigh cuffs. Also spreader bars. And manacles. I don't like handcuffs, they hurt and leave marks which are a bit difficult to hide, and embarrassing to explain."

Namjoon's mouth watered at the thought of thigh cuffs. Of the way your flesh would swell there, of how much skin there would be to bite. However, he also realised he had a lot to learn about you. And he needed to learn new things to play with you.

"I am absolutely okay with that. I must admit I have never explored this deeply into restraints, so I need to tell you I'm inexperienced with stuff like spreader bars and bondage. I know basic knots for wrists, but that's it. I don't usually have much patience for shibari and the likes. The furthest I've gone is handcuffs and using ribbons or belts, on wrists only." He explained.

"That's okay. Bondage is something too tricky for me too. Lengthy." You admitted. "Do you have any special need I should know of?"

"Not really. Except privacy and absolute monogamy." He states coldly. "I like experimenting, and you mentioned a spreader bar earlier. I'd love to try that. Both on you and on myself. Same thing about manacles. They seem less aggressive than handcuffs."

You nodded and explained further. "The pressure is distributed on a wider surface, which minimises the risk of injuries and markings. Especially on rebellious… individuals." You chose your word carefully.

Namjoon bit his lip and hummed in understanding. By now the discourse was getting highly technical, the need to verify and negotiate interests and limits coming to the surface. "We're both voyeurs, but I'll ask anyway, what about blindfolds?"

"Soft limit. Really depends on how you handle it. I need constant reassurance and guidance, it really destabilizes me."

"Understood. I might be into those when paired with sensation play, but we'll get into that when the time is right." He conceded tenderly. "Just one last thing, baby. I need to know your hard limits. Stuff you really don't want to do."

"Degradation and humiliation are a big no no. My second — and most recent — relationship was with a degrading bastard. He hurt me in ways I'm not comfortable remembering."

"Okay, love." He looked you in the eyes and waited a second for your approval before caressing your face in comfort.

"Stuff like hardcore BDSM, water sports, triple penetration and most anal play. And asphyxiation or choking."

Namjoon nodded quickly. "Anything else?"

"Okay, orgasm denial and chastity devices are an absolute no. That should be it, about hard limits. There are a few things that make me safeword but that I can stand to a certain point, like edging, blindfolds, and touch deprivation."

Namjoon nodded once more, waiting for you to finish."Okay. I think that the only stuff I might meddle with is blindfolds and edging. I have no interest in controlling your orgasms — our aim is to please." He winked and smirked at you, your knees growing weaker and weaker. "Also, believe me when I say I tend to assume a very nourishing and protective role, therefore it would go against my nature to humiliate you or degrade you. I don't intend to attack your emotional stability, so if you're interested, we can tackle the problem with blindfolds a bit at a time. Same with edging, we'll take baby steps if you decide you trust me and want to give me the honour of trying." His brow creased as he tried to remember the other thing he wanted to say. "Oh, about touch deprivation, I always need my little one close to me, so you should never feel touch starved." He took a meditative pause." And I intend to touch you a lot, baby."

You shivered and leaned closer to him, attracted to the comfortable nook he was creating while leaning on his side against the back cushions of your sofa. It looked so warm. And safe.

He noticed your wandering glance and quickened the pace. He had ideas. And he needed you closer.

"My hard limits are including other people in our intimate life. I don't share like that." He warned perentoriously. "Also, you know my clumsiness. If there's any chance that it could damage you, then there's no going that way. I'm thinking of stuff like knife play and kinks that involve obviously dangerous material. Like violet wands. Anything involving hardcore BDSM, suspension play, infantilization and dubious consent is a non-negotiable hard limit. Are you still with me, baby?"

You nodded, making eye contact.

"Good. I might be interested in some anal play. No penetration and no strap-ons. Maybe rimming. Both giving and receiving. But we'll see. Same for sensation play." He scratched his neck, trying to think of things he doesn't like doing. "I don't like being edged and I have poor control of myself, so orgasm control and denial are kind of softish limits." And then you noticed the shift, like his spine getting straighter, his shoulders rolling back in the process, looking broader, still his voice came out sweet and caring. "Listen carefully now, little vixen. I have little tolerance for disobedience and insubordination. If you have a temper or challenge my dominance, you will have to face consequences. Also, I like claiming my partner entirely. What is mine is mine. I don’t like sharing. Infidelity is a deal breaker. Understood, ____?"

"Yes, sir." You replied, automatically, without even intending too. You did’t feel ready for that title. And sir felt neutral enough.

"Such nice manners." He praised with a proud smile. "Now, would you like to come closer, baby?"

You batted your eyes a couple times. You were sliding into subspace quickly and you found yourself questioning whether it was a good idea to get closer. Still, your body was faster than your brain, making you nod and crawl next to him, settling inside his embrace. "Can I sit on your lap, Joonie?"

He blushed, smiling kindly at you. He was beginning to melt at your complicated charms. "Of course, babe." He sat elegantly with his back leaning against the sofa, legs slightly parted so you could place yourself between them, your thighs across his and your side pressed to his front as his arms slowly wrapped around you, ready to retreat at your first show of discomfort. "Does it feel nice, darling?"

"Yes." You whispered. You were so close to him, his body warm while the late summer night felt chilly on your skin.

He cupped your cheek with his hand and pulled your head to his breastbone, building a calm cocoon for you. "You mentioned I look like a hot daddy before. Care to elaborate, little one?"

You purred at his term of endearment, cuddling into him some more. "You look so hot with your glasses on. Sometimes I close my eyes and still see you in your outfit for Gayo Daechukje in 2019. Grey three piece suit, necktie and glasses. Everyone was fantasising about you as their hot kinky professor in classroom roleplay."

He had some troubles reminiscing the details, but he saved in his mind some keywords. Glasses, suit, necktie, kinky professor roleplay. With your face burrowed in his chest, he propped his chin on top of you hair, his spare hand soothing your skin from your waist to your knee, raising goosebumps in its wake.

"Did that outfit cause discomfort, baby thing?" He questioned, hands caressing your hair gently.

"It did fuel some steamy dreams, yes." You conceded.

"And did you wake up all hot and bothered for me?' He kept teasing.

"Mh mh." You confirmed, head nodding slowly and timidly.

His chest shook in a breathy laugh. "Poor little girl, so desperate for the hot professor."

He sounded so cruel, basking in your needy struggles. "I'm so lucky I'm a smart girl who can take care of herself." You counterattacked.

"Smart indeed. But now that I know maybe I can take care of it for you." He pressed a kiss to your head. It was the first time he did a gesture so tender and so intimate.

"What else gets my little girl all ticklish and lightheaded?" He asked, curling tighter against you and around you.

"When you call me little." You admitted.

"Do you like it, ____?“

“Yes, Joonie. I like it a lot." You replied meeting his gaze.

He leaned down and pressed the tip of his nose to your earlobe, a spot he had discovered during your first make out session. "What if I whispered it here, little vixen?"

Your eyes closed, lost in sensations, your insides clenching so violently that your body followed the movement, knees pressing against each other, thighs squeezing for relief.

"I guess you really like this spot, am I right, little girl?" He pushed you closer and you started recognising the shape of him against your hip. The basketball shorts he was wearing did no good job at hiding him.

"Please Joonie."

"Please what, darling?" He pressed his lips there, kissing you with a featherlight touch, impossible to perceive, were not for the sound of his disclosing lips. The tip of his tongue met the skin there, your back arching into him. "When I first saw you you looked like a wet dream, _____, in your smart formal attire, looking like the most confident, adult, unbreakable woman in the world. Legs for days and an ass I wanna bite like a ripe, juicy peach. You looked polished like a model, negotiating over the price of a painting in a private gallery. You looked so damn hot." He bit into your neck, moving your hair aside. "You looked like the most refined and expensive thing I have ever seen. Polished, edgy. So sexy." He bit into you again.

This time you whimpered.

"I thought I stood no chance, with my clumsy character and boyish ways." He giggled, and his voice vibrated against your throat. "Now you're in my arms, all cosy and needy, begging me to please you with your big doll eyes and pretty, plush lips, behaving like the cutest, sweetest little girl I could ever dream of." He sucked at the column of your throat gently, hard enough to cause a blush but soft enough to avoid a bruise. He leaned closer to your ear. "You're my fucking wet dream, Vixen."

You whined loudly, turning your head towards him, hoping he would put you out of misery and kiss you.

Instead he grabbed your cheeks passionately and murmured on your mouth, staring intently in your eyes. "All mine. To enjoy, to ruin. But most importantly to protect and nourish and care for." He kissed you like you were made of porcelain, lips stiff against yours, afraid of letting go. "What do you want, little girl?"

You stared with equal intensity in his eyes. "Kiss me. Please, daddy, I'll be so good to you." You had no problem using his title this time, your brain completely surrendering to him.

"Good girl." And as you felt your lungs bloom at the praise, wetness pooling between your legs, you slowly gave in to him, opening your mouth, letting his tongue dance with yours, mixing with the fruity taste of the wine and the creamy texture of the dessert. His hand stayed at your waist while the other, once gripping your face, slithered into your hair and cupped your nape, dragging you closer. You didn't know what to do with your hands.

He kept kissing you as your lungs began burning, his technique impeccable. He kissed you thoroughly, licking your tongue and angling your head to give you access to his mouth. He fuelled your desire with short jabs of his chin, giving you the feeling of him caving in but then retreating and making you chase him. It was… Heady.

"We need to stop, little one. We need to take our time." He exhaled heavily, his cheek against your forehead as he calmed down. "Why don't we cuddle as we watch something?" He suggested.

"No more making out?" You cried out in tiny disappointment.

"You told me not to get ideas. First I'll learn about you. Properly. Then, when my brain gives me the green light, I guarantee you my body won't hold back. Just, give me time, ____.” He explained, controlled and at the same time empathetic.

You nodded in understanding, caressing his face and pressing a kiss to his chest. "I wanna kiss you again though."

"Don't worry, baby, we'll have the chance later. Let me calm myself down first." He replied, adjusting you in his lap, trying to separate you enough for decency.

You were glad that at least the dampness between your thighs was matched by the severity of his hard on.

"What do you say, I go to the bathroom, recompose myself real quick while you choose something to watch?"

You agreed.

Date five finished with a sweet kiss at the doorstep as he left after the film you watched together.

However the following morning you found a lengthy paragraph in your chat with Namjoon containing a detailed description of his intentions towards you. Let's just say you were glad for the girthy, buzzing friend you keep in your bedside table and for its assistence as you read his text and crumbled, calling his name.

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts smut #kim namjoon #kim namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon one shot #Namjoon fanfiction #namjoon smut #namjoon fic

308 notes · View notes

writtenbyrain · 3 years

Text

The Holes of My Sweater

Read it on AO3

Summary: When Ladybug and Chat Noir agree to a Christmas gift exchange in an effort to brighten Chat's solitary holiday season, they might just find themselves exchanging more than gifts. Or, in which an ugly Christmas sweater unwittingly leads to an identity reveal.

Notes:

Written for Day 28 of the @miraculousfanworks 2020 Advent Calendar Prompt: Ugly Sweaters Thank you to @Kizerain, @HopefulPhoenix, and @TheBluemoon for being kind and thorough betas!

The winter months had again approached with their usual lack of fanfare, the colder weather settling in to coax most citizens back into the warmth of their homes.

Most, but not all.

Chat Noir and Ladybug sat poised atop the edge of one of the many nondescript Parisian rooftops, their legs dangling in the snow-dusted air. Their standard patrol had ended about an hour ago, yet they found themselves reveling in the simple joy of each other’s company.

“So, Chat Noir, any particular plans for Christmas?” Ladybug asked, her legs kicking out one after another to keep her blood flowing in the chill.

It was an innocent enough question — particularly as it followed their earlier conversation about their favorite holiday drinks (hot cocoa for both, it seemed) — and yet Chat Noir went rigid in response.

“Can’t say I do, Bugaboo,” he replied, his breath ghosting in front of him. “I suppose I’ll just enjoy the evening in my room with Plagg. Maybe I can ask my classmate to make a tiny Santa hat for him, though I’ll have to tell her it’s for a pet hamster or gerbil or something.”

While Chat Noir had dropped hints here and there that he wasn’t overly fond of his time spent at home, Ladybug was still startled to hear that his isolation would extend to the point of the holiday season.

“Wait, you won’t be with your family for the holiday?” Her eyes creased in concern, her head tilting to one side as she tried to catch his eye.

“No. I won’t.”

Normally, Ladybug wasn’t one to poke or pry at the subject of Chat’s life. The secrecy of their identities was essentially her one Golen Rule, and any breach of information would send her straight into deflection mode. But this? This, she found particularly distressing.

“Chat, you’re going to be alone for Christmas?”

“Well… Things just aren’t the same this year.” “But they’re different enough that you won’t even be around your family?” Ladybug put a hand on his shoulder. “Or what about your friends from school?” “Well, they all have their own lives and families,” Chat said as he leaned back on his hands, his face tipping up in an effort to avoid his partner’s unabashed look of concern. “And with Father, well… nothing has been the same since… Anyway, he’s not exactly a jolly guy to be around, even when he is around, so it’s really no big deal.”

Ladybug pursed her lips in thought.

“Well, that simply won’t do.” She removed her hand from his shoulder to poke his nose with her forefinger. “That settles it, we’re just going to have to have a little gift exchange, then.”

Chat perked up, finally turning to look her in the eye.

“A gift exchange?” A small smile emerged. “Between the two of us?”

“Well, I’d be remiss if I didn’t get a gift for one of Paris’s best heroes,” she said. “Of course, this does mean we’ll have to give each other at least three facts about ourselves so that we can come up with some good gifts. But don’t get any funny ideas.”

She had to throw in that last word of caution, taking note of the now-wider grin and upturned eyebrow of her partner.

“Why, M’lady, no funny ideas here,” he quipped. “We’re all business. All bright and merry business.”

Ladybug didn’t make any attempt to smother her smile. Any joy she could infuse into Chat Noir’s holiday invariably infused joy into her holiday, which was somewhat a gift in and of itself.

“Okay, then I’ll go first.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, well, my favorite color is pink, I love hamsters, and… Jagged Stone is my favorite musician. So that makes three!”

She swung her legs back up, crossing them and turning so that her knees bumped closer to Chat’s.

“Now it’s your turn, Chaton. ”

“Alright, well, first things first, please don’t buy me camembert,” he laughed. “Plagg will kill me for saying that, but seriously, I think I’ve already had my fill of stinky cheese for a lifetime. But, other than that… well, I love Ultimate Mecha Strike III!”

Ladybug perked up this time. “So do I!” “You do? Well, M’lady, we’ll have to have ourselves a little battle sometime,” he said, playfully punching the air before continuing. “Let’s see, number two is that I also love anime.”

“Nerd.”

“Number three… well, I don’t really get much of a say in what I wear.” His earlier enthusiasm slowly faded, his hand coming up to self-consciously cradle the back of his neck. “I always have to follow certain rules with my clothing. Don’t worry, I won’t say why, but it would be nice to just… wear something a little more personal for once, you know? Something silly or fun. I don’t know.”

Chat looked sideways at a deflated Ladybug.

“I’m so sorry!” He threw his hands up. “This is supposed to be fun, and I’m just dragging it down.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m just really sorry to hear that you don’t get to express yourself like that,” Ladybug reassured him. “Clothing is one of my favorite ways to express myself.”

“Really, Bug, it’s okay.” Chat Noir affixed his signature smile in an attempt at blitheness. “Anyway, that makes three facts for us both, and it’s getting late. I hate to take away such a handsome view from you, but this cat is feline pretty tired.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. “Oh please, I was over the view hours ago.”

Chat Noir stood, holding out a hand to help Ladybug up before extending his baton.

“Sure you were.” He winked, turning and bracing himself to vault to the next rooftop. “Stay warm, M’lady.”

Ladybug remained in place after he left, watching his silhouette bound and disappear over the rooftops.

“Stay warm, Chaton ,” she whispered.

___________________

While Ladybug was usually late to her meet-ups with Chat, she did her best to arrive on time the night of their gift exchange. Not only did she not want to leave him waiting, but she was also exceptionally excited to see his reaction to her gift.

She had spent almost every evening for the last two weeks trying to perfect the handmade garment. The pads of her fingers were still sore from constant pinpricks, and her eyes remained persistently dry from the nights she stayed up late to design, edit, and sew for hours at a time.

But it would be worth it. She knew .

Of course, her partner just might have been more excited than her, considering he was already sitting on their favorite beam of the Eiffel Tower.

“Someone’s early,” she noted as she recalled her yo-yo, landing gracefully a few feet away.

