#And her mask would get her dismissed out of hand so his own mask would never come off.

[inkperch]

Spite-born WiP-

Yes this ship does come from me absolutely despising the people who say Scara and Furina have a lot in common and/or ship them when the puPPET IS RIGHT THERE-

[reidsworld]

Patience Wears Thin

Summary: Logan’s flirty behaviour has you thinking he’s just being sarcastic. But when his attitude changes and his grumpiness intensifies, leading to him avoiding you, you confront him, only for him to finally snap. Based on this request.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Reader’s oblivious, mild language, sexual tension, slight jealous!logan, making out, hickeys, oral sex(m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, (semi) public sex (you’ll see what I mean), no use of Y/N, pet names (darlin’) — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!

Word Count: 2.9k

Mars speaks… It's been a while since I’ve posted but here we are!! Thank you for the request, this was kinda tough for me to write and didn’t really turn out how I wanted it but I hope it meets your expectations! The reader is a mutant but her powers aren’t specified. Any and all feedback is always appreciated!

Masterlist

You were used to Logan’s gruffness, but lately, something had changed. At first, it was little things—him hanging around more often, offering to help with tasks that didn’t need his strength, or staying close by even when you were just making coffee. You noticed the way his hand would brush against yours when passing you something or how he’d rest his hand on your shoulder a little longer than necessary. Despite all of his actions, he was still cold around you, seemingly never able to escape his own grumpiness.

One evening, as you were getting ready for a date, Logan wandered by your room. His mood was clearly off as he knocked leaned against your door frame, his eyes closed and head tilted down. When you greeted him, he slowly looked you up and down. His expression shifted from frustration to shock as he took in how stunning you looked.

“Damn,” Logan said, his voice cold and deep, if you didn’t know him, you would’ve sworn he hated you. “You look incredible. Got a big night planned?”

You glanced up from the mirror, surprised by his comments. “Oh, I have a date tonight,” you replied with a smile, still adjusting your dress.

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly as he processed your words. “A date, huh?”

“Yep,” you said, focusing on your reflection. “I’m just trying to pick the right outfit.”

He pushed himself off the door frame, his gaze still fixed on you. “You don’t need to be worried about impressing anyone tonight, darlin’. Trust me, you look incredible.”

You laughed, thinking he was just being his usual flirtatious self. “Thanks, Logan. But it’s just dinner. Nothing too serious.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he took a step back, his demeanour now distant. “Right. Well, have fun.”

You smiled at him, not noticing the shift in his attitude. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

As you left for your date, Logan watched you go, his face a mask of frustration and disappointment. The knowledge that you were going out with someone else hit him hard, and his mood darkened.

You were left puzzled by his sudden change in behaviour. However, in Logan’s mind, if you were going out with someone else, you clearly didn’t want him, so why should he put effort into a losing game?

But you didn’t think much of his compliments, chalking it up to Logan trying to be supportive. Until one day, you noticed something different—he started avoiding you.

It began with him skipping out on the usual training sessions you shared. Then, he stopped joining you for movie nights in the common room, always coming up with a vague excuse that didn’t make sense. He’d disappear for hours, not even leaving a trace of his familiar scent behind. The final straw was when he didn’t show up for your breakfast dates (well… that’s what they were to him), a ritual he never missed. It was confusing, and you couldn’t figure out what had changed.

You asked him once, in passing, if something was wrong. His answer was clipped, dismissive. “Nothin’ for you to worry about, darlin’.”

But you were worried. His behaviour was off, and no matter how much you replayed your interactions in your mind, you couldn’t pinpoint what had triggered this sudden shift.

A few days later, you walked into the kitchen to find Logan grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Relief washed over you—this was the first time you’d seen him in days without him immediately bolting. But when you greeted him, he barely grunted in response, not meeting your eyes.

“Logan, seriously,” you said, trying to sound casual but unable to keep the concern out of your voice. “What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me.”

His jaw clenched, and he didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the bottle in his hand. “Just been busy.”

“Busy?” You frowned, crossing your arms. “Too busy to even say hello?”

He looked up at you then, his eyes hard. “Yeah, busy. I don’t have time for games, alright?”

“Games?” you echoed, thrown off by the accusation. “What are you talking about? I’m not playing any games, Logan.”

He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head as he pushed past you, brushing your shoulder as he went. “Forget it.”

That was it? He was clearly upset, but he wouldn’t talk to you about it. It didn’t make sense. You stood there, staring at the spot where he’d just been, confusion and hurt swirling inside you. Logan was the last person you expected to act like this—especially toward you.

A few more days passed, and the tension between you only grew. Logan’s avoidance became more blatant, and every time you tried to approach him, he’d find a way to leave before you could say anything. You started to wonder if you’d done something to upset him, but every time you asked, he brushed you off with a noncommittal grunt or a sarcastic remark.

It was driving you crazy.

Now you were sitting alone in the common room, you and Logan somehow being the only two in the mansion with everyone else out on various missions and overnight school trips. As you attempted to watch a movie to take your mind off things, Logan’s absence gnawed at you. He was always here for movie nights, even if he’d just sit silently in the corner. The emptiness of his usual spot was glaring, a constant reminder that something had shifted between you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to confront him, to find out what the hell was going on.

When you walked into the gym, your eyes immediately found Logan, his muscular form sitting on a raised bench, sweat glistening on his skin. He didn’t acknowledge your presence, focusing on his workout with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice firmer than you felt.

He paused, setting the dumbbells down with a heavy thud before finally looking at you. “What?”

“What is your problem?” you demanded, stepping closer, not giving him a chance to escape this time. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague, and I want to know why.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off his face. “Maybe I’m just tired of tryin’,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Trying what?” You crossed your arms, frustration boiling over. “Logan, you’re not making any sense. You’ve been acting like I did something wrong, but I don’t even know what that is!”

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, maybe? But there was something else too, something deeper that made your heart race.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he growled, stepping closer to you, his presence overwhelming.

“Get what?” you shot back, refusing to back down even though his proximity was making it hard to think straight.

Logan huffed, his hand running through his hair in a rare display of frustration. “I’ve been tryin’ to show you, but you’re too damn blind to see it.”

“Show me what?” You were at your wit’s end, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

His eyes bore into yours, intense and unyielding. “That I want you, darlin’. I’ve wanted you for a long damn time, and I’m sick of you not seein’ it.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence. This was the last thing you expected him to say. Logan—gruff, no-nonsense Logan—wanted you? The thought was so far from anything you’d ever imagined that you couldn’t even process it.

“You…you want me?” you finally managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the frustration in his eyes palpable. “I’ve been tryin’ to show ya, but you keep thinkin’ I’m just bein’ a grumpy bastard.”

You blinked, completely floored by his confession. “Logan, I…I didn’t know. I thought…”

“Thought I was messin’ with ya?” he finished for you, his voice rough, almost bitter. “That’s why I’ve been avoidin’ ya—figured if you couldn’t see it by now, I was just wastin’ my time.”

The weight of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. You hadn’t seen it, not because you didn’t want to, but because the idea that Logan could feel that way about you seemed impossible. And now, standing here, with him staring at you like you were the only person in the world, you realised how wrong you’d been.

“Logan, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “I didn’t know. I never thought…”

“Don’t apologise,” he cut you off, his voice softer now, but still edged with frustration. “I’m just done waitin’, darlin’. I can’t keep doin’ this—dancin’ around it, hopin’ you’ll figure it out.”

You took a shaky breath, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to think. “What do you want, Logan?”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that made your knees weak. “You, darlin’. I’ve always wanted you.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, rough and demanding, as if he was trying to make up for all the time lost in that one kiss. The force of it stole your breath, your hands automatically reaching up to clutch his shoulders as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

Logan’s grip on you tightened, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing your lips until you parted them, letting him in. The taste of him—smoke, whiskey, and something unmistakably Logan—filled your senses, making your head spin.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide with desire. “Still think I’m jokin’?”