“And someone’s not late!” Chat Noir sat up straighter, careful not to drop a crisp red envelope into the thin air.

Ladybug bit her lip to try and suppress her smile as she approached him, her own package hidden in her hands behind her back.

“Well, I suppose there’s no use in waiting.” She edged closer. “So … Merry Christmas, Chaton. ”

She pulled her gift from behind her back, holding it out with both hands.

“Why, M’lady, you shouldn’t have,” Chat jokingly chided her, standing and extending his hand to trade off his own gift. “This was all your idea, so you should open your gift first.”

“Well, if you insist,” she said, handing off her package before sliding her thumb beneath the fold of the envelope.

Chat watched with a bright grin, his eyes scouring her face for the first hints of a reaction. His ears twitched forward in excitement as he heard her gasp.

“VIP tickets to Jagged Stone’s next concert?” Ladybug looked up in shock, the tickets gripped tightly between her right thumb and forefinger. “Chat, how ? This show was already sold out, let alone with the chance to buy tickets like these !”

“Just trust that I know how to work some Christmas magic of my own.” Chat bowed elegantly, his hands fanning outward as he winked up at his partner.

“Okay, kitty,” Ladybug giggled before tucking the envelope inside of her yo-yo. “Now it’s your turn.”

She found herself bouncing on the balls of her feet in similar anticipation as she watched Chat tear easily at the package with his clawed hands. And as he unfurled the wrapping to reveal the soft fabric beneath, his lips tugged of their own accord into a look of unrestrained mirth.

He let the inner tissue paper fall to the side and held up an ugly Christmas sweater in both of his hands.

“Do you like it?” Ladybug asked shyly.

The base of the sweater itself was black with a gaudy, neon-green paw print sewn into the center. Bright circles bubbled out from the center, mimicking the appearance of a Cataclysm — only mocked up to resemble that of Christmas ornaments. Small Christmas lights were sewn delicately into the hem around the sleeves, neck, and bottom of the fabric.

“Like it?” Chat Noir sputtered. “This—this is amazing!”

He began to pull the garment hastily over his head, prompting a cautious grimace from Ladybug.

“Careful, now, Chaton , otherwise you’ll—”

Chat Noir froze, stopping in dismay to inspect the way two claws had snagged and hooked straight through the seam near to the sweater’s neckline.

“Oh no! No, no, Ladybug, I’m so sorry!”

Ladybug just smiled and shook her head patiently, reaching out to once again rest a placating hand on his shoulder. “That’s okay, Chat Noir. I can just—”

Beep beep beep

The two startled before looking down toward Ladybug’s yo-yo.

“An akuma alert.” Chat gingerly extricated himself from the fabric.

“The sweater will have to wait. Right now, we have a job to do.” Ladybug turned out to scan the skyline. “Just don’t wear it until I have the chance to fix it, okay?”

___________________

Marinette arrived at school the next morning about as groggy as usual. While the akuma battle hadn’t taken all too much time for Paris’s illustrious heroes to defeat, it still hadn’t left her with much time to make up for nearly two week’s worth of lost sleep.

“Geez, girl, devoid of caffeine, much?” Alya poked one finger into Marinette’s exposed cheek. The other was pressed to the desk as she attempted to grab whatever fleeting moments she could with her eyes still closed.

“Just, uh, stayed up late sewing again.” Marinette failed to stifle a yawn.

“Well, you can sleep later,” Alya teased her. “You prince charming just walked in. Don’t you want to wish him ‘good morning’?”

That merited a slight raise of Marinette’s head (albeit the movement was devoid of her usual frantic energy), and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust before a small gasp caught in her throat.

That sweater.

“Hey, nice ugly Christmas sweater, Adrien!” Alya called. “I’m surprised your father let you out in anything that wasn’t trademarked as an Agreste original.” She discreetly elbowed Marinette in the ribs as Adrien took his seat.

“Y-yeah!” Marinette stuttered. She sat up stiffly, bracing her hands on the desk as a light blush bloomed across her face. “Um, where get you it? I mean, w-where did you get it?”

Adrien beamed. “From a friend.”

“A friend? Like… in our class, friend?”

“Oh, no,” he clarified. “Just someone I had a little gift exchange with last night.”

Marinette’s blush turned cold, her whole body going icy as her eyes caught on the frayed fabric near the sweater’s neckline.

Then she began to sweat.

“Marinette,” Alya interrupted softly, leaning in to inspect her friend’s face with mild concern. “You good, girl? You look… kind of sick.”

“Yeah!” Marinette took a slow, shuddering breath, pausing a moment to school her features into something resembling that of an assuring smile. She then glanced at the boy who had turned back to face the front of the classroom. “I’m totally fine.”

Several minutes passed by wherein Marinette could only quietly watch the back of her classmate’s head, inwardly comparing him — the tilt of his shoulders, the lilt of his voice — to that of her partner’s. And there was simply no mistaking it.

Not anymore, at least.

In front of her, Adrien began to rummage through his bag, searching for a class item that was apparently nowhere to be found. Sighing a little, he stood up to address Nino, who had just taken his own seat beside him in the front row.

“I’ll be right back, I forgot something in my locker.”

“Me too!” Marinette stood quickly, struggling to tame the warmth that had returned with a vengeance to her cheeks. “Not ‘me too’ as in I, uh, forgot something, too, but as in I… I’ll come lock you to the withers! I mean, come with you to, um, to the lockers!”

Alya sat gaping at Marinette before she remembered to throw her an encouraging thumbs-up. Meanwhile, the rest of the classroom sat watching in silent interest before the girls began knowingly whispering to each other, muted giggles erupting before being shushed by one another.

Adrien, blessedly, seemed oblivious to his peers’ varied reactions.

“Sure, a little company sounds nice.” He gestured forward politely, allowing Marinette to step down the stairs before him. Her legs felt wooden beneath her, and her tongue had gone dry in her mouth.

What do I say? What do I say?

The two exited the class silently, Adrien glancing curiously at Marinette as she mentally tested her words. She kept her face fixed forward for the duration of their walk, and it was only when they had finally entered the locker room and Adrien reached forward to grab his textbook that she gently grabbed his outstretched wrist.

Adrien was startled but didn’t recoil, providing Marinette with the opportunity to steel herself before meeting his eyes.

“I like your ugly sweater.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. But I thought I told you not to wear it until I could fix it for you… Chaton.”

Adrien paused, his eyes wavering over Marinette’s in brief panic before the warmth of realization set in.

And then he smiled.

“So you did… M’lady.”

67 notes · View notes

5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

Text

Hey @vindicatedvirgil remember this prompt you sent a while back that was supposed to be Rociet but I changed my mind? I finally finished the original!

At the Last Second

Summary: Inspired by Snowing in Venice by Elizaveta. In an attempt to get as far away from their hometown as possible, Janus decides to go to college in Venice, Italy. Roman is conflicted over his feelings about it and doesn't know what to say until the last second.

Warnings: asthma mention. Please let me know if there are more

Ships: Janus x Roman, Rociet

WC: 1, 985

General Taglist: (ask to be tagged generally or in specific writing.) @im-an-anxious-wreck @logans-library @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi

Maybe my song, isn’t happy enough but I

I see it take flight with the snowflakes above

My coffee gets cold, as I’m staring enthralled

At the snow that keeps falling outside

-----

Roman snuck another glance at Janus when they thought he wasn’t looking, seeing him still smiling slightly and nodding along to whatever song was on that Roman couldn’t concentrate on right now because they were looking at Janus. It wasn’t as if this was a new occurrence, they looked at Janus all the time. When he took half assed notes during class, pushing his soft, straight hair out from in front of his eyes with practiced impatience. When he glided along beside Roman on his skateboard while they tried desperately to keep their eyes on the sidewalk lest they flip over the handlebars of their bike. When he walked towards them with that signature crookeds smile, straight backed but casual and always ready with some biting quip they would both laugh at. And now- when he was driving to the airport for college, Roman sat beside him destined to waste away in the small town they had grown up in, alone and forgotten.

Admittedly that was dramatic even for them but it felt true all the same. Roman had never really gotten along with Janus until high school hit, when Roman had actually started looking away from their own little bubble and out towards everyone else’s. For the life of them they couldn’t imagine why they had ever been enemies. Janus was smart, scarily so sometimes, often getting into debates (arguments) with Logan and Virgil in any given class and always seeming to have just the right phrase or quote or research paper handy to pull up on his phone that drove his points across. He could sing, though Roman didn’t admit they had heard him while he painted the theater sets one day until many months later; his beautifully haunting baritone filling the theater as if he was the only one ever meant to sing in it. He was also incredibly caring, helping Roman through rough patch after rough patch and letting Roman do the same for him. They had become nearly inseparable from ninth grade on but now-

Janus had always been smart and always wanted to move as far away from their hometown as possibly- namely his family but that was another topic entirely. Roman had helped him research colleges when they were in eleventh grade, jokingly saying that with all his dramatics and flair he should go to Paris to study, citing it as a place to find the romanticism he alway put into everything anyway. Learning he had taken that to heart as a possibility to get even further away, eventually enrolling in and getting accepted not to anywhere in Paris, but instead Venice, Italy had nearly torn Roman in two. They had been so incredibly happy for and proud of their friend but they selfishly wished he had stayed just a little bit closer. Roman dreamed of a teaching job, somewhere they could help out in the creative department helping kids like them come out of their shell and discover new talents and passions. They didn’t need to go overseas for that- they didn’t want to and was in the process of preparing to move a state over to go to a community college to start out that path.

So Janus was moving thousands of miles away for who knew how long (four years at least) and Roman would then only be furthering that gap with his own move, leaving them to letters and skype calls as the primary source of communication rather than their trips to the cake shop or late night talks at the local park. And Roman knew that should be enough, but he was already missing the weight of Janus’ hand in their own and his warmth at their side during movie marathons and their smile and laugh and stupid, sarcastic sense of humor. They snuck another glance over but realized with a start Janus was looking at them, his hand off the wheel and- when had the car stopped? They couldn’t possibly be there already could they?

But they were, and Janus was looking at them with that all knowing look that always infuriated Roman to no end but he said nothing, instead reaching over and squeezing their hand before moving to get out of the car. The airport wasn’t really that far away from their town, just an hours drive to the edge of the city but Roman still felt they had just wasted it pouting instead of actively being there for their best friend. Janus wouldn’t say anything though, he probably knew how Roman was feeling before they knew themself but the knowing silence was somehow worse, filling the space between them that was about to get so much longer with too many words and not enough time to say them. Nevertheless they grabbed up a bag and smiled at the other, shutting the trunk after him and following to the waiting area. They had made good time, having a little over an hour to waste before Janus would have to board, which Roman had previously been ecstatic about but now it meant they might actually have to talk and they didn’t think they’d have the common sense to keep their mouth shut when it came to how they actually felt about him leaving.

“Roman, did you leave my medical bag in the car?” Janus’ concern pulled them out of their head as they looked around where they had decided to sit, sure it had been among the things they had picked up but they didn’t notice the unmistakable bright orange anywhere.

“I’ll go check, you stay with the bags so they don’t get stolen.” Janus nodding to give them the go-ahead had them turning on their heel and hurrying back towards the parking garage, twirling the keys around their finger as they went.

One thorough search of the car later and Roman was frantically texting Janus that they must have left it at the house, though how either of them had managed it they couldn’t fathom.

Roman: I’ll just drive back and get it. Text you when I find it.

Janus: Hold on, let me get there since you left me with ALL THE BAGS

Roman: It’ll be faster if I just go. Let me be the dashing prince to rescue your trip!

Roman started the car up and quickly put it into reverse, not really thinking about practically stealing Janus’ car from him. Their phone buzzed from the passenger seat as he glanced in the rear view before pulling out completely, wincing as he saw Janus standing there where the car had just been parked. Several buzzes later and the car fell silent, making them bite back a laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. They had wanted an out from the tense hour that waiting for the flight would have been, they just wished it had been something a bit more low stakes than forgetting a bag with Janus’ epipen and inhaler inside. Settling further down into the seat they concentrated hard on the road, praying there wouldn’t be any traffic.

-----

Ten minutes.

Roman practically face planted on their way out of the car, swinging the bag up in triumph of finding it or fear of breaking it they didn’t know and was too busy to think about at the moment. Tearing through the air port as fast as they possibly could they finally found Janus standing near the line people were in to board the plane, glancing at his phone before looking around for any sign of Roman coming with his bag. In their haste they had forgotten to text him but they were here now- sweaty, gross and aching with all the things they wanted to say but didn't have time to even though they probably wouldn’t have taken the chance when they had it anyway. As much as they so wished this moment to be their happily ever after it was too soon in both of their lives for that and they’d have to come to terms with the fact that long distance anything was hard and they would both be busy with their own lives.

Pushing their bangs away from their face they finally reached Janus and held out the rescued bag, chest heaving from running through a house and then an airport.

“You truly didn’t have to go all the way back on your own to get this Roman, but thank you.” Janus squinted at him and chuckled. “It’s a good thing I have this, do you need my inhaler?”

“I’d have to keep it since looking at you takes my breath away already.” Roman blurted, opening their mouth before they could think.

Janus blinked, then scowled playfully. “Roman Sanders, was that a pick up line? You waited until I’m about to leave the country to flirt with me?”

“No! ...well, yes but- I’ve flirted with you plenty before!”

“Jokingly!” Janus shoved them before grabbing at the front of their shirt and stepping closer. “You are insufferable.”

Roman hardly dared to breath as Janus leaned in closer, hands fluttering nervously at their sides as they stood still and waited. Smiling, Janus leaned up slightly. “May I have a kiss goodbye then?”

“If you don’t I will scream so loud security will take you and then you’ll have no choice but to stay here longer.”

Chuckling Janus stepped closer, erasing any pretense of space between them. Finally deciding their hands would feel less awkward resting on the others’ hips, they pulled Janus forward gently and tilted their head with his. The general din of the airport faded away as soft strands of feather light hair tickled their nose and Janus’ hands came up to tangle in their own somewhat frizzier hair at the nape of their neck. There was an announcement that vaguely sounded like Janus was being called to board but they were only held tighter as their lips finally, finally met.

And oh.

They almost wished they could sue Disney only on the merit that it had set their expectations for a first kiss entirely too low. There were no fireworks, no choir to set the mood further. It didn’t feel like the climax of their life nor like coming home after a long and tiring journey. It was soft, so very soft. A simple brush against their lips that filled them with an indescribable amount of joy for such a small action; and then they were being pulled and they followed willingly, pressing against the other just a little tighter. Their noses bumped despite the angle and Roman’s hands still felt awkward even if Janus hadn’t brushed them away but it felt like nothing and everything they had always dreamed it would be because it was Janus so it was good and perfect and like nothing they had ever experienced or wanted to experience in their life.

It only lasted a couple seconds, Janus pulling away only to peck their nose and whisper a quiet “see you later” against their lips and he was gone, hurrying towards the plane as the last call for his appearance was announced. Roman stood there, dumbfounded with a burning face but a chest that was burning ten times hotter, hands still slightly outstretched where Janus’ waist had been moments before. Shaking themself out of it they turned swiftly and made their way over to a bench by the windows to watch the plane take off. Four years in Venice for Janus, four years in Pennsylvania for Roman.

They could do that.

-----

Maybe my song isn’t happy enough but I

I see it take flight with the snowflakes above me

My coffee gets cold as I’m staring enthralled

This work is also available on AO3!

At the snow the keeps falling outside

If you like this please reblog! Reblogs helps creators get their work seen!

#false writes #first kiss #remy sanders x janus sanders #roman sanders #rociet #asthma mention #fluff #all of the fluff #first kiss prompt #song inspired #sanders sides #sanders sides fic

30 notes · View notes

sareyen · 4 years

Text

Let Me Whisper In Your Mind, Darling (Part 2/2)

Read on ao3

Part 2

From Emma Frost – 6:27pm How was your hot date with Charles, Sugar? You didn’t put out already, did you?

Erik let out a dismissive ‘hmph’ at Emma’s message, simply sending her a curt ‘fuck off’ and wafting his phone back down onto Charles’s coffee table, the telepath currently in the bathroom as they waited for their Chinese delivery to arrive.

As Erik looked around the room, he still couldn’t quite believe that he was here, in Charles’s apartment sprawled on his couch after having spent the better part of the afternoon lounging there and lazily making out with the other man.

They only pulled themselves off each other when Charles’s stomach grumbled, Erik’s glare at the offending organ making Charles laugh, inviting Erik to stay for dinner (or forever) by enticing him with ordering Chinese delivery. Erik didn’t waste a moment in whipping out his phone to order for them, giddy.

The doorbell to Charles’s apartment rang, and Erik heard Charles call out “Could you get that, darling? It’s probably dinner!” from the bathroom down the narrow hall, and Erik’s heart squeezed tightly – something about that was so familiar and so domestic, and images of many future nights staying in and ordering delivery with Charles surged up into the forefront of Erik’s mind.

He didn’t realise he was grinning his signature shark-like grin when he opened the door, the young and gangly delivery boy’s eyes widening in terror as he looked up at Erik’s face. The boy squeaked and basically threw their dinner at Erik, who just raised a brow and shoved the boy’s tip into his hands, watching as he scuttled off in a panic.

Erik had pulled out their food by the time Charles wheeled himself back into the open living space, pulling up to the dining table with a kiss pressed to the back of Erik’s hand, smiling up at him.

Erik almost collapsed then and there, but held himself together by quickly pushing Charles’s basic lemon chicken and rice to him, cloaking the magnitude 7.0 earthquake in his chest by rolling his eyes.

“Lemon chicken, really, Charles?” Erik teased, taking his own spicy Szechuan noodles out, Charles grimacing at the smell of spice wafting from it.

“Sue me, I’m English. Salt and pepper are spicy enough for us,” Charles said, looking at Erik’s red-toned dish apprehensively, before taking a bite out of his own bland meal and humming happily. “And besides, if you’re going to fuck me later, I don’t need my ass to be any hotter than it already is.”

Erik choked on his noodles, which now tasted ridiculously bland in comparison to the words that just fell from Charles’s lips. Charles shot Erik a smug look at the response he dragged from the man, who growled and stabbed his noodles with his chopsticks, standing up to lean over the small dining table and grab Charles’s chin, kissing him. Charles squealed and half-heartedly pushed Erik away. Charles’s mouth was a little sticky and tasted like lemon chicken, and for once, Erik didn’t mind the taste.

“Erik, your tongue’s on fire!” Charles whined when Erik pulled back after plundering Charles’s mouth. Erik’s heart flushed with affection when Charles stuck his light pink tongue out, eyes crinkling. “Christ, that’s spicy. How can you handle it?”

“You could work those lines of yours into an audio, you know,” Erik said, smirking. Charles grinned, before taking a spoonful of lemon chicken and rice and slowly pushing it into his mouth. He wrapped his mouth around the cuff of his spoon and slid it out, before dropping his head back to reveal the smooth column of his pale neck. Charles then pushed a low, long moan from his throat as he chewed, and the morsel of noodles Erik was about to put into his own mouth slipped limply from his hovering chopsticks, his eyes trained on the way Charles’s throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“Mmm, tastes so good,” Charles purred, licking his lips with a wet smack, red mouth and voice completely obscene. Erik felt his cock jump up in interest at the sight and sounds. Charles picked up on the arousal now clouding Erik’s mind, chuckling. “Darling, maybe after we eat, I can show you how I make an audio. You can have a, should we say, behind the scenes look?”

“Gott, yes,” Erik said quickly, shovelling his noodles into his mouth at a rapid pace, not even feeling the burn in his mouth when his cock was now burning in his pants. Charles grinned, and the two ate – Charles made conversation, sometimes dropping in suggestive innuendos just to see Erik wriggle, and soon their meals were done and the containers thrown into the bin, Charles directing Erik to his bedroom. Erik’s mind went directly into the gutter at that point (or long before it, if he were being honest), but then he saw the computer and microphone set up on a desk pushed up against the wall.

“It’s a little squeezy, sorry,” Charles said, gesturing to a chair covered with some clothes in the corner. “You can just dump all of that on the floor somewhere and pull the chair up to my desk. Or just sit on the bed, that’s relatively clear of debris. Sorry, I don’t, uh, usually have people over. In my room. So it’s a mess. Sorry.” Charles looked a little sheepish at his admission, but Erik’s heart just sang, some of the metal in the room humming in response.

Erik ended up just plopping himself on Charles’s bed like he suggested, probably the better option since there wasn’t really enough room for them to squeeze together at Charles’s desk. Charles clicked a few things and booting up his computer while Erik settled on Charles’s soft comforter.

“I’ve been meaning to film a sequel to my ‘caught my roommate masturbating’ audio,” Charles said offhandedly, like he wasn’t keenly aware of how Erik’s body was slightly stiff. Charles turned from the computer screen to look at Erik, gleam in his eye, as he spoke again. “You know the one, right?”

How could Erik forget?

It was one of the audios Erik had often returned to, and was in the number 1 slot of his top 5 ProfessorXXX audios, because Erik had a ranking – not that he would admit that to Charles. Not yet, anyway.

Erik’s ranking was as follows:

[M4M] I catch you masturbating while screaming my name and let you fuck me senseless [roommates][college][begging]

[M4A] Edging myself for over an hour and cumming so hard I cry [masturbation]

[M4M] You’re under my control, darling [telepathy][dom][bondage][hardcore][aftercare]

[M4M] I’ve been a naughty boy, officer [cop-roleplay][bondage][rough]

[M4A] In depth review of the Lelo Tor 2 cock ring and the Lelo HUGO prostate massager (spoiler: I cum hard. Twice.) [maturbation][sextoyreview][sponsoredbyLELO]

This list had been carefully curated after many months of thorough experimentation. Erik had good reasons as to why each of these were in his top 5, though at the rate he had been going, he had contemplated extending it to a top 10. That’s how good ProfessorXXX’s videos were – there were no videos that were bad (Erik had come at least once to every video in Charles’s extensive portfolio), but there were definitely ones that stood out amongst the others.

Of course, Erik did love Charles’s mutant-centric works a great amount, but that was more out of his appreciation for the respectful way Charles made them and the pro-mutant support they provided. His top 5, however, were based solely on how quickly and devastatingly they could make Erik come.

In the number 5 spot was one video in Charles’s relatively new sex toy review series, aptly labelled ‘SexToys 101 with ProfessorXXX’. The videos were a mixture of informative, light and sexy, usually starting with an endearing moan-free spiel from ProfessorXXX about the features of whichever device he was trying out that session, often throwing in amusing anecdotes and genuinely well-thought-out points about the device’s pros and cons. That would eventually lead to ProfessorXXX trying out the devices, getting himself off with obscene moans that Erik could listen to forever. Erik may or may not have ordered the Lelo Tor 2 and Lelo HUGO right after using ProfessorXXX’s promo code [ProfX20] – the man had given the products a final grade of A+, after all.

Audio number 4 was, by nature, quite cheesy, but Charles played a naughty law breaker so well. He was flirty, he was impish, and he knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted from his listener, whom he referred to as ‘Officer’. Even though he wasn’t supposed to be the one in power, he completely subverted it and everyone knew that he had you wrapped around his finger, even if you were the one knuckle deep inside him (audibly, of course).

Number 3 was on the list was for whenever Erik was particularly angry and frustrated after a tiring day. Sometimes he would be in a mood because of Professor Shaw, or if he had a run-in with a mutantphobic bastard on campus. More often than not, though, it would be after a laborious shift at work after his boss had solidified his spot as ‘Number 1 Prick’ in another one of Erik’s mental lists.

Number 3 was, potentially, one of the more intense videos Charles has made; in it, ProfessorXXX was forceful, rough, and treated Erik like he was a plaything. And Erik loved it. That video was singlehandedly responsible for initiating Erik’s telepathy kink (especially now that he knew that Charles, an actual telepath, was ProfessorXXX). What he loved about it even more, though, was that even though the audio was exceptionally rough and, at times, absolutely brutal, it still respected ideas about consent. Erik’s anger was always obliterated the moment he came using that video, and the aftercare ProfessorXXX included at the end in his soothing English accent always wiped away Erik’s worries.

The number 1 and 2 spots were, expectedly, difficult to assign. Number 2 was just a filthy audio of Charles moaning wantonly, cursing whenever he would stop himself from coming, and with every one of Charles’s whimpers Erik would just strip his cock harder and harder. It was simple, and there were no plotlines or roles, but still so, so hot. Simple could never go wrong, not when you were ProfessorXXX.

The blessed Number 1 audio had probably just pipped the edging clip to take the top spot because it struck the hidden desire in Erik for some kind of… relationship. Erik could imagine that he really was the person ProfessorXXX spoke to, and whenever the audio got to the part where ProfessorXXX found the listener jerking themselves off, he would truly imagine the man walking into his dingy bedroom and having his way with him. He hadn’t been able to picture someone’s face, but now that he knew it was Charles…

‘Oh, Gott,’ Erik cursed mentally, at Charles’s words. Charles chuckled, knowing immediately that Erik definitely knew the video he was referring to.

“In the sequel, I was thinking about it going the other way. The listener would find me, mm, touching myself… maybe with a butt plug buried deep in my ass, and, well… I think you can imagine where it would go from there,” Charles said, biting his plush lower lip sultrily, Erik swallowing. Erik could already feel his cock stirring, beginning to fill out the front of his pants.

“Sounds… Sounds like an interesting audio,” Erik pushed out, voice only a little strained.

“Mm, I’m glad that you think so. As my number one fan, I’m sure you know what the people want,” Charles said, smirking while pushing his microphone around a little so he could partially turn to face Erik. Most of the microphone was made of metal, and Erik sent out a wisp of his powers; he could feel the metal warm under Charles’s fingertips, and the way his breath fanned across it. Erik licked his lips, suddenly very thirsty.

“What… What microphone are you using?” Erik asked, trying to pretend that he wasn’t as affected as he was, but failing miserably considering the way his eyes weren’t looking at the microphone at all, but at the pink tongue darting out of Charles’s mouth to swipe at his lower lip.

“Blue Yeti Pro,” Charles answered through a smile, and Erik couldn’t help but think ‘that sounds like it could be the name of a sex toy, fuck’. If you stretched your imagination enough, for Charles and his voice, the microphone really could be considered a sex toy. “And, if we’re talking shop, it’s a pretty good microphone. It records in stereo and bi-directional sound well, so if I…” Charles leaned in close to the microphone, demonstrating, “wanted to sound like I was whispering into your left ear, I could just do this.” Charles let out a puff of a breath to the left of the microphone, and Erik could imagine him doing so directly to him, those red lips at his ear, maybe brushing against his earlobe. And maybe he could, because through Erik’s metal-sense, he felt that brush of air. Erik’s face grew hot.

“Sounds technical,” Erik said after clearing his rough voice with a small cough, Charles smiling.

“Mm, well, I could explain to you some more technical things, but that would be quite dry. Giving you a demonstration, on the other hand, would be much easier. And, potentially, a lot wetter,” Charles said, winking as Erik cursed silently.

“Okay,” was all Erik was able to supply, rearranging his body on Charles’s bed so he sat up against the backboard, propped up comfortably with Charles’s pillows that smelled like his shampoo. It didn’t help that the entire bed smelled like Charles, or that the man himself was sitting in the cramped room with that bloody mischievous and alluring smile on his face.

“This is my first time recording with someone watching me, for obvious reasons,” Charles said slowly, eyeing Erik with his piercing blue gaze. “So, again, bear with me.”

“Okay,” Erik said again, and he felt like a complete dolt with a one-word vocabulary. “How… How do you usually start?”

“Depends on the audio, but for this one… well, it starts with you catching me jerking myself off,” Charles said, slowly beginning to unbutton his trousers, making Erik’s eyes bug out.

“Oh. Do you usually… actually… touch yourself when you make these?” Erik asked, Charles laughing lightly, shrugging as he lifted the weight of his lower body with one flexed arm and pulling his pants down with the other, the movement so smooth Erik was captivated.

“Sometimes, if I feel like it,” Charles said, winking. “Obviously, at times I have to fake it, but… well, I have pretty good wank material sitting right in front of me right now. It would be a shame to waste it.”

“Charles,” Erik groaned, cock definitely interested now. Charles just grinned, pulling open one of his desk drawers, pursing his lips for a moment before grabbing a half-empty bottle of lube and a vibrating cock ring (the infamous Lelo Tor 2, which Erik had tucked into his top bedside drawer as well). Before Charles closed the drawer, he noticed a fucking pale blue ribbed butt plug sitting on top of a pile of other interesting things. That butt plug probably had a different name, but considering its size, Blue Yeti Pro would have fit it very well.

‘Another time,’ Erik vowed to himself. Charles must have caught that thought, because he sent Erik a very, very detailed projection about how he had used that butt plug a past time.

“Charles, you’re going to kill me,” Erik complained, pulling at the fabric of his pants around his thighs, the slight friction making him shiver. Charles just smirked, pressing record on his computer.

‘Try to keep quiet, darling. I can’t have the microphone picking up your voice, it would be a nightmare to edit later,’ Charles pushed into Erik’s mind. ‘If you’re too loud, I might have to gag you.’

“Fu-” Erik started, Charles silently laughing when he slapped his hand over his mouth, catching himself. ‘I can keep quiet, I was just caught off guard. Gott.’

‘Mhmm. We’ll see about that, darling. Well, I should begin actually recording – I’ll have to cut the first minute of the clip, but that’s easy. Hm, how should I start, Erik? You seem like the type who likes to just get to the juicy parts quickly,’ Charles said, corner of his mouth curving upwards as he slowly pulled his flaccid cock out, beginning to stroke himself with a firm grip, being quite rough with his pretty uncut member.

Now that Erik knew that a stronger touch was needed for adequate stimulus, the metalbender was not surprised with the eagerness and aggressive touch Charles dealt himself, and was incredibly turned on. Charles’s eyes were locked with Erik’s, pupils dark and wide and rimmed with a thinning ring of azure blue. Erik could feel his pants growing tighter, blood draining south, and was pleased to see that Charles’s own cock was beginning to fill out as well.

‘I do usually skip to the main event when I watch porn, but not when I listen to you,’ Erik admitted, allowing himself to drag his palm across his bulge, Charles’s eyes dropping from his face when he noticed the movement. Charles’s breath caught, the sound picked up on the microphone, the colourful soundwave on the computer screen jumping slightly.

‘Mm, thank you. I, myself, quite like a slow build… foreplay is important,’ Charles said telepathically, parting his lips to lets out a louder gasp into the microphone as he continued to stroke up and down his cock, which was more than half-hard now. Charles let go of his member for a moment, but only so he could coat his hand with a generous amount of lube, making sure he held the bottle close to the microphone to capture the obscene squelch. Charles’s slicked-up hand returned to his cock, and he moaned.

‘You’re so beautiful, Charles, it’s unfair. Illegal,’ Erik groaned mentally, pushing the image of Charles stroking himself in his vision towards the telepath, who let out another affected noise.

‘Is that how you see me? You flatter me again, darling,’ Charles said, his cock now coaxed to full hardness under his palm, the sight of Erik tented pants and Erik’s mental affirmations sending his heart into a flurry.

Erik watched, enraptured, as Charles continued to let out breathy moans mixed with the occasional gasp or murmured ‘fuck’, before he picked up the cock ring from his desk with his un-lubed hand. It was unfortunately that it was coated in silicone – Erik could only imagine how a metal cock ring would feel to him, how he would be able to sense Charles’s heat straining against it and every pleasured twitch of the man’s member as Erik touched him.

One day.

Charles slid the cock ring on, which would not only add to his pleasure, but help prolong his hard-on. When Charles turned the device on, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine, he let out a loud, drawn-out groan. Though the device was wrapped in silicone, there were still some metal fittings on the inside, and Erik could also feel the vibrations, making him have to bite his lip to remain silent.

“So good,” Charles dropped under his breath, the recorded soundwaves spiking before returning to the steady low-level rhythm of Charles’s breaths and moans. ‘I can see you palming yourself through your pants, darling. Are you hard? Dripping?’

‘Fucking sopping wet,’ Erik grumbled back mentally, Charles letting out a huff of a laugh, smiling. ‘And aren’t your listeners supposed to catch you in the act sometime soon?’

‘Mm, impatient,’ Charles purred into Erik’s mind, letting out a few more lewd moans as he did so. ‘Would you like to help me act that out? I’ve never had a co-star before.’

‘Gott, Charles,’ Erik groaned, unzipping his pants with his powers and pulling out his own dick, head already slick with pre-cum. He hadn’t lied – his briefs were sopping wet (again), and the sight of it made Charles let out a low “Mm, amazing” into the microphone. ‘What do you want me to do, Charles?’

‘Use your powers to open the door – try to make it loud, so the mic can pick up the sound,’ Charles said, Erik’s mouth quirking up, turned on but also a little amused. Charles bit back a laugh as well, just raising his brow at Erik as if he were saying ‘are you game?’ Erik just smirked, raising his unoccupied hand and twisting his wrist a little, the door to Charles’s bedroom opening loudly. Erik made sure to open the door hard enough so that it clunked against the door stop on the opposing wall, Charles smiling as he saw the spike in the recording soundwaves.