You shook your head, your heart racing, your thoughts scattered. “No,” you breathed out.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours before he started kissing his way down your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. “’Cause I’m gonna show you exactly how much I want you.”

His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin before he bit down gently, making you gasp. Your hands fisted in his shirt, needing something to hold on to as his hands moved to your thighs, lifting you and moving to sit on the bench. Your legs desperately straddled him, pulling him closer.

Logan’s hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist, skimming up your ribs, his touch igniting a fire in you that you hadn’t realised was there. He was careful, almost reverent, despite the rough edge to his movements, as if he was holding himself back from completely losing control.

When his hands found your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric of your bra, you arched into him, a whimper escaping your lips. He growled, the sound low and primal, as his mouth found yours again, his kiss fierce and demanding.

You could feel the hardness of him pressing against your core, the friction sending waves of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but rock your hips against him, seeking more.

Logan’s response was immediate, his hands gripping your hips as you ground against him, his mouth devouring yours as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You were lost in the sensation, in the heat and the intensity of him, and it was all you could do to hold on.

Just when you thought you might lose yourself completely, Logan pulled back, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild as he looked up at you. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his voice strained, as if it was taking everything in him to hold back. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. You shook your head, your voice breathless as you whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Logan let out a low, feral sound, his lips crashing against yours again as he ripped off your shirt. His patience had worn thin, and now there was no turning back. As your lips roughly moulded together, tongues battling for dominance, your hands slid under his tank-top, brushing over his abs. You pulled away, taking off his shirt, jaw dropping at the sight of his glistening body from the sweat of his workout.

“Holy shit, you should be shirtless more often…”

He didn’t respond, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into another kiss. Your hands trailed down his chest, fingers sliding down his happy trail. Climbing off him, you dropped down to your knees in front of him. He raised his hips as you pulled down his sweatpants and boxers, his dick springing out and slapping against his stomach.

You didn’t give him time to process what was happening as you immediately licked a stripe up his dick before taking the head into your mouth, tongue brushing against the tip, making him throw his head back against the bench and groan.

Your hands gently massaged his balls as your mouth focused on the head of his cock, gently sucking as his hand moved to gather your hair into a make-shift ponytail. You lowered your head, taking more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks.

Looking up through your lashes, your eyes met with his while you began to move your head up and down faster, your hands touching whatever couldn’t fit into your mouth. You continued this until your jaw was aching and his dick was twitching in your mouth.

He began to gently thrust into your mouth, making you gag as he hit the back of your throat. One of your hands slid down into your shorts, rubbing your clit before pushing a finger into your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, so good darlin’,” he grunted as you moaned around him, slipping another finger into yourself.

“If you don’t stop now, m’gonna cum, wanna feel you ‘round me.”

He pulled you off of him, revelling in your dishevelled appearance. You stood up, and pulled off your shorts and panties. You reached behind you, unclipping your bra, letting it slide off your body. His eyes trailed up and down your body admiring you. You bit your lip at the way his eyes shined with something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on but you never wanted him to stop looking at you like that.

You silently moved to straddle him, pulling him into a slow kiss as your bare core grinded against his cock. One of his hands wrapped around you, trailing up and down your back as you both sat there, grinding against each other. His other hand reached down and grabbed your hip.

You raised your hips as you reached for his cock, positioning at your entrance before slowly sinking down onto him. You leaned forward and he fell back against the bench and buried your face in his neck, letting out a simultaneous moan as you stretched around him. You stayed still, adjusting to his size, panting into his neck, making him harder than he thought possible.

Once you were ready, you slowly raised your hips before sinking back down onto him. His hands moved to grip your hips as you began to ride him, gently helping you. You kissed him roughly, moaning into his mouth as his hips thrust up to meet yours.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the loud moans and groans coming out of your mouths. In that moment, neither of you cared where you were— that there was a chance someone could easily walk in on you even though it was just the two of you in the mansion. All you two cared about was the feeling of him inside of you and how you wrapped so tightly around him.