“Oh my God!” Charles suddenly exclaimed, his whole face showing the surprise he was acting through, blue eyes impossibly wide, though they sparkled with mirth at the situation. Erik had to cover his chuckle with his fist, eyes warm as they regarded Charles pretending to have been caught jerking off by his supposed roommate, friend and fictional lover. “What are you doing here? You said you wouldn’t be back until later, and don’t you know how to knock? What do you mean- I’m just- You- Close the door!”

Charles paused, pretending like his imaginary roommate was speaking. Erik stifled his laugh again, flicking his wrist to slam the bedroom door shut again.

‘What an adorably shocked roommate you are, Charles,’ Erik mentally projected, words light with amusement. Charles rolled his eyes a little at Erik after almost bursting out laughing.

‘Don’t spoil this for me, Erik,’ Charles said, sending his mental reply with a playful poke. ‘If you keep making me laugh, editing is going to be a nightmare.’

‘I’d rather be responsible for making you moan,’ Erik replied simply, gripping his cock and giving it two pumps up and down, licking his lips. Charles looked dazed for a moment, like the sight of Erik beginning to stroke himself was too much for him to compute. Charles’s mouth opened, but then he closed it again, eyes determined and decisive.

“Fuck the audio,” Charles suddenly said, struggling to wheel himself closer to the edge of the bed with his non-lubed hand, before parking it at his bedside.

“Yeah, fuck the audio,” Erik echoed, grinning with all of his teeth and leaning over to help haul the telepath onto the bed, kissing him with vigour. ‘Fuck me instead.’ Charles let out a desperate whimper as Erik’s tongue traversed his mouth, reaching down to flick his finger at Charles’s slick and engorged cock that hung stiffly from the opening of his trousers. The organ thrummed with the tremor of the cock ring, and Erik’s own moan was smothered by Charles’s tongue as he gripped Charles’s cock.

“I listened to your review of this,” Erik said, voice low as he pumped Charles’s cock, lingering on the cock ring around its base. Erik tugged on it with his powers. Charles gasped, gripping Erik’s shoulders tightly while the metallokinetic grinned, leaning down to Charles’s ear to nibble on his earlobe, murmuring quietly. “I’ve bought it and tried it myself. You were a very convincing sales rep, Charles.” With that, Erik swiped his thumb over Charles’s slit, the man lurching forwards, face buried in Erik’s neck, breath searing.

“You’re my number one fan, aren’t you?” Charles said, sliding his hands up Erik’s shirt, fingers casting lines of heat across Erik’s abdomen. The telepath’s hands started to bunch up the fabric in his fingers, before Erik helped him pull the fabric swiftly over his head, throwing it onto the ground.

“Your biggest fan,” Erik agreed, and Charles raised a brow, eyes immediately dipping down to Erik’s crotch.

“Mm. My biggest fan indeed,” Charles replied, Erik growling and kissing Charles again, fingers hastily unbuttoning the man’s crinkled white shirt. Soon, Charles’s shirt was also discarded atop Erik’s on the floor. Erik wasted no time getting his lips on Charles’s neck, collarbone, and shoulder, eventually wrapping his expert mouth around one of Charles’s peaked pink nipples.

“God, j-just-” Charles stammered, suddenly at a loss for words, at least audibly. ‘God, Erik. Did you mean it before? When you said that I should fuck you instead?’ Charles’s mental voice was a little frantic, laced with a hum of thick arousal that was almost painful.

“Fuck yes,” Erik said, removing his mouth from Charles’s chest and moving back up to kiss his lips, a little softer now. “I want that, as much as you do. Maybe even more.”

“I really doubt that, darling,” Charles laughed, breathless. ‘With the cock ring, I should be able to last… But fuck, we have to prep you first, Erik.’

“I can do that. Lube?” Erik breathed out, pupils blown. Charles told him he had another bottle in his side drawer, along with condoms. Erik threw Charles a condom, and the man rolled it over himself slowly, chewing on his reddened lower lip as he watched Erik kneel in front of him on the bed, drizzling a copious amount of lube onto his fingers.

Charles pulled himself up with his strong forearms to sit up with his back against the backboard like Erik had been doing earlier, hand slowly stroking his throbbing cock as he watched Erik reach back, fingers disappearing in an out of him.

Erik let out a gruff groan as he fingered himself quickly, wanting nothing more than to get Charles’s thick cock inside him. It was lucky for him that he had fingered himself in the shower the night before, so he wasn’t as tight as he would have usually been.

“You’re beautiful, Erik,” Charles whispered reverently as he watched Erik spread himself, two fingers disappearing in and out of him, soon turning into three. Erik leaned forward to kiss Charles again, the man’s hands looping around Erik’s neck to deepen the kiss.

“Fuck, Charles. I’m ready, I need your cock,” Erik mumbled, pulling his fingers out of him and lamenting the loss of the feeling of being filled – but not for long. Charles had nodded, pulling Erik closer and closer until the taller man straddled his motionless thighs, hand reaching between them to apply some more lube to Charles’s cock, before guiding it to his stretched hole.

Charles stopped breathing for a moment when he felt his sensitive head nudge at Erik’s rim. Charles and Erik stared at each other, Charles cupping Erik’s cheek and feeling the ginger stubble sprouting there. The two leaned forwards to meet in a sloppy kiss as Erik lowered himself down, Charles’s cock sliding in.

“Ohhh, fuck,” Erik groaned as Charles’s thickness filled him, stretching at his ass, hard and full and twitching. Charles just let out a choked noise, marvelling at how tight Erik felt around him.

“You feel so good, Erik,” Charles whimpered once he was fully sheathed inside Erik’s heat, hips flush. Erik couldn’t manage to say anything completely coherent, so he just grunted and began moving his hips. Charles moaned out loud and in Erik’s mind with every swivel and jerk of Erik’s hips as he rode him like it would be the last thing he ever did, and when Erik couldn’t hold back the cry as Charles’s cock brushed against his prostate, Charles almost came then and there.

‘If not for the cock ring…’ Charles’s mental voice crooned, strained and frazzled as his mind began to blank at the sensations Erik was drawing out of him.

“Can I take the cock ring off you now?” Erik groaned, the obscene slapping of their hips resonating through the air as Erik panted. “I’m gonna come, I want you to come with me. Inside me.”

“Yes,” Charles managed to get out, gripping Erik’s shoulder in a vice-like grip with one hand, the other fisting the bedsheets beneath him. “Yes, yes. I want that too, darling. Erik. Fuck. Fuck.”

‘You do tend to start swearing more when you’re getting closer to coming. I guess you never faked that in your audios,’ Erik said a little smugly as he pulled himself off Charles’s cock, but only so he could use his powers to pull the ring off Charles’s dick, the telepath almost sobbing at how it felt the moment Erik impaled himself on his cock again, riding him until they were both seconds away from coming.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, God, oh, yes, Erik,” Charles chanted, scrabbling at Erik’s shoulders and neck to pull him down into a messy, open-mouthed kiss that was as unravelled as the erratic movement of Erik’s hips, the metalbender teetering at the edge. The metal in Charles’s room began to hum inadvertently, Erik groaning into Charles’s mouth.

“I’m coming,” Erik grunted, Charles letting out a choked cry as he came at Erik’s words. It was that sound that pulled Erik over the edge as well, spilling white against his stomach as well as Charles’s.

Charles slid down from where he was sitting on the bed, Erik slumping heavily against him. They were both coated with a thin sheen of sweat, stomachs sticky with cum, hair mussed and lips bruised. Erik didn’t think he could move, his ass throbbing with a delicious ache that he hoped he would feel for a while after, the pang allowing him to remember how Charles felt inside him.

The two men lay there, completely fucked out, until Charles let out a light snort.

“Well, that audio is ruined. I can’t edit my way out of that,” Charles laughed, his words laboured as he struggled to catch his breath. Erik chuckled above him, pushing himself off Charles’s boneless form, his weight pressing down on him likely not helping his lungs at all. Erik did let his head rest on Charles’s rising and falling chest though, enjoying the thumping of the man’s heart beat beneath his ear. Charles chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of Erik’s slightly damp hair, before pausing.

‘What are you thinking about, Charles? I could tell that you had some sort of epiphany,’ Erik said, almost purring as Charles began to card his fingers through Erik’s locks.

“Instead of a regular roleplay audio, I could label it as an ‘overhead sex’ audio. I’d have to edit out our names and change the title of the video to something else first, of course,” Charles said, chuckling to himself at the idea. Erik hummed, questioning.

“So instead of ‘My super-hot roommate caught me jerking off so I let him ride me’ you’d name it…”

“My super-hot boyfriend walked in on me making an audio so I let him ride me,” Charles replied smoothly, Erik letting out a snort, pushing himself onto his elbows to look at Charles fondly.

“Sounds like something I’d listen to,” Erik said, Charles letting out a loud, eye-crinkling laugh, and Erik couldn’t be blamed for leaning down to kiss the adorable man breathless once again.

‘And ‘boyfriend’. I like the sound of that too.’

***

Erik ended up staying the night, much to Charles’s pleasure. Even though they had only met in person for the first time that day, it had felt like they had known each other for much longer than that. It wasn’t hard for Charles to begin imagining living days far into the future with Erik. Erik was everything Charles wanted, and he was so wonderful that Charles wondered if this was just one elaborate dream, and that the moment he would wake in the morning, Erik would be gone.

When Charles woke up, though, Erik’s arms were still draped around him loosely, sleeping quietly beside him. Charles’s heart swelled with happiness, relief and affection, curling the arm that was growing a little numb under Erik’s neck to card through the man’s hair.

Charles lay on his back, Erik’s head nestled into the crook of his neck and arm lying over his chest. Erik’s hair, mussed from sleep, tickled at the stubble growing on his Charles’s chin, and the telepath smiled to himself and nuzzled his face into Erik’s hair.

Charles felt Erik stir, the taller man releasing a groggy, sleep-laden groan.

“Good morning,” Charles said quietly, voice also rough with sleep. Erik blinked for a moment, grey eyes surveying his surroundings and for a brief second he seemed confused, before remembering where he was and smiling.

“Morning,” Erik said, shuffling in the bed so he straddled Charles’s thighs, sitting above him in all of his shirtless glory. Charles laughed, curling his finger in a movement to signal Erik to lean down and kiss him, which the metallokinetic did with relish.

“I could get used to waking up like this,” Charles murmured against Erik’s mouth, not minding the roughness of their shared stubble or the slight tang of morning breath.

“Don’t think I can get used to your morning breath, though,” Erik teased, Charles gasping in feigned offense and hitting Erik’s chest, the man laughing. Erik moved to kiss Charles again, but Charles refused, shoving at Erik’s chest with a smile, saying that ‘if you’re bothered by morning breath, then no more morning kisses for you’. Charles only relented when Erik took back his words with a slight pout, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

They had spent most of that morning and afternoon in bed, only getting out to have lunch and watch a movie together, before Erik left for his shift at the late-night café. Charles ended up joining him at his work at around nine, and Erik felt that his job had never been less tedious with Charles there, not when he would come by the telepath’s table near the counter to refill his tea, sneaking in a kiss or two every time.

That day had been the beginning of a series of days and weeks that soon became a month and then two. Considering the two men had fallen for each other just by messaging through an audio porn app, it came as no surprise to anyone that they became attached to the hip from that day on.

Erik began spending a lot of his down time at Charles’s apartment, much to the displeasure of Raven, who had walked in on them sucking face more often than she would have liked. It wasn’t that Raven wasn’t happy for her brother. She was, even if every time she would catch her brother staring down at a message Erik with the goopiest, most syrupy smile she had ever seen she would make loud gagging noises, which Charles adamantly ignored, too wrapped up in thoughts of Erik to care.

They made the most out of their free time during the summer break; since Charles didn’t have any TA work, he had an ample amount of time to spend with Erik, as well as create more audios. Erik had begun to sit in on some of Charles’s recording sessions, Charles often having to pause the recording to release the pent-up tension in the room. Erik was distracting, especially when Charles could see him palming himself on his bed in the corner of his eye as he recorded. Recording took a lot, lot longer, but Charles’s fans have noted that his work has been much hotter lately.

Erik usually dedicated his days to spending time with Charles, not only because listening to him record audios was the second most erotic thing to exist (after actually having sex with Charles, of course), but to also just relax in Charles’s company. Contrary to Raven and Emma’s beliefs, when Charles and Erik were alone, they didn’t just spend their time fucking each other (though that did take up a significant fraction of their time, much to their delight and their friends’ exasperation). Charles and Erik, more often than not, just enjoyed each other’s company.

They played chess, watched terrible rom-coms while Erik mocked the blundering couples, read books with their legs draped over each other on the couch, or simply just lay in bed and talked.

Charles often caught himself thinking ‘is this really my life, now?’. It would hit him at random times, sparked by the most innocuous of things. Sometimes, it would wash over him when he watched Erik’s back as the man loomed over his low cooktop, flipping pancakes for the two of them dressed in nothing but a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants. Or, it would be when Erik would come back to his apartment after his shift at midnight with a box of leftover cake tucked under his arm, the man kicking off his shoes and dropping a kiss to the top of Charles’s head before asking if he wanted the chocolate mousse cake or the lemon tart.

Other times, it would be when they were having sex, and Erik would undo him with his hands and tongue and cock, taking more care than anyone ever before, and giving Charles a smug ‘yeah, I did that’ grin afterwards. And then, there were the times when he would just catch Erik staring at him, a small smile on his face that matched the one on Charles’s whenever he caught himself thinking ‘is this really my life, now?’.

Charles knew what that smile of Erik’s meant, because he has found it on his face far too many times to count.

It’s a ‘God, this is my life now’ smile mixed with an ‘I’m so lucky to have met you’ look.

Or, in simpler terms – an ‘I love you’ smile.

That was something Charles never really said in his audios, because it was something he reserved for Erik, and Erik alone. And when he would whisper it into Erik’s ear and Erik’s mind, Charles would feel the surge of love pulsing through Erik, the man whispering it straight back into his heart.

#cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #xmen #xmen fic #professor x #magneto #smut #modern au #audioporn #raven darkholme #emma frost #x-men

40 notes · View notes

the-odd-job · 3 years

Text

Up in Flames chapter 16 - Villain (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 4105

( Previous )

His battle protocols had had the time to activate, and as always when he went under with them running, coming back up wasn’t a slow, peaceful climb into consciousness.

It was a violent whiplash that had every system roaring to life simultaneously, no time wasted on testing if everything even still worked.

Sunstreaker’s optics snapped open to the bright orange ceiling of the Ark, and he shot to sitting immediately after, his frame primed for a fight and very eager to remind him of the circumstances of how he’d lost consciousness.

As it was though, there was no immediate threat around him that he could see. He was… In the brig, the glowing energy bars of that particular cell trapping him inside.

That wasn’t too much of a surprise considering how he’d gotten snatched. The Autobots had rightly assumed that he would not have gone willingly if they’d just asked nicely.

They had also assumed rightly that he wouldn’t hang around if given the option to leave. That option clearly wasn’t given to him now. For whatever reason—and it could be no reason that would end well for him—they wanted him here, and were ready enough to force the matter by locking him up entirely.

This couldn’t be good, not for him, and… Not for the sparklet. Maybe especially not for the sparklet. Sunstreaker couldn’t stamp down on his anxiety before the little one had already responded, vibrating in his chamber, next to his own spark, in a way it hadn’t before. These weren’t good emotions, like were really all of the ones it had gotten to experience so far.

Figures it would be the Autobots to provide it with its first negative impressions of life.

Had his spark felt any calmer, he could have tried to calm it, but pits, he wasn’t exactly calm himself. There was anxiety, some poorly articulated fear, but more than anything, there was his ever familiar anger. This sparkling was no stranger to that after every time Megatron had annoyed him, sometimes some of the other ‘Cons, but this time there was no… Thrill to go with it. No enjoyment under it, like he would have enjoyed Megatron’s attention even if the mech was driving him nuts.

None of the enjoyment of delivering some hurt to whichever ‘Con was aggravating at the time, usually in the training ring.

This was just anger, and fear, and anxiety—and, maybe, helplessness.

How helpless was he, really? A quick scan of his systems at least confirmed they’d locked his subspace, and pits, done who knows what to him while he was under. Sunstreaker quickly pulled up his logs, rubbing at his chest as he did. It wasn’t altogether comfortable to feel the sparkling twist and turn, nervous itself, even if it didn’t really understand what the threat was.

The plating of his chassis wasn’t smooth under his servo, not with the gash Megatron had dug across his insignia. His servo caught on the rough edges of it and made it impossible to forget how much he wasn’t an Autobot anymore. These weren’t friendly hands that had captured him.