He let out a rough groan as your lips met his neck, biting into it when his hips met yours. Bouncing on his dick, you clenched around him, making him let out an almost feral sound.

“Oh fuck don’t stop, wrapped so tightly ‘round me, s’like you were made for me.”

“‘M all yours, Lo.”

“Shoulda never avoided you, shoulda just manned up and kissed you, ‘stead of waiting ‘round for you to realise that I want you.”

If you weren’t so desperate for him, you would’ve laughed but all you could do was moan and nod into his neck.

“‘M gonna cum, Lo.”

“Give it to me, darlin’.”

His hand reached to roughly circle your clit, sending you over the edge. You moaned out as a feeling of ecstasy overcame you and your vision went white. Your body slumped against his but his thrusts were relentless. As they got sloppier, you could feel his dick twitch inside of you, making you moan.

“I’m so close, need to cum inside you.”

His mouth pressed against your neck, marking you like a blank canvas for everyone to see later. He pounded up into you, his hand still rubbing your clit causing you to cum for a second time. You tightened around him, making him shoot his cum deep inside you.

His thrusts slowed, fucking you through it as you both panted, trying to catch your breath. His movements came to a stop and he titled his head back, letting out a deep breath.

You raised your head, looking into his eyes and laughing,

“I can’t believe I could’ve had this so much sooner if I wasn’t so obvious.”

Mars speaks… (again) woah that got… 𝓯��𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

Tags… @pastelpinkflowerlife

[mtchacffinz]

what a blunder!

prompt!!! Arlecchino personally deals with your unwanted marriage proposal in her own unique way.

content!!! fem!reader x arlecchino, SFW, impatient arlecchino, violence mentioned, marriage proposal, possessive arlecchino

note!!! "Farlahr" is a made up character for the sake of this ficlet. The Doctor here is NOT Dottore. something about arlecchino tweaking and losing a few screws is so hot to me so here you go girls this one is for my strap on arlecchino riders 🙏 im so normal

"He told me that if I consider him as my betrothed, I would be set for life." You smile up at her, albeit nervous. "Huh? Oh— Where are you going?"

Long empty corridors could carry even the faintest whispers. The moon peeks from the shadows, it's serene light softly caressing the harbingers figure— still, quiet, tensed. Her heels clang echoing all throughout the corridor, her gaze that was pinned straight forward seemed to pierce through the thick air surrounding the atmosphere.

Long empty corridors could carry even the faintest whispers, and Arlecchino failed to notice she started to hear her uneven breathing.

Peculiar. Truly peculiar..

"Right this way, Ma'am." Arlecchino set her gaze towards the head butler, greeted with the sight of a tensed figure in return. The head butler winces, stammering on his words. Was she glaring? She doesn't know. That's not important. She's needs to get through the door. "I- I will inform the Master of your arrival—"

"That will not be necessary." Her sultry voice cut through his words. "We have been long collaborators, a reunion shan't wait too long."

Her monochromatic figure heaves a soft breath, looking blankly towards the excessively pretentious door, it's sheer size looming over Arlecchino's figure— the entrance towards an office.

Eloquent and graceful, although her lips were painted with a polite smile, the person before her couldn't tell if the crimson woman was brewing something from within. The Knave was calculative and perceptive, an expert at keeping herself cold despite the scorching flames imbedded within her. The man kept his gaze at the floor, lacking the courage to even contest her gaze.

Those eyes, terrifying crimson hued crosses that could mess with your head tried to dare his optics to even catch a small gaze. Staring into them was ill advised indeed. The butler knew this for his heart was racing, and what added to the cold sweat undeniably trickling in his jaw was that Arlecchino stood unnervingly still— as if contemplating something under deep thought. Before anything could be done, Arlecchino firmly gripped the mansion door's handles in a few momemts, swinging it open with great force.

There had always been an air of nobility in Arlecchino's presence. As soon as she stepped foot into Farlahr's office, the doctor stood up in shock, startled.