And that was what they’d done. Captured him. Kidnapped, really.

They’d rooted around his systems, too. His physical readings had been looked at, armor shifted around presumably to have a look underneath—his coding hadn’t been tampered with, no fixes had been attempted, but he had more recent logs of diagnostic runs, and traces of the opening of several bits of programming. Not for edits, clearly, but for viewing.

Quite many of those related to the carrier protocols Hook and Ratchet had already looked at. Many other readings that had been viewed belong to the systems keeping tabs on the sparkling.

A medic’s signature had been left behind, too. Sunstreaker feared the worst when he looked at who had rooted around his frame while he was unconscious, but… It wasn’t Ratchet.

First Aid.

Sunstreaker growled to himself. He didn’t know why Ratchet wasn’t the one to have examined him, but some part of him was relieved he hadn’t… Really, breached their trust like that. Maybe he shouldn’t trust Ratchet anymore, but slaggit, he did anyway, at least to an extent. They didn’t belong to the same side anymore, but Ratchet had ethics and a personal code he followed.

They didn’t belong to the same side anymore. Had they and Sunstreaker would have only considered it natural he’d have taken a look at his systems. That was what medics did.

But now, that consent didn’t exist. Were they enemies? He wasn’t a Decepticon either, so maybe not.

But they were not comrades, or allies.

First Aid, clearly, hadn’t cared about details like that, although Sunstreaker wondered under whose bidding he’d performed the rather thorough examination on.

He wasn’t distracted enough by his internal investigation to miss the sound of someone moving to the outside of his cell, and he definitely didn’t miss the shadow cast they cast with the corridor lights behind them.

Sunstreaker lifted his gaze, glaring even before his optics landed on… Ironhide. The twin threw his legs off the side of the small slab of a berth just as Ironhide brought one servo to the side of his helm. “He’s up.”

Oh, they were waiting on him, were they?

Ironhide’s servo dropped, and so did his optics—landing on Sunstreaker’s servo on his chassis, still trying to ease the physical sensation of the sparkling’s growing distress as his mood only soured further instead of providing relief to the little thing.

Somehow Sunstreaker really didn’t appreciate the scrutiny, and let his arm slip away, doubling his glare. Ironhide didn’t look away right away, though, instead frowning at his chassis—and the insignia he still wore, but only to show he no longer belonged to that side.

“The slag you looking at?” Sunstreaker snapped once he got tired of the staring. Ironhide jerked from whatever trance he’d fallen into and looked up at him, in the optic for a fragging change. He opened his mouth to say something, too, but before he could, there was commotion from outside the main doors to the brig. Even Sunstreaker could hear it.

It wasn’t quite yelling, but it was clear enough there was an argument. He couldn’t make out all of the words, really, none of them—except some of those spoken by a voice that he couldn’t mistake.

Ratchet. The medic was rather vocal right then, as he always was when he was angry. Was he angry now? Sounded like so. Sunstreaker tuned his audials to listen in, but he could still only catch snippets. “–The stress you’re putting him under–!

“No!

“This is insanity–!

“I’m the physician–!

“Slag no!

“–let me–!”

“–Do not have my support!”

Then it ended. Sunstreaker could imagine Ratchet’s angry march as he left. He could definitely hear the stomping that always accompanied that.

The doors to the brig opened after. It wasn’t as if Sunstreaker could see who it was from where he was, but he didn’t need to guess for long because his visitors made their way straight to him.

Ratchet wasn’t among them, of course he wasn’t. Ironhide nodded at the arrivals—at Optimus, at Prowl, at Jazz.

High command then, basically. Sunstreaker got to his pedes, not particularly feeling like being shorter than everyone else. Upright and the only one who still managed to tower over him was the goddamn Prime. “Should I feel honored little old me is getting so important visitors?” he asked oh so sincerely, crossing his arms over his chassis and glaring some more.

But not before he was sure everyone had gotten a real good look at his chassis, his ruined insignia. Yeah yeah, ogle away, what did he care! What the slag were they expecting? That he would’ve no longer had an insignia at all? That he’d have a Decepticon one instead?

Honestly, both were probably fair assumptions, just not very… Megatron.

And still, despite the fucking fact he hadn’t been an Autobot for quite a few months, still, fragging still both Prowl and Ironhide saw fit to give him a disapproving look. For what? His slagging disrespect? Cry him a river, they all had it coming after this. Sunstreaker revved his engine, angrier by the second—and the sparkling growing ever more restless, until his core was really starting to feel too small for the both of them and he had to fight the urge to go back to rubbing his chestplates, despite the fact that did absolutely no good.

“I know these circumstances are less than ideal–” Optimus started, ever the diplomat, but Sunstreaker cut him off without fanfare or mercy.

“‘Less than ideal’? You fucking kidnap me and lock me in the goddamn brig,” he hissed, stepping up to the bars and craning his neck back to glare the Prime in the optic. “So would you fucking tell me what the frag is my crime this time?”

“Disregarding all of the events prior to your… Defection,” Prowl said, smooth and cool as ever. Sunstreaker transferred his glare at him, but then Jazz picked up where the SIC left off and that was yet another mech that deserved to be the recipient of his attempt at dropping them dead with his optics alone.

“There’s no crime, Sunstreaker,” was what Jazz had to say, but then he didn’t continue because Optimus spoke up again, and could they just fucking decide who was going to speak instead of transferring the script from one mech to another?

And what did Optimus say? “This is for your own good.”

Red. That was what Sunstreaker saw, besides the shadow creatures blotting out the edges of his vision. He laughed, although there wasn’t much humor behind the sound. “I knew it,” Sunstreaker said, his voice barely more than a guttural growl—words hardly there with the fucking anger that was really starting to get the better of him, and he was quickly losing the will to even try to fight it.

The sparkling flared, hard, and this time Sunstreaker uncrossed his arms to rub at his chest before he could think better of it. He continued all the same, “Optimus Prime, ever the altruist. So what the pit did I need saving from this time?” He was pretty damn sure he fucking knew already, but fragging Prime could spell it out for himself.

“We had reason to think your allegiance to Megatron is forced,” Prowl said, simply enough.

“And why’s that?” Sunstreaker growled, one unpleasant option quickly coming to the forefront. “Did Ratchet talk?”

“No,” Optimus said with feeling, as if he fragging cared how Sunstreaker felt about Ratchet, “Ratchet respected patient confidentiality. If he hadn’t…”

“You already know our concerns are valid, don’t you?” Prowl asked.

Sunstreaker stayed silent, only meeting the tactician’s optics without a waver. So, this was how it was always going to go, no matter what Ratchet had done? He didn’t talk, and they wanted to find out the answers for themselves.

He talked, and they’d have still done something, because their goddamn ‘concerns’ would have gotten validated by Ratchet’s findings.

“First Aid saw your protocols are active,” Optimus said, inclining his helm. There was worry—probably genuine—in his optics when Sunstreaker looked back at him.

“That don’t access my emotional cortex,” Sunstreaker snapped before Optimus could say any more. “I fragging know already.”

He also knew that wasn’t the issue.

“But they do make you predisposed to the sire,” Prowl confirmed as much. “Even without response from your emotional cortex, that is worrisome.”

Deep breaths. He wanted to fragging explode on the spot like a goddamn star going supernova, but… Oh, what the fuck was he expecting? That they’d listen to anything he’d say at this point?

What good would talking be? “Why didn’t Ratchet examine me?” he ground out anyway, because that was a point of real curiosity.

“Ratch refused,” Jazz responded. “He wanted nothing to do with this.”

Well, at least someone was doing the right thing. One fragging decent Autobot on the whole goddamn planet.

Optimus cleared his vocalizer, bringing everyone’s attention back to him. Sunstreaker cut him off again, though, right as the Prime was about to speak. “It doesn’t matter that I’ve said, several times, that I want to stay with the Decepticons?” he snarled, as much as he already knew the answer.

“We can’t be certain how much your protocols are affecting you,” Optimus said anyway. “I fear it is not truly your choice, but rather forced upon you by your coding—and by Megatron himself.”

“This is not my choice,” Sunstreaker hissed, leaning close enough to the bars that he could feel their heat on his faceplates, “being here. My choice is being with the Decepticons.”

“And Megatron plays no role in that?” Prowl asked, disbelieving.

“Our desires align.” They wouldn’t believe that though, would they?

“Could be that’s just the carrier coding talking,” Jazz pointed out.

Yeah, see, they didn’t believe slag.

“I find it hard to believe you would stay truly voluntarily, were you unaffected by your coding,” Optimus rumbled. Something about his tone had Sunstreaker focusing on him and frowning a little harder.

The Prime hesitated for a moment before he apparently chose to just bite the bullet and get on with it. “First Aid found many old injuries on your frame.”

And when you read between the lines?

Sunstreaker covered his face with his servos and fought the impulse to scream into them. The urge to not keep it together was real.

“I’ve sparred with the lot of them,” he said, firmly, once he dropped his servos again to give his continued glare an unhindered path. “That racks up some injuries.”

“And none of them are from Megatron?” Prowl again, ever the skeptic.

Sunstreaker growled. “I’ve sparred with him too, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t what he was asking and they all knew it. Things lapsed into silence for a moment, apparently none of them really comfortable with the topic. Well, Sunstreaker wasn’t going to try to make it any easier for them.

Fuck them all.

Prowl’s wings flicked, but he was eventually the one to continue. “That he abuses you is not a mere supposition.” The SIC was too good to let his voice lose its calm, but his doorwings still gave him off with the way they shivered. He did not want to be talking about this.

Looked like Sunstreaker was the only one who didn’t really care. “He took off your valve cover,” Prowl managed to force out anyway. And there it was. Their basis for assuming Megatron got a bit rough with him, which wasn’t a lie to begin with.

They just didn’t get it. “It’s called foreplay,” Sunstreaker kindly informed them, leaning back to cross his arms again. “You should try it sometime.”

“Sunstreaker,” Optimus said, and the twin reluctantly looked up at him. What now?

Nothing good, that’s what. “You don’t have to live under Megatron’s abuse. You don’t need to put up with it. You have other options.”

It sounded like he so very genuinely meant that.

“Like what?” Sunstreaker snapped. “Crawl back to the Autobots and beg for forgiveness? I wouldn’t fragging do that even if he was ‘abusing’ me—which he isn’t.”

“Kid, I know you’ve got your pride, but there ain’t anything shameful in admittin’ you’re sometimes in over yer head,” Ironhide said where he’d been quiet this whole duration.

That anger? It was quickly rising the same way it did when Megatron disregarded what he said because his his his sparkling, yada yada yada, and they went in circles around that topic until Sunstreaker caved—but this was worse. This wasn’t Megatron acknowledging that he wanted something different, and then overruling that want anyway.

This was the Autobots deciding he didn’t know what the frag he was talking about, that he was lying, that he didn’t know what he wanted– “Are any of you actually listening to me?” Sunstreaker demanded, passing his glare between all four of them, “Because it’s getting really fucking tiresome to get treated like my words don’t mean shit.”

“The matter of your protocols remains,” Prowl said. He said something more too, but Sunstreaker couldn’t hear it over the noise that fragging roared up in his audials at just that bit. He stumbled back a step, pressed a servo to his helm—blasted hot air from his vents as the shadow folk crept further into his field of vision. And touched him. He could’ve sworn they were there–

But then, as he cycled several ventilations and fought to maintain his control of himself, they receded, disappearing back into the ether they came from. He would’ve said they were gone, but no, they never really were.

Just less numerous, usually.

He ignored the traces of phantom pings on his sensors and lifted his gaze back up to see all four Autobots staring at him. Sunstreaker scowled.

“Your glitch’s worsened too, about since you started your tryst with ol’ Megs,” Jazz pointed out. “That don’t mean anything?”

It meant he had started to reconsider his stance regarding his glitch. Did he want to say that much, though? Talk about how drastically Megatron’s opinion of it differed from the Autobot sentiments? “Yeah, well, trying to keep that whole thing from becoming public knowledge was a bit stressful.”

With how little anyone was listening to him, he didn’t particularly feel like having his explanation regarding his glitch get ignored like everything else he said was getting ignored. Plus he’d probably just get preached at about the dangers of his glitch and how irresponsible it would be to let it out of control and whatever the frag else the Autobots were always so fragging eager to fill his audials with.

It was as if the Autobots wanted him to be ashamed of himself—of what he was.

He was a little slagging tired of that by now.

“What prompted you to fight Megatron during that one of your encounters?” Optimus asked. Right, how could he forget. The one encounter and the one fight the Autobots could genuinely claim to know of. Did they also know that was the time when he’d told Megatron about the sparkling and promptly gotten into an argument with him?

Getting into arguments with the mech was really the norm. Glitching while at it? Not that far out either. “He was annoying,” Sunstreaker gave his honest to Primus answer. And obviously, Megatron had needed to pay for that, and what better way than to go berserk and bring some unholy smiting into the game through his glitch? Sounded like a good way to him.

“You decided to fight Megatron, because he was annoyin’?” Ironhide asked incredulously.

Sunstreaker gave him a patronizing look. “Now, ‘Hide, you know me better than that. What other fragging reason have I ever needed to fight someone?”

“You had to know you couldn’ win,” Jazz said, like what wasn’t obvious to the whole world.

“Hasn’t really stopped me before, either.” Any more useless statements?

“You didn’t fight him because he was trying to interface with you?” Optimus asked. A slightly less dumb thing to say, considering it was Megatron.

But, “No, I didn’t fight him because he was trying to ‘face me,” Sunstreaker answered in the most mocking tone he could manage. Never let it be forgotten he was here not out of his own free will, but because some ass eaters had decided to snatch him right up and lock him up for good measure. If there weren’t bars between him and them, between him and freedom, he would’ve been gone a long time ago.

They really couldn’t expect his cooperation, considering the circumstances.

“Did he ignite you on purpose?” Prowl took the turn to ask. The tactician had probably been hard at work considering all of the possible ways things had gone and would go. How lovely it had to be to get some answers to things the Autobots really had had no way of knowing.

Why was he over here telling them this slag though? It was none of their fragging business.

“No. He was as surprised as I was,” Sunstreaker responded anyway. No doubt it wouldn’t make them vilify Megatron any less, but at least they’d know the slagging truth.

If they believed it, anyway. There were good chances they’d just think he didn’t know as well as he thought he did.

But they hadn’t been there to see Megatron’s surprise upon first hearing about it, and everything that had come after that really didn’t sit in line with the theory the tyrant had planned it all along.

“And you didn’t get ignited on purpose?” Prowl asked next. Sunstreaker rolled his optics as fucking hard as he could manage.

“No. What would I have even gained by doing that? My life’s a mess because of this whole goddamn accident.” He couldn’t say it hadn’t also improved, but frag, was he somehow supposed to foresee that much? He wasn’t a clairvoyant.

“Sunstreaker, I want you to understand you can still come back.” Optimus just loved to keep repeating that, without ever listening or accepting all of the reasons why that wasn’t true.

“No, I can’t. And more importantly, I don’t want to,” Sunstreaker said with as much emphasis as he could manage. “So if we’re done here, I’d really love to get back home already.”

Did he consider it home? He wasn’t sure yet, but the word sure had the intended effect of pulling a couple of surprised revs from his captors’ engines. Maybe it would drive the point home.

More likely they’d still go back to the carrier coding to gleefully point all the fingers at it and announce it meant Sunstreaker had no agency separate from the infernal protocols.

“I can’t let you return,” Optimus said, and oh, he probably really thought he was doing a good thing through whatever wrong and twisted logic he was employing. “I cannot subject either you or the innocent life you’re carrying to Megatron’s evil.”

What the fuck..?

“You fragging think,” Sunstreaker started, leaning back to the bars and keeping Optimus’ stare, “that he’d let anything keep him from it?”

The Prime’s optics hardened with resolve. “I’m willing to press the issue.”

“So’s he,” Sunstreaker pointed out, “and he’s not going to just stop after it separates, either. You ought to know him. He’ll hunt the damn thing to the edges of the world if that’s what it takes. You can’t keep him from it.”

“And you’re fine with all of this?” Prowl asked while Optimus mulled over what he’d said.

Sunstreaker shifted his gaze to the tactician and shrugged. “It was the deal we came to.”

“Deal? Did you actually have a say at any point?” Of course Jazz would quickly pick on little details like that. Sunstreaker glared at him, but unless he felt like lying, there wasn’t much he could say. He was fine with the conclusion they’d come to with Megatron, but no, he hadn’t really had any other options than to agree to what the warlord wanted.

But if he didn’t think it was an issue, it wasn’t really an issue, was it?

“The young one should have a right to its own freedom,” Optimus said now, apparently having sorted out his thoughts. “I have to protect that right.”

Ugh.

“What about my freedom while we’re at it?” Sunstreaker snarled, hitting the bars with one hand and ignoring the resulting burn. His plating was heat resistant anyway. It wouldn’t damage him severely. “That means nothing?”

“This is for your own good,” Optimus repeated, more firmly this time. “For as long as the carrier coding is active–”

“You’re letting your hatred of Megatron blind you!” Sunstreaker interrupted, hitting the bars caging him with both hands this time. “You can’t fathom that someone could be okay with him, understand him, be understood by him—all you can see is a mech you’ve made the nemesis of your world!”

All was quiet for a moment after his little outburst, four sets of optics staring at him with varying expressions. Surprise, confusion, concern… “What do you see in him, kid?” Ironhide asked, sounding a little wary—like he expected he wouldn’t like the answer very much.

“The sire of my sparkling,” Sunstreaker bit out, “who has the right to it.” As Megatron loved to remind him. Didn’t change it was true, though.

“Considering Megatron’s track record, it would be little short of unethical to let him his way with the sparkling,” Prowl said, frowning now. Right after Sunstreaker had just informed them of the obvious fact that Megatron would have it no other way.

The twin snarled at the lot of them. “Then what do you suggest?”

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #sunstreaker #optimus prime #prowl #jazz #ironhide #fic #2021 #ashes #up in flames

7 notes · View notes

animetrashlord-007 · 4 years

Text

AOT ~ Survive

Word Count;; 1.2k

Genre;; Fluff

Pairing;; Erwin x Levi x Hanji

Notes;; Published: 2017-07-10

My Masterlist

AOT Week Masterpost

“Boo!” The eccentric brunette shouted as she jumped out from behind a tattered curtain.

“Hanji! Can you not?” Levi hissed between gritted teeth, slapping her arm away as she leaned forward to embrace him.

“Don't be such a sourpuss!”

“Shouldn't you leave the jumpscares to the employees?” Erwin smiled down at them both, ushering them forward with a gentle hand on each of their backs.

They continued through the haunted house, Hanji pouting the entire time. It was their biweekly date night and somehow the new horror attraction was brought up. Promising a night of excitement and fear, Hanji insisted they attend the grand opening. Within moments they were en route, much to Levi’s chagrin. He didn't find it scary, per se, but rather ridiculous. He had trouble refraining from hitting the actors, as his natural instinct was to fight rather than flee. It was wasting a lot of his mental energy to keep himself in check, which led to a much shorter temper than usual.

Around every few turns, an actor would pop up at the trio. Without fail, Hanji squealed and jumped onto whichever of the two males were closest at the time. They kept trekking through the large establishment, huddling in a small circle as they peered around corners. It wasn't until a Mad Scientist began to trail them that Erwin dropped his small smile in favor of a startled gasp. A pale hand gripped his shoulder and his expression of pure terror was priceless. Neither of his lovers would ever let him live it down.

They picked up their pace after that incident. Levi sped up to match Erwin’s quick gait, which he was maintaining in order to escape Hanji’s jeers. The corridors felt endless. More and more ghouls, vampires and murderers crossed their path. The blond led them deeper into the house. Soon they found themselves in a room filled with mirrors. There seemed to be no exit and once they stepped inside, the entrance disappeared as well. They stumbled inside, hands gliding across the cold surface of the reflective panels in hope of finding an escape.

“This is going to prove quite difficult,” Erwin murmured as he sidled forward a few spaces. He stopped once he realised there were mirrors on every side. His face was devoid of emotion as he backtracked to the group. “Or rather impossible.”

“Don’t be silly, it'll be a blast!” Hanji grinned as she sidestepped around the tall male.

Her two boyfriends gaped at her as she navigated the maze. They followed behind, eager to escape the nightmare room of reflections. Staring off to his side, Levi glanced into one of the many mirrors. He had the perfect view of both Hanji’s breasts in her v-neck shirt and Erwin’s ass in his tight jeans. The view was captivating. He ceased walking mid-step, unaware of just how close behind the blond was. With no time to slow down, Erwin crashed into the smaller male. Levi toppled forward, slamming into a slab of glass. He cursed under his breath as he rubbed his forehead. Hanji was far enough ahead to avoid the collision, but her snorts echoed throughout the entire room.

“Babe! Are you okay?” Erwin gasped, kneeling beside the injured man.

“I'm fine! And don't give me a weird pet name!” Levi snapped.

“Come on, you two handsome devils! Let's get this over with!” Hanji began to moan in an attempt to recreate an otherworldly sound, shaking each of her fingers in rapid succession. “After all, the end is near!”

“Your enthusiasm is always appreciated, dear,” Erwin sighed, a weary smile returning to his lips as he looked between the two people he cared for most.

Erwin decided to carry his boyfriend the rest of the way. Though he protested, Levi soon gave up and let him. No matter how hard or long he argued, Erwin would have won - he always did. When it came to coddling, he was the biggest offender. While Hanji didn't mind that side of him and called him a giant teddy bear because of it, Levi adored it. It felt nice to have someone willing to protect him after spending so many years fending for himself. He'd never admit it, though.

They soon found themselves outside of the haunted house, free of the torture within. What felt like an eternity within the building had only be two hours. The night was ending and the trio were exhausted, though Hanji claimed to have enough energy to go clubbing for a few more hours. There weren't many people outside as most went straight on to their next destination after finishing the attraction. Erwin held Levi a little closer to his chest to project his warmth onto him. There was a chill in the air and he didn't want him to catch a cold on top of the headache that would be forming within the next few hours. They began to walk home, Hanji a few steps ahead once again. Without warning, she spun around on her feet.

“Now wasn't that fun?” She exclaimed, hopping in place as she stared between the two.

“Levi was hurt.”

“I wasn't,” Levi yawned as he snuggled into Erwin’s chest, “but it still sucked.”

“Well I'm pretty sure you ran into that mirror just so Erwin would baby you.”

“I'm pretty sure you're an idiot and I don't know why I fell in love with you.”

Erwin and Hanji stared at one another, eyes wide as they processed the statement. It was uncharacteristic for Levi to show his emotions or so openly admit his feelings. Erwin checked his temperature and the sight of the injury. Running his hand across his forehead, he frowned. There was already a small bump, as well as some dark red and light blue bruises. Levi had drifted off to sleep during the small but thorough examination. His gentle snores broke the silence of the cool night air.

“He's being sweet, did Hell freeze over?”

“He must have a concussion,” Erwin gasped.

The blond started tapping his face, each strike harder and firmer than the last until Levi’s eyes snapped open. Bewildered, he stared between the two. Within seconds, his signature scowl graced his face. He smacked away Erwin’s hand, which was still waiting mere inches above his cheek to deliver another blow.

“Thanks, asshole. Wake up the guy with insomnia, why don't you?”

“Nevermind, he's fine,” Hanji laughed. She skipped over to Erwin’s side. Placing a chaste kiss on the growing mark on Levi's head, she ran her fingers through his silky black hair and beamed. “Hey Erwin, Levi, I love you both. Thank you for coming out with me tonight.”

“Whatever.”

“It was our pleasure, honey.”

“Oh, and Erwin?” Hanji smiled as she held onto his muscular bicep. She gave him her best puppy dog eyes and willed a slight blush to tint her cheeks. Erwin knew what she was doing, well aware of all of her tricks after so many years of being together. He nodded down at her. With what she hoped was a cute and irresistible pout, she asked the question that had been burning on her mind for the last half an hour. “Will you carry me too?”

Erwin sighed before lowering himself to his knees, “Come on, sweetie, get on.”

#snk #shingeki no kyojin #anime #attack on titan #snk fluff #eruri #erwin x levi #erwin x hanji x levi #erwin x hanji #levi x hanji #erwin smith #levi ackernan #hanji zoe #aot fluff #anime fluff #animetrashlord-007

13 notes · View notes

need-a-fugue · 4 years

Text

We Grow Together (4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

Warning(s): some angst, some emotional and mental turmoil… some bad language words… much fluff

Chapter Summary: Rescuing hostages from a cartel stronghold deep in hostile territory... what could possibly go wrong?

The debrief only lasts about an hour, the plan seeming fairly simple. “It’s a basic hostile extraction,” Steve tells them all, as though that’s supposed to mean something to her.

She raises her hand. “Non-military personnel requesting clarification, sir,” she says with more than a hint of sarcasm.

He rolls his eyes rather dramatically. “We go in, fight the bad guys, and get the family out.”

“Yeah,” she drawls. “I kind of assumed that was the plan. What do you guys do in here for hours on end if it’s not planning a mission? Are you just hiding away, playing Call of Duty or something?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Steve tells her as he starts to pull up multiple screens at once.

The center of the table is alight with various holograms when Bucky leans over and whispers to her, “Stevie’s very thorough. If a plan is what you want…” He leans back and indicates the satellite images and redacted official files on display before them.

As it turns out very thorough is a bit of an understatement. The hour they spend going over mission details is very possibly the most chock-full-of-information-she’ll-never-remember hour of Tessa’s life. And she went to medical school. But everyone seemed to at least have an idea of what they needed to.

The missions she’d done with the X-Men – and frankly it feels wrong to refer to them as missions as they always seemed more like random pop-up battles or peace-keeping initiatives – were very different from this. For one thing, their mission planning sessions usually consisted of Logan and Scott arguing about the best way to get there as everyone else watched in annoyance. Winging it was more their style. Maybe it was because they had powers that, for the most part, were difficult to counter. Maybe it was just because none of them had ever been in the military, let alone led soldiers into battle. Whatever the reason, the fighting style that had been bred into her stood out in rather stark contrast to that of her current cohorts.

“Here,” Bucky utters absently as he hands her a 9mm. He’d been loading every nook and cranny of his suit with weapons while Tessa stood nearby, leaning on the wall of the jet, waiting not-so-patiently for them to get the show on the road.

She glances down at the gun in his hand, but makes no move to take it, her arms still crossed over her chest. “No thank you,” she says simply.

He seals up a hidden pocket near his ankle where he just tucked away another small dagger before turning to face her with a confused look. “What do you mean no thank you?”

She pushes off of the wall as Sam sneaks by and she can’t help but check out his flashy new wings. Tony just can’t stop himself from innovating and upgrading everything that the team uses. It almost makes her wish she went into engineering or robotics instead of medicine. “Hm?” she mutters, turning her attention back to Bucky. “Oh, yeah. I don’t need that.”

“Yes you do,” he says definitively as he takes hold of her hand and places the handgun in it.

She turns it over in her hand, gives it a little bounce to feel the weight of it. “I really don’t,” she says shaking her head and extending her hand back out to him. “It’s heavy,” she says absently, holding it out for him to take.

“It’s a 9-mil,” he says confusedly.

“Okay.”

“You’ve never held a 9-mil before?” he asks her, as though everyone in the world has surely used a gun at one time or another.

“A 9-mil? No.” She reaches out and takes his metal hand, deposits the gun into it just as he had done to her a moment before. “I’ve never held any gun before.”

Sam’s the one who speaks next, whipping around to face her. “You’ve never held a gun before?” He turns to find Steve, who’s up in the cockpit, punching in coordinates. “Steve!” he calls out. “Do you hear this?”

“You can’t be serious,” Bucky says, voice low and disbelieving, mouth agape.

She shifts her stance and pulls at the tight almost leather-like fabric of her suit as it suctions to her shoulder. “No, actually, I did go skeet shooting once. I think. Maybe I dreamt that…” Her thoughts begin to wander as she snakes her hand down in between the suit and the top of her shoulder. “Flame retardant is nice, but he could’ve made this a little bit more… malleable,” she mutters to herself. The suit makes a slight popping sound as her fingers work beneath the fabric. “Is it too tight?” she asks Bucky. “It feels tight.”

He simply continues to stare at her, dumfounded.

“Steve,” Sam starts as the captain makes his way over. “She doesn’t know how to fire a weapon,” he says, voice more serious than she’s ever heard it. “Did you know that?”

“She’s fine. She doesn’t need a weapon,” he tells Sam, slapping him on the shoulder. “Now, if we’re all geared up, let’s do this.”

Tessa moves to take a seat as Steve heads back to the cockpit. Sam and Bucky are left lingering in the back, matching looks of horror on their faces. “But,” Sam murmurs, “She doesn’t have any gear.”

000

The group moves in under the cover of darkness, dense tropical forest flanking the compound on every side. Bucky is able to rather quickly find a safe spot on higher ground where he can see over the walls and into the courtyard. He sets up two high-powered rifles, just in case.

Sam sets out to do some recon, but he’s limited on how lose he can get as floodlights are strategically placed at every corner of the compound. “I can’t get a great view,” he says, his voice filtering through their earpieces. “But if the layout’s the same as what was in the plans, then you two need to head for the southeast corner. It should be easier to get over the wall there.”

“Negative,” Bucky replies as he scans the area with his scope. “I’m blind to that corner.”

“I thought you found a good spot.”

“I did find a good spot. You’re choosing the one area blocked by overgrowth.” The very clear annoyance in his voice makes Tessa chuckle despite herself.

“Sam,” Steve pipes up, “If we head in through there, do we have a clear path to the hostages?” The hostages should be in a small interior room just off of the main kitchen, which is buried at the very center of the compound.

“I can’t tell for sure,” he says, dialing into the new tech in his visor as he goes in for another flyby. He can’t see actual bodies from the angle he’s forced to fly at, not with the way the roofs meet. So he switches over to infrared to search out heat signatures.

“I don’t like this,” Bucky mumbles across the comms.

“You worry too much,” Tessa says as she carefully navigates the terrain just behind Steve, methodically stepping into the giant footprints he leaves in the soil.

“Yeah, man,” Sam lets out. “They’ve got this.”

An odd grumbling sounds through the earpieces, and Steve and Tessa share a quick look and a laugh. “How long you think it’ll be before he shoots Sam down?” Steve asks.

“Five minutes, tops.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Sam questions as he swoops down just above them.

“Try not to antagonize the sniper,” Steve says, his voice returning to the all-business captain. “What do you see?”

“You should be good,” Sam tells them. “Two guards at the corner. Take them out and you’ve got a clean path to the courtyard.”

“That courtyard’s filthy with hostiles,” Bucky intones, his voice calm and low as he continues his monitoring. “Even if we can distract some of them, you’ll still probably have to fight your way through. I’ll take out as many as I can when you come up.”

“Only take someone out if you have to,” Steve directs. “No unnecessary causalities.

“Steve,” he argues, words brimming with irritation, “There are at least fifteen guys in there and they’re all packing heat. Mostly Kalashnikovs, but I see at least two Uzis. Uzis, Steve. They’re not gonna let you just punch your way through.”

“Just use discretion,” he tells him in a huff. Then, “We’re moving in.”

The plan is to get in and out in no more than five minutes. Ideally, unseen, but unless they can manage a distraction big enough to get everyone out of the courtyard surrounding the house, and also clear out the house itself, that was unlikely to happen. That being said, a distraction of some sort is exactly what they need.

Sam sets down just outside of the exterior wall on the north end of the compound. He hunkers down next to some trees, just far enough away from the floodlights to remain cloaked in darkness. “I’m ready when you are,” he says.

“I feel like I’m going to regret this,” Tessa mumbles as she commando crawls to the compound. Between the black suit and her dark hair, she’s pretty well hidden. But in addition to the two guards inside the wall at this corner, there are two armed men patrolling from a balcony that runs around the third floor. If the light hits her right as one of them glances down, it’s all over.

“Don’t worry,” Steve says through the comms, still hanging back in the trees as she snakes closer. “I’ll be gentle.” There’s an unmistakably playful quality to his voice, and it in no way eases her concerns.

“I’ve heard that before,” she whispers, positioning herself about two feet out from the wall.

“Hold,” Bucky mutters as he keeps watch on the guards in the balcony. The moment they disappear around the southwest corner, he says simply, “Go.”

Tessa pulls herself up into a tabletop position and Steve sets off at a full run from the tree line. She closes her eyes and braces herself, and a small terrified squeak resounds through the comms as Steve zooms in. He bounds off her back, using the step she provides as leverage to make it to the top of the wall. He lands like a ninja, completely silent, and neither of the two guards below look up.

He’s just out of the light, but the men on the balcony will easily be able to pick him up – and pick him off – when they come back around the corner, so he’s got to move fast. He leans down over the wall, extending his hand as low as it’ll go and he nods at Tessa. She’s already about twenty feet back, readying herself to run full speed and at least try for a flying leap. She manages to get just high enough to grab onto his fingertips, but her feet lose purchase and quickly slide off the wall.