"Please, excuse my abrupt visit, Doctor." Arlecchino deliberately spat out the title, a composed smile tugged at her lips. Farlahr's eyes widen at the sight of her monochromatic elegance painting his mansion floors with her presence.

"You're not too busy, I presume? Do let us catch up, I insist— I truly do." It was way beyond the wee hours of the night, the breeze was cold and unforgiving, and the doctor could feel it crawling up his spine. The Harbingers assertive words leave no room for arguments. As if there was an invisible wind from the room, forcing every bit of his movements to bend at her own will.

"I admit that it's quite off fashion to visit at this hour empty handed, Lord Harbinger." The man chuckled in an attempt to disperse the growing tension in the air. He swings his hands— decorated with glimmering stones to mask his nervousness. The woman quickly responded.

"I won't be empty handed for long."

"Pardon, Lord Harbinger?"

Arlecchino doesn't clarify any further, but directs her unwavering gaze to him. Dark, piercing. It was like a warning, a ticking bomb for the doctor to diffuse except there seemed to be no signs of dismissal any time soon.

His crisp smile quickly dropped.

"...I merely jest." Farlahr quickly followed up, as if it was the most amusing joke in the world. Arlecchino doesn't seem to share the same opinion, as her expression stood the same. Whatever The Knave came here for, he doesn't know just yet. And if he fails to catch on, Farlahr just might lose something. His head fell from the deep crevices of his panicked mind falling into one topic he suddenly could bring up as distraction.

With their history of collaborative partnership of 13 years, Arlecchino didn't have a single problem in regards to the business and it's contributions to the House of Hearth. Arlecchino didn't care for his obsessions with women and adulterous activities, the poised lady simply stood her ground due the information the Doctor withheld about the history of medical fallacies and treatments alike.

Arlecchino's rigid gaze quickly looked relaxed, unbothered. Her voice had voice lowered and her arms and legs sit crossed.

"I came here to offer a deal."

"And that is?"

It was no surprise to Arlecchino that Farlahr was a worldly man. Riches to riches, he has re-married at least three times and he's proud of that. Arlecchino didn't bother to comprehend his thought process. She believes that his brain was processed waste ideally converged with multiple nerves. His body reeked of metals, teeth gleaming brightly with silver. She kind of wishes she could rip it all out of his jaw..

"You will retract your marriage proposal." Arlecchino starts, "And I say this, your wealth, status, and people— all safeguarded as per usual."

Farlahr was taken aback by the sudden demand. He doesn't know if her statement stemmed from concern for his safety or a wake up call to his unethical hobbies. The opportunist in him say the opposite, it says that maybe you are some sort of leverage in this world— so valuable that even the 4th Harbinger of then fatui would personally come and abolish his plans of marrying you.

But the curiosity of his consciousness gnaws it's way out of his lips, asking one particular question.

"You disapprove of my wife and I?"

How disgusting. Utterly repulsive. Its almost an offense to your whole existence to be called a wife to someone as repugnant as him. The monochromatic grace managed to suppress her disgust by responding in a more poignant tone.

"Ah, forgive me." Arlecchino very slowly tilts her head, eyes unblinking. She effortlessly stands up from her seat, her coat elegantly swaying with her refined and poised movements, breath light as a feather— a shadow cast on her face.

"But I don't disapprove of your proposal, pig." In a moment, there was a switch in her tone. Her pointed high heels shoes dragged themselves against the expensive velvet carpet, dreaming to at least peirce through the back of a certain crisp, fragile cranium. With every step closer Arlecchino gets, the more Farlahr's heart pounds in his chest, daring to jump off.

She raises a hand and firmly places them on his shoulder.

"...I forbid it."

Serenity was all that could be described throughout the night. And you, as a person of idle leisure in the evening, appreciated the tranquil breeze that brush past your cheek. A soft sigh escapes your lips, falling into deep thought. What is there to do? With the last 28 hours you were given to decide on an answer, you're left quite bewildered. Tapping your fingernails on the terrace by muscle memory, your train of thought was disturbed when you head familiar foot steps behind you.