Steve’s grip is solid. He grasps her hand, holding tight, even as her body slams into the wall. He cringes and tosses a glance back behind him to see if the guards heard anything. But the wall is so solid that her relatively small frame barely made a sound in the collision. He hauls her up and takes just a second to steady her on the wall before finding his target. He drops down on top of one of the guards and puts him in a sleeper hold. The other turns to him, gun raised and ready to fire.

Without warning, the man drops. His body going limp and collapsing to the ground as though all the energy had just been drained from it. Steve looks up at Tessa and sees her sitting atop the wall, hand outstretched toward the prone man, a hint of blue sparks emanating from her fingertips.

“Thanks,” he says, dropping the now unconscious man from his hold and moving over to her. He opens his arms and she drops down into them.

“No problem,” she returns in a nasally voice. Blood is gushing from her nose and she’s blinking rapidly, trying to regain focus as she pinches it at the bridge.

“I hope you’re moving,” Bucky says with a sort of calm urgency.

Steve takes Tessa’s arm and pulls her over to an interior wall where they’ll be hidden from the guards above. “You okay?” he asks, hissing in pained solidarity as she slowly repositions her nose. There’s a long grind followed by a sharp crack, and she drops her head to his shoulder for just a moment to try and regather herself.

“Solid,” she mutters into him, her breath hitching.

“What happened?” Bucky asks, previously calm voice now peppered with concern.

“We’re good,” Steve replies simply. “Sam, we’re ready for you.”

“Copy that.”

An explosion is heard from the northern side of the property. Steve and Tessa huddle close together along the wall as shouts ring out from inside the building. They feel a breeze blow past them and look up to see Sam swoop down to land on the exterior wall they just came over. He points in the direction of the explosion, directing them to move through the path leading to the center courtyard. Steve squeezes Tessa’s hand in a silent you good? She returns the gesture, and the two start out along the path.

“We’ve got five remaining in the courtyard,” Bucky’s voice filters in through their earpieces.

“I can handle five,” Steve whispers.

“No you can’t,” he replies, watching and waiting for them to turn the corner. The minute he sees them in the periphery, he begins taking shots, nothing but a slight hiss emanating from the silenced rifle. He’s got two down by the time Steve’s actually in the courtyard, and he takes out a third while the captain disarms the other two men in rapid succession.

Steve looks back at the fallen targets. “Damnit, Buck, I told you I had them.”

“If one round got off, the rest of them would turn back and be on you in a minute flat,” he defends from his position on the hill. “Just get moving.”

“Who’s giving the orders around here?”

“Sorry,” he counters sarcastically. “From my vantage point, it seems like a good idea for you two to get moving, sir.”

Steve shakes his head and chuckles as he turns back to Tessa. “You know what to do?” She nods. “Just let me know if you see anyone coming my way.”

Steve’s on his own once he enters the house. They’re down to two minutes for the extraction, and that should be plenty of time provided the layout is as expected, the hostages are where they think they’ll be, no one catches him off guard as he moves to them, and they’re all mobile and capable of following his lead out the rear of the compound. So really, two minutes may well be next to impossible.

Tessa maneuvers out of the courtyard and around to the south side of the building where they plan to rendezvous for extraction. Bucky has a mostly clear view of that side, but he’s more focused on peering in the wall of windows as Steve makes his way through to the center of the home. “You look clear,” he tells him as he stares down his scope.

“Shit,” he hears Tessa mutter through the earpiece. He turns quickly to get her in his sights, and he sees a crazed looking man barreling towards her, rifle raised. Bucky panics and without taking proper aim, fires a single shot.

He misses completely – “Damnit” – and watches as the man collides with her. She gives a swift kick to his shoulder as they awkwardly go down, and his AK goes flying. For a brief moment, Bucky’s filled with pride. But it’s short lived. He watches as the assailant elbows her in the face, and he hears her pained grunt sound out over the comms as she fights back.

They’re just a tangle of body parts now, so he knows he can’t get off a good shot. He’s about to tell her to stand down, thinking that if she stops fighting maybe the man will sit upright and he can take him out. But before he can, the guy rolls off of her and scurries over to his felled rifle. He moves into a blind spot – “Shit” – where he’s partially hidden behind a row of pillars. Tessa pulls herself up and darts after him. “Wait!” Bucky calls out, knowing he’ll lose her back there too. “Get him out so I can get a shot.”

But she doesn’t get a chance to modify. She skids to a halt, stopping just between two pillars. He has a clear view of her, which means he also has a clear view of the muzzle of the AK-47 that’s pointed directly at her head, so close it’s nearly resting in her hair. He feels himself panic, those few seconds stretching out into a million. He’s desperately searching for a shot, but there’s nothing. He can’t find the target at all. All he can see is Tessa kneeling, gun at her head. He hears her let out a small, strained chuckle and his heart leaps into his throat.

Bang, bang! Two shots in rapid succession, fired right into her. His breath catches, heart stops.

“What was that?” Steve’s voice filters through the earpiece. “Report!”

Bucky moves the sight around, desperately searching for Tessa. He stills on blood pooling out from behind the pillar, moves the sight hesitantly, just barely, and sees the man’s seemingly lifeless arm on the ground. “I’m good,” he hears her say, not an ounce of fear to her voice.

Sam chimes in, and Bucky can see him swooping down from where he’d been perched on the roof. “Did you see that? Did anyone see that?!” He lands beside her and pulls her away through a separate doorway, fully aware that the gunshots will bring more commandos out of the compound. “That was… what did you do?”

Bucky can no longer see them, but he can almost hear the smile in her voice when she says, “Just because I’ve never fired a gun doesn’t mean I can’t use one.”

“She can redirect bullets,” Steve says sternly. “Now can we get back to business?”

Bucky, still barely breathing up on his hill, slowly moves his rifle back to the house to search for Steve. Just as he gets the sight pointed at the door, he sees Steve open it and peer slowly around the corner. There are two armed men quickly approaching from the rear. “I’ve got you,” Bucky says as he takes aim. Two quick, solid shots and they’re all clear.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x oc #Supernova #marvel fanfic #bucky imagine #marvelau #avengers fanfiction #avengersau #bucky barnes imagine

8 notes · View notes

unreachablevoice · 4 years

Text

Moving In Is What Started It All

Summary:

With Marinette’s parents being away with work, she is left in the care of one of their supposedly family friend; who just so happened to be someone who she has always been idolizing. And throw in the fact that she is having a hard time with friendships experiencing hardships, bridges being burned, and secrets unraveling and her parents unintentionally (plus being clueless with their daughter’s suffering) throwing their daughter in a pit of misery.

Note:

This fanfic will not contain Miraculous. Though, This does still contain the concept and some of the episodes of the show just cut out the parts of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Previous | Next | Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 1 |The Surprise (to be honest, not quite)|

Narrative POV

It was a typical Monday morning, those mornings where you just don't want to get away from your bed.

Where you don't want to open your eyes.

Where you don't want to get up early and go to school.

But too bad, Marinette had school today because it was Monday, the day of the week where people were the laziest. Her phone rang under her pillow, it was where she puts it so that she'll hear her alarm more clearly. Slowly, Marinette's eyes fluttered open.

She woke up.

Still being a bit sleepy, Marinette rose from her bed and slowly headed towards her bathroom to get ready for school. She took off her nightwear, getting ready to hop into her tub that's filled with hot water to the brim. She dipped her toes in, and then the rest of her body was next. Her white, pinkish porcelain skin covered in warm water stood up after a short soak. She then got out of the tub and walked towards the shower to wet her hair. Marinette put her unscented shampoo in her hair and gently massaged her scalp.

After, another drop of unscented body wash was put on a fluffy baby pink scrub. Marinette began to scrub her body lightly; gently and carefully cleaning every part of her body she could find. Again, she went to the shower and took a fast but thorough rinse, making sure that no soap was left on her body. Her feet then, gracefully walked towards the tub, ready to jump into the warm water once again. As her toes touch the warm water, a slight tingle had risen in Marinette's body, maybe it was because of the cold rinse from earlier.

After a long soak in the tub, Marinette got up, patted herself dry, and drained the water-filled tub. She wrapped herself with her towel and went out, it was a good forty-minute bath.

Opening her closet, she grabbed a nice set of neatly folded clothes. She wore something a bit different, Marinette had an oversized red sweater with long sleeves that has "Princess" written in the middle of it, in a cursive font, and white color. She partnered it off with white shorts that just covers up one-fourth of her legs. And she wore sneakers that have white shoelaces and is the same color as her top. Her hair was put in her signature hairstyle, low pigtails tied using a pair of red ribbons.

Marinette was ready to head off to school, all she needed was to eat her breakfast. She then rushed downstairs to their kitchen and greeted her parents. "Good morning Maman et Papa! What's for breakfast?"

Her father answered with a bit of an apologetic tone for her mother was too busy to even utter a single word to her. "Good morning Marinette, I'm sorry but the bakery is a bit busy right now. Would it be alright if you cook food on your own?" Tom asked.

Marinette just nodded off. Knowing that both her parents are too busy to even catch a glimpse of her, she decided to skip breakfast so that she won't be a bother to her parents in the kitchen. She went back up to her room and brushed her teeth. Then, she grabbed her readily prepared bag, which was fixed beforehand on the previous night. She then ran downstairs again and left for school.

But before she could even touch the doorknob, her parents called over to her and said, "Don't stop by anywhere today, okay? We have something important to tell you when you get home." Marinette let out a small "yes" and now, went out for school.

When she arrived, Marinette was greeted by her best friend Alya. "Morning girl! Well, you're early today. Did something good happen?" she asked, raising her eyebrow and spoke with a singing tone. Marinette giggled at the ridiculous action that Alya did.

"Nothing, really. I just, unexpectedly, woke up from my alarm." she smiled and shrugged nonchalantly.

Alya rolls her eyes at her best friend, "Whatever you say, girl. Come on, let's go. I've been standing here for like a minute or so."

Marinette threw a fit of laughter, a laugh that was not too loud but was audible and pleasant. A little giggle if you might call it. And Alya liked the sound of it. Everything about her voice, from speaking to laughter.

Alya may be a responsible, and a great blogger and reporter, but she sure can be laid back sometimes..., Marinette thought. After a few seconds of laughing, Marinette wipes the tears that were formed because of her giggles and nods to Alya's request to go to their classroom.

When they arrived, there were not that many people yet so they decided to head to their lockers to get some stuff. "Girl, what's our third period for today again?" Alya asks.

The girl shook her head, not knowing what Alya would do if she wasn't around to help her. "It's Science Alya, you kept on asking that exact same question every Monday for like a whole month now. Do you even have a copy of our class schedule?" the blue-eyed girl asks, being a bit disappointed that her best friend was being extra laid back, except for reports and blogging that is.

"Haha... Funny you asked. You see, I kinda threw it away...? I figured since it didn't have any use, I had to get rid of it." the brunette answered in a kind of a questioning and nervous voice. Marinette facepalmed and sighed. I guess it's that time of the year where Alya gets super laid back, huh? Marinette thought.

She just smiled back because she still loves her best friend even though she's like this and because it was too early in the morning for her to scold the stubborn brunette. After they grabbed their stuff, they head back to their classroom and saw Adrien already sitting on his seat. Marinette was feeling nervous, there sat Adrien, the love of her life. She was ready to do anything just to greet the blonde normally in the morning.

Adrien noticed the two best friends and gulped, he prepared himself awhile ago to greet them in case the two girls were early today. He wished Nino was with him right now. "Good morning Alya! Good morning to you too Marinette! Y-You're early today! Hehehe..." Adrien smiled and became flushed right after, he felt embarrassed that he stuttered in front of Marinette and Alya. Plus, he just laughed weirdly in front of her. Both girls greeted back, although Marinette’s was as awkward as the blonde’s.

Alya facepalmed at the actions that her two friends just made. These dorks, why don't they just get together already?! Such oblivious lovebirds... Alya sighed. She knew both of them were in love with each other, they were just too oblivious to see it. Plus, the other one thinks he's got no chance with the other one and vice versa.

A while later, Nino arrived. And now, the whole gang was there.

Alya explained to Nino how she just witnessed an irritating event. And Nino groaned, equally pissed off as Alya. The couple ships the two, they're their major OTP. But too bad, the noirette and the blonde wasn't together, crushing both the couple's dreams. They cried silently and internally, but that didn't stop them. They swore to each other that they will do everything in their will power to make their two best friends a couple too. “Operation: Project Adrienette” as they (or everyone in the classroom — sans Chloé) calls it.

Alya and Nino started dating a while back when Nino finally told Alya his feelings. In which, she returned with much glee so it was obvious that they would ship the two as much as the others would.

After a few chatting, the whole class was now there and Mlle. Bustier arrived, a bit later than usual. The class stood up and greeted her, Mlle. Bustier greeted back while gesturing for them to sit down. Their attendance was checked, surprisingly nobody was absent, and then the discussion started. The class was being taught of different things, there were some instances where someone makes a joke and everyone would laugh that they would get off-topic and forget that they're being lectured about something.

After periods of teaching, it was now lunchtime. Marinette didn't go back to her house since she decided to skip lunch, again. She decided to wait for classes to start again while playing with her phone. She texted Alya, her parents—because they asked her why she hasn't returned and she lied saying that she'll just eat outside, and someone very important.

The bell rang and everyone arrived in their classrooms, including Marinette. The gang—Marinette, Alya, Nino, and Adrien—greeted each other. As usual, they were all very happy to see each other, acting as if they haven't seen each other for years.

And another set of periods that contained thousands of knowledge was bestowed upon Marinette and her friends (*this sentence right here is a bit weird hahaha*). And after that, it was time to head home. Alya was supposed to invite Marinette and the boys to eat somewhere outside, like a café or something but Marinette refused, she told Alya what her parents told her to do and, thankfully, she understood.

"Sure girl, but promise me you'll hang out with us sometime, okay?" Alya gave with a reassuring smile, and Marinette nodded.

Sadly, even Adrien couldn't hang out today. "Sorry Alya, I also can't make it. My Father said he also has something important to tell me," he said feeling melancholy.

Adrien really wanted to hang out with his friends, but then his father had to ruin everything. Though, everything's alright since Marinette also had something important to do. Alya sighed and turned to Nino, "I guess we'll all just hang out some other time then..." Nino nodded sadly in agreement. And they all bid each other goodbye.

Since Adrien's driver was busy picking up his father from somewhere, Adrien had to walk back home. When he reached his house, his father was already in their living room, waiting for him. The older Agreste noticed him arrive and greeted him.

"Welcome back son. We have guests today so after you put your bag down, and come sit down here. I cleared your schedule for today, so let's wait for them together." his father said in a formal look but with a soft voice, smiling like a touched father who just witnessed his son pet a stray little puppy. Adrien smiled back. He ran upstairs to his bedroom, throwing his bag in his bed, too excited to even notice his stuff became scattered on the floor because of his strong throw.

He rushed back downstairs, feeling thrilled. Having a smile plastered on his face, he felt that the people coming over are going to be good news. I might not be able to hang out with Alya, Nino, and Marinette, but I still get to spend time with Father so I guess that's alright with me. Adrien thought.

◎◎◎ ◎◎◎ ◎◎◎

As Marinette arrived back to her home, her parents were waiting for her at the front door. Marinette was confused, why were her parents downstairs? "Dear, we will be gone for as long as it takes, we don't really know when the problem's going to be solved... I guess you could say it's a business about that again." her Maman sighs and shakes her head disappointingly, giving emphasize on the word ‘that’.

So it's about that huh? Wonder what's the problem this time? Marinette thought, irritated by the fact that a problem has stirred up again.

"Oh! And you will be left in the care of our old friend! He has a son your age so we think you'll like it there. So go upstairs and pack your stuff, we'll go there today." her Papa added, looking at her Maman with a small, secretive smirk plastered on his face which was also copied in her Maman’s face. Something that Marinette didn’t quite understood.

"So.... I'll be staying at your old friend's house while you're away? Why not in the usual one instead?" Marinette asks, it was weird how they seemed to have changed their usual setting.

"Dear. You know it's too far. We said you're going to school by car but we heard that you didn't want to cause a stir so you chose to walk and we don't want you to get too tired from all that walking. So we decided to ask our friend instead."

Marinette just nodded in approval and her parents told her to hurry up and pack since they'll be leaving in an hour.

Marinette did as told and went to her room. She packed her clothes that are enough for a couple of months, her sketchpad that contained some of her latest designs, her diary, and of course her sewing kit and machine. She put them all in a pink, white polka dotted luggage, she grabbed her signature pink purse and skidded downstairs.

"Maman! Papa! I'm ready!" she shouted. As she was about to take the next step on the staircase, she tripped, face planted on the floor. Marinette groaned as she slowly lifted her now crimson red face, clearly being hurt by the bad fall.

Her parents scrunched their face, showing a pitied and hurt expression for their daughter. "Geez Marinette, be careful!" her Maman said while her Papa helped her up. Marinette gave out an embarrassed laugh and accepted the given help.

They headed out to the front door and locked it. There, outside, they saw their silver car waiting for them. Their chauffeur put Marinette's luggage in the trunk and they hopped in and rode to a white mansion.

Wait a minute, this place looks familiar... Marinette thought, squinting her eyes to get a clearer vision of the house. It took a while for her to remember what the mansion reminded her of, but it eventually came.

"The Agreste Mansion??!!"

#adrienette #adrinette #ml marinette #adrien x marinette #ml #miraculous marinette #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #ml fanfic #miraculous adrien #miraculous alya #miraculous nino #marinette dupain cheng #marinette deserves better #mlb #ml adrinette #ml adrien

18 notes · View notes

cruisercrusher · 4 years

Text

Dicktiger week day 6- Bad Plan (unanticipated)

(Re upload bc tumblr messed it up the first time)

Well, Dick thought to himself with a sort of detached humour, this is one fine pickle I’ve gotten myself into.

The seconds on the bomb kept ticking down closer to zero. Dick looked back at the computer, the flashing screen, and back at the bomb. He sighed, far calmer than someone in his situation ought to be. But, if this was the end… well, this was the end.

After Dick and Tiger had gotten the information needed from Marco Guillespe to lead them to the surveillance tech he’d paid to have developed, Spyral had started dissecting it right away.

There wasn’t enough information there for them to recreate it themselves— thank goodness— but according to a series of emails that had been included in the files Dick had stolen, the code wasn’t finalized yet. Also thank goodness.

But now, after three weeks of nonstop deciding and analyzing and narrowing it down, Spyral had managed to pinpoint the location of the lab where he tech was being made.

Remote and half underground in some forgotten and barely inhabited area in rural India, Spyral was sending a small team to clear out the facility and steal the plans. So they could “make sure it didn’t get into the wrong hands”, or so they said, but Dick had little faith they wouldn’t simply replicate it for their own uses.

Spyral teetered the line between evil and technically-not-evil on a good day. This surveillance program, absurdly unethical in its invasiveness by all worldly standards, would be the exact kind of thing that would push Spyral right into the fully evil category.

That was something that Dick couldn’t let happen. The whole reason he was even with Spyral was to stop that from happening.

Pretty lucky, then, that he and Tiger were the leads on this mission.

They moved in silently, surrounding the lab on all sides. Tiger gave the signal, and the agents moved again, slipping in past the alarms and security, following Dick’s lead inside

As much as there were many aspects of being a spy that Dick did not enjoy at all, this was pretty firmly in his comfort zone. Stealth missions were familiar territory.

Of course, the next phase wasn’t very stealthy at all, but the former vigilante would cross that bridge when he got to it.

Until then, Dick snuck through the facility towards the main security office, tailed by four more agents backing him up.

Neutralizing the security guards in the office and taking control of the building was easy. They hardwired the distress alarm so it wouldn’t go off when they destroyed the lab, and Dick sent the all clear signal to Tiger and his team.

Then he was out the door and making his way to the main lab, this time not caring for stealth— now, time was of the essence. He took down security guards as he went. He left the unconscious bodies like a trail of breadcrumbs behind him, knowing Tiger’s team would be sweeping the halls and clearing everyone out of the building.

He hadn’t even needed to pull his gun yet, instead continuing to use his signature escrima sticks— he was glad Spyral let him use them.

Dick slid down the ramp leading underground towards the lab and took a running head start once the door was in sight. He aimed a flying kick and busted the door right in off its hinges with a thunderous bang.

“Sorry to crash the party,” Dick smirked even though he knew none of the shocked software engineers inside could see his facial expression, brandishing his escrimas, “but—“

He was cut off by Tiger and his team coming in behind him.

“Enough of your quips, 37.” Tiger said, then, to the room at large, “You’re all under arrest. I suggest you come quietly— struggling will be futile and no one is going to come for you if you scream.”

Tiger barely even had to point his gun at the room of scientists for them to immediately drop what they were doing and raise their hands in surrender. The other agents started filing them out of the room, and Dick went over to the main computer to get to work just as a large metal crate was wheeled in.

This lab had way more thorough security measures than Guillespe’s desktop did, that was for sure-- for one, getting into the main computer was a little more complicated than a simple password. And surely there would be more roadblocks and traps to come-- but Dick was prepared for those.

Dick focused on getting into the computer while Tiger directed his agents to wheel the crate over to near the computer system where Dick was working and open it up. Inside was one of the three bombs they were going to use to blow up the facility. He watched out of the corner of his eye as they got it set up and ready to go. Tiger walked over and watched over Dick’s shoulder as he kept working at the computer.

“You’re confident you’ll get out with the plans in time?”

To the untrained ear it just sounded like Tiger was reaffirming the mission was set to go smoothly, but Dick was no untrained ear. He smiled up at his partner.

“Aw, don’t you worry ‘bout lil’ ol’ me, Tony,” He said, saccharinely sweet, even reaching up to pat Tiger on the cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ugh,” Tiger pulled back with a groan of disgust. “Don’t call me that. Just keep your comm in and don’t do anything stupid, you idiot.”

“How could I?” Dick gestured to the computer. Beside them, the other agents finished setting up the bomb and got it online. “What could I fuck up from here?”

“I’m sure you could find plenty.” Tiger retorted, then pressed a finger to his comm to check in with the rest of his team and the bombs. “Is everything synced up?”

He must have gotten affirmatives, because then he nodded at the other agents, and they all left the room, probably to finish clearing the building while they still had time. Tiger made to follow them out, then turned back to Dick.

“Remember--” Tiger pointed a stern, bordering on menacing finger at him, “The mission protocol. If you do not have enough time to download the plans and get out, then evacuate immediately. Don’t be a self-sacrificing idiot. Understand?”

Dick laughed. “Aw, Agent 1,” he crooned. “Careful. I might start to think you care about me.”

Tiger scoffed and turned away once more. “Of course not. I am not attached to you, we are partners, not friends.”

“Partners with benefits,” Dick reminded him, just to be annoying. Tiger smacked him upside the head.

“You’re wasting time,” he grumbled, and left without another word.

As soon as Dick was alone in the room he spun around in the chair, the smile falling from his face and replaced with a more somber one.

You cared about your last partner, he thought bitterly. And look how badly I managed to fuck that up for you.

There had been too many variables, too many unknowns for him to have been able to form a solid plan on how to destroy the tech plans and make it seem like he hadn’t done it on purpose, so he was going to have to do a lot of improvising.

He glanced at the clock on the bomb. It had started counting down already-- they were on a tight schedule, Spyral could only hang around here for so long before someone noticed-- but there was still plenty of time. There should have still been plenty of time.

Dick went back to work on hacking into the computer. He had to make it seem like he at least tried, after all.

Things had been going perfectly well, everyone had been arrested and cleared out of the building on time, the bombs had been set up and were set to go off on time, all the other agents had gotten out on time, and according to Dick’s last update he would also be done and out on time. But still, a sense of unease followed Tiger as he paced just outside the blast zone at the entrance to the facility. He checked the remote detonator in his hand-- there were only two and a half minutes left on the timer before the bombs would go off. He frowned and looked back at the open entrance, then back down at the timer.

He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but he thought having Dick alone in there was a glaring flaw in the plan-- not even for logistical reasons. It was exactly as Dick teased him about earlier-- he was worried.

Dick should be out by now-- down to two minutes, and it would take that long, even running at top speed, for Dick to make it from the main lab to the entrance and out of the blast zone.

Something wasn’t right. He activated his comm and was about to demand another update when suddenly a blast door slid shut over the entrance to the facility, inside, through the quickly closing gap, a red light was flashing that had not been before, and they could distantly hear an alarm. Tiger and the other agents yelled out, running back to the entrance, but it shut before they got there.

Damnit, Tiger thought, gritting his teeth. “Damnit!” He repeated out loud. Then into his comm, “Agent 37, what is going on down there! Agent 37, respond!”

“Okay, that should be about it…” Dick muttered to himself. “Just gotta plug in and…”

He’d managed to get through all the different layers and levels of security right on schedule, all while brainstorming stories of failsafes and corrupted files, and was finally ready to enact the final step of the plan. He pulled the USB out of his pocket and plugged it into the computer-- and that was where things went wrong.

All of a sudden every screen in the whole lab turned red-- and the lights overhead turned red and started flashing, and an alarm started blaring so loud Dick had to cover his ears.

“Shit, what the fuck!” Dick yelled over the blaring siren, looking back at the main screen-- there was a message displayed in large black text over the red background. ‘UNAUTHORIZED DATA READER INSERTED. INITIATING FAILSAFE 22B-1’

“Fuck!” Dick heard a sudden heavy metal thunk behind him, and looked over his shoulder to see a secondary blast door had closed over the entrance to the lab. “Fuck!”

He ran over and started looking for a way to get the door open just as his comm crackled to life.

“Agent 37, what is going on down there! Agent 37, respond!” Tiger roared in his ear. Dick could barely hear him over the alarm.

“Uh,” Dick shouted back, still scrutinizing every inch on the seal of the door. “I think I’m trapped inside!”

“Inside the building?”

“Inside the main lab! There was a second emergency door that closed over the doorway, and I can’t get it open and I don’t have anything to break it open with!”

“Fuck!” Dick heard Tiger yell through the comms.

“Fuck!” Tiger yelled. He reared on the agent closest to him. “Get this door open!”

“Agent 1, with all due respect--” the agent replied, “There’s only one minute left before the bombs go off. Even if we could get the door open, we wouldn’t be able to get Agent 37 out in time.”

Another agent pitched in-- extremely unhelpfully, in Tiger’s opinion. “We need to clear out of the blast zone.”

Tiger snarled, and spun away from the door, following the rest of the team back out of the blast zone towards the shuttle. Blood was roaring in his ears, he could feel the tips of his fingers tingling with oncoming numbness. Dick is going to die, he thought helplessly, trying not to choke on it. He’s going to die.

“Agent-- Grays-- Dick,” Tiger said into his comm. “I-- I’m sorry… we--”

Well, Dick thought to himself with a sort of detached humour, this is one fine pickle I’ve gotten myself into.

Resigned to the knowledge he wasn’t getting out of there, Dick walked away from the door and slipped under the desk furthest from the main computer, tucking himself into a neat little ball in the tight space.

“Agent-- Grays-- Dick. I-- I’m sorry… we--”

“I know, Tiger.” Dick said. “It’s okay.”

He couldn’t see the timer on the bomb from there, but he knew there were only seconds left. He closed his eyes. “I--”

The first thing Dick felt when he woke up was confused. The second thing he felt was pain.

He cracked one eye open against the bright white lights above him, trying and probably failing to stifle a groan of extreme discomfort. It took a second for him to realize someone was there, and that someone was talking to him. He slowly, slowly and painfully, turned his head-- his neck was in some kind of semi-brace-- to the side.

Helena was standing to his right, looking over some kind of clipboard in her hand. “You sustained severe internal and external damage from both the blast and the whole building falling down on top of you,” she was saying. “Some burns, mostly lacerations, broken bones and damaged organs. Both your legs are broken-- your right tibia and your left femur, and so is your collarbone and your left humerus. Several ribs. We had to do extensive surgery on your knee, it was all kinds of messed up. Your lungs were severely damaged, one punctured by a rib. Your stomach was also damaged, but not punctured, and you can thank God that your spine is still completely intact.”

She finished her speech, setting the clipboard aside and finally actually looking Dick in the eye. “But despite all that, somehow, you’re expected to make a full recovery. Welcome back to the land of the living, 37.”

There was a hint of a smile in her eye. Dick squinted at her, still struggling to comprehend pretty much everything. All of that went completely unprocessed. “...Huh?” His throat and tongue both felt like sandpaper.

Helena blinked, and looked at her watch. “Oh, your painkillers are probably worn off by now,” She said. “I’ll give you another dose.”

“N--no, I don’t need--” Dick tried to protest on instinct, but the second he tried to move sparks of pain went rocketing up and down his entire body, and he couldn’t stifle his cry of pain this time. Helena nodded.

“I’m giving you another dose.”

Dick watched, detached and still confused, as she administered the painkillers. “So… I’m not dead?”

Helena couldn’t help her smile this time. “No, you’re not dead,” she laughed. “You have the big guy over here to thank for that.”

She pointed towards the other side of the bed, (Dick only just then registered he was in a hospital bed in a private room in the medbay) and Dick-- slowly-- turned his head to look. To his shock, slumped over in the hard plastic chair and fast asleep, was Tiger.

“You have no idea how many agents’ heads he almost bit off demanding we dig you out of there.” Helena continued. “He yelled at me, too, when you got back. A lot. The man has balls of steel. And a soft spot for you, it would seem.”

This time her smile was a little softer, a little indulgent. “I understand the feeling. He refused to go and rest pretty much the entire time you were in surgery-- we could hardly even get him to sit down. He didn’t crash until it was confirmed, with certainty, that you were stable and going to pull through.”

Dick looked back at Tiger with no small amount of wonderment in his eyes. Helena reached down and patted his undamaged shoulder. “Get some more rest, now. I’ll save your debriefing for until you’re a little more lucid.”

With that she turned on her sharp heel and stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Dick watched her go and then turned his head again (moving was easier now that the meds were kicking in) to rest his gaze on Tiger’s sleeping form. He tried to remember if he had ever actually seen Tiger sleep before.

Tiger ducked and sheilded his eyes on instinct when the building exploded, despite knowing they were out of range of debris. He stared at the site as the explosions continued to light up the night sky and tear the building apart, the ground around it ripping up and caving in on itself, knowing and not caring about the openly distraught expression that was surely on his face.

Everyone else watched in silence, and Tiger fought the urge to fall to his knees in the sand.

Dick… no…

No.

Suddenly Tiger face hardened and he clenched his fists, turning back to his team before the dust had even settled.

“Agent 14,” He snapped. “Call in backup, we’re going to need debris removal hardware and a full search team.”

Lucky for everyone around, the agent didn’t protest or question him, just ducked immediately into the shuttle to contact HQ. Tiger turned back to the destroyed facility, determination pulling the lines of his body stiff like stone.

I’m not losing another partner tonight, he thought. I refuse.

I am not losing him.

Tiger jolted awake, jerking in the chair and almost punching himself in the face when the hand he’d propped his cheek on slipped. He shook his head, trying to clear it of lingering bad memories that had chased him into sleep, and caught his eye on movement from the hospital bed before him.

Dick was awake, eyes wide open and slowly trying to reach towards him with his-- mostly-- uninjured arm--

Dick was awake!!!

He almost fell out of his chair, spared a second to feel embarrassed by his displays of clumsiness, and grabbed Dick’s hand out of the air, placing it back at the man’s side on the bed.

“Grayson--” Tiger resisted stuttering when Dick didn’t let him retract his hand, his grip surprisingly strong for someone who had just survived an explosion. “You-- you… idiot.”

He seethed suddenly. “Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid! Didn’t I give you clear and strict orders not to--” He cut himself off when he saw Dick start to smile, then smile wider, then start to laugh.

It was a soft and raspy thing, Dick’s voice rough from lack of use in the days he had remained unconscious and sedated, by no objective terms should it have been beautiful in any way--

And yet--

And yet…

Tiger looked away. “Stop that,” He muttered. “Stop it. You could have died. You were going to die. You-- I--”

Words failed him, and Dick’s expression softened. “Sorry,” he said. Not teasing. Not poking fun at anything. Just genuinely apologetic for making Tiger worried, for making Tiger upset. Tch. As if it had actually been his fault at all… no one had predicted the lab would seal itself.

“Idiot,” Tiger said, squeezing Dick’s hand before he could think better of it. It was the only thing he could think to say. Dick grinned again.

“Pretty badass that you yelled at Helena,” he said, and Tiger blinked-- how did he know about that?-- “And you… well, you saved my life. Again. That’s two I owe you now, right? I should say thank you.”

Tiger looked down, finally tuggung his hand free of Dick’s-- and immediately missed the contact. “Idiot,” he muttered again. “You don’t owe me anything. Now get some more rest.” He stood from the chair, and Dick obediently settled back into the pillows.

Tiger walked around the bed towards the door, and made to leave, but paused despite himself in the open doorway. “I’m… glad you’re alright, Dick.” He whispered, unsure if Dick would even hear it. Then he flicked the light off and left, closing the door behind him. He didn’t look back.

No matter how badly he wanted to.

#dicktigerweek2020 #dicktigerweek #dicktiger #dick grayson #tiger king of kandahar #writing #my writing #fic #my fic #dc #dc comics

35 notes · View notes