You turn around to see a sight of dignified beauty, standing before your sleepless eyes. Arlecchino's presence, despite the abruption, quickly calmed your disgruntled nerves down.

But something was wrong. Before you could ask about the residual crimson stains on her cheek and darkened hands, she speaks in a tone softer than any voice you've heard her.

"If I may ask, my dove, could you marry someone with an absent ring finger?"

Wow. What a random question. Completely uncalled for. Maybe the ungodly hours of the night got to her? Despite the conspiracies flowing through your mind, you try hard to think of an answer.

"Hmm. I should rephrase that. Could you marry a man with no fingers?" Arlecchino ponders out loud, "Despite a marriage contract, you must need a ring to put on his finger, right? Quite a shame, really.."

"No, I don't think so. Wedding rings are to be put on ring fingers, if I recall correctly."

"That's a relief." You raise a brow, completely lost. You gaze at Arlecchino, a subtle triumphant look paints her expression, her fingers play around with her numerous rings that sit comfortably on her fingers. Taking one out, she approaches your figure.

"May I embrace you, my lady?" Suddenly, the Harbingers sultry voice was sullen, sulking. My, what's up with this woman? A moment ago she shows up with (possibly) blood around her person, and now she's asking for sudden physical contact? After just a consonant of the reply 'Yes' was uttered, Arlecchino quickly took you in her arms, embracing you deeply— taking in your presence wholely.

"How I wish I could rid you the scent of that swine." She loosens her grip for a moment, putting a stray hair strand behind your ear. All this feels like a fever dream.. you remember that just mere hours ago, Arlecchino's face looked grim and unpleasant when she received news of your sudden proposal— her reaction left you perplexed. You thought it would be a good idea since Farlahr was a good business partner of hers, why the grim expression?

You pat her back comfortingly. Before you could say anything, Arlecchino quickly lets go of you, standing perfectly straight. Her face once again unreadable— she speaks in a calm and collected manner.

"That fool said that if you'd marry him, you would be set for life." She recounts, almost irritated. Arlecchino's crimson crosses gaze was away from you, but hands traced their way back to your arms, carefully holding them in hers. Her thumbs brush the back of your hands affectionately, with tenderness and care in her voice. Arlecchino's knee made contact with the floor, and her hands delicately handled yours as if they were the most precious thing in the world.

"You must marry me. All he could offer you, I could provide tenfold."

All of the sudden, the wind started to pick up, and the ethereal lady before you never looked so grand. Her monochromatic hair danced with the cool breeze, and her crimson eyes looked from above, transfixed on your figure. Your throat felt like there was too many words you could spit out in one go, and you were terrified that you'd ruin the atmosphere by stammering over your words.

"Marry me so you are mine to gratify. This is a promise I can keep, unlike that farce. Even at your grave, my everlasting flames will be buried with you in the dirt where you lay— in turn that you will never freeze from the cold kiss of death." The Harbinger adds, tenderly placing a peck on your knuckles. Her gaze could contest even the eyes of Archons at this very moment, possessing full confidence that upholds the standards of her capabilities.

Compared to her, what could a limbless man offer you?

my dumbass just woke up and decided to edit it a bit cus I was writing this at like, 3AM LMAOO, hello (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) its me again, just dipping my toes in the water to see if I could still write 🤔

[cece693]

Personal Bodyguard

pairing: tony stark x male reader tags: you can't tell me Tony isn't bi or at least experimented in his youth, you become his personal bodyguard after the cave fiasco and iron man revelation, enemies-to-friends-to lovers, Tony really needs a hug, reader is set to become his friend (and more), military background

You’re used to working in tense environments. The military taught you that complacency is death and that vigilance is survival. You’ve seen your fair share of conflict, learned to read people and situations at a glance. That’s probably why Pepper Potts sought you out after Tony Stark’s dramatic return from Afghanistan. She looked you up and down with calculating eyes, recognized a bit of herself in your “don’t mess with me” attitude, and decided on the spot—you were the best candidate to protect Tony Stark from himself, and from the new, dangerous world he was plunging into.

Tony’s penthouse overlooks the Malibu coastline, the sun reflecting off the ocean waves and onto polished floors. There he stands—fresh from the workshop, grease on his tank top and that lopsided grin that only half-masks the shadows under his eyes. He spots you, sizes you up, and crosses his arms. “Pep, this is the solution you found?” Tony gestures at you dismissively. “A glorified babysitter?”

Pepper forces a polite smile. “A bodyguard, Tony.” You don’t rise to his bait. The best reaction here is none at all—just a stony expression. Let him get it out of his system. He cocks an eyebrow at your silence, clearly expecting some snark in return.

“Fine,” he says, turning on his heel. “Follow me. Or don’t. Whatever." Pepper shakes her head apologetically as she goes to leave. Before she goes, she places a hand on your shoulder, giving you an unspoken good luck. You already know you’ll need it.

Tony tries his best to make your life difficult. He’ll disappear from his home at odd hours, use his snark to try and aggravate you, or do something reckless like attempt a suit flight test above the Malibu cliffs. However, you're never that far behind and your patience is endless. One night, he’s just touched down too hard in the Mark II, crashing through his garage and damaging several of his expensive cars. You rush in, weapon at the ready, scanning for threats.

“Relax,” Tony says, struggling to peel off the broken armor. “It’s just me doing some, uh, routine test improvements.” You exhale slowly, then calmly dismantle your sidearm. No threats—except the one Tony poses to himself.

“You know,” you say eventually, picking up a piece of the shattered gauntlet, “if you keep messing around with these half-finished upgrades, eventually I won’t just be your bodyguard. I’ll be the one scraping you off the ground.”

Tony stares at you, momentarily struck by the genuine concern in your voice, before clearing his throat. “Point taken,” he mutters, but for the first time, he seems less antagonistic—and almost thankful.

The slow thaw between you and Tony continues. He starts sharing details of the Iron Man suit, half to show off and half because he’s realized you’re more at ease when you know everything that’s going on. You learn that behind the smug exterior, Tony is propelled by guilt, determination, and a heart that aches to do genuine good. And for your part, despite your initial refusal to get personally involved, you find yourself caring about him—protecting him matters, but so does understanding him.

Late nights often find the two of you in the workshop. Tony’s hyper-focused on some new repulser tech while you stand guard, occasionally offering your own insight to whatever he was working on. You’d never guess Tony would be the type to listen, but he does, especially when your suggestions keep him from blowing up half the lab. He’ll acknowledge your tips with a half-smile, or a nod that says more than words.

Pepper noticed the shift. She’d smile at you in passing, relief evident in her eyes. She once patted your shoulder and said, “You’re good for him. He trusts you, and that’s not something I say lightly.” Rhodey, Tony’s closest friend, warmed up to you fast. He appreciated having another military mind around. When Tony got lost in his own arrogance, Rhodey and you would share an exasperated look.

Then everything changes again when Tony becomes an Avenger. Suddenly, it’s not just small-scale threats or paparazzi you have to worry about—it’s cosmic forces, alien invasions, global catastrophes. You do your best to keep Tony safe in these new, unpredictable situations, but it’s a challenge.

The Avengers team is a powder keg of personalities. Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, openly clashes with Tony over leadership and moral ideals. You see how the tension weighs on Tony; he deflects with sarcasm, but you’ve come to know the signs of when he’s hurting.

One night at the tower, you’re standing off to the side while Tony and Steve butt heads—again. "Take away the armor," Steve says, voice steely, "and what are you?" The words hang in the air. Tony’s jaw tightens, and you can practically see his heart sink. It’s a cheap shot. And it’s wrong. You step forward before Tony can snap back with a trademark insult. There’s a calm coolness in your voice, the kind that hushes even the Captain.

“Tony Stark is the mind that built that suit,” you say evenly. “He’s the one who sees solutions where everyone else sees dead ends. If you take away the armor, you’ve still got the man who pulled himself out of a cave and saved his own life with scrap metal—because that’s who he is. He’s more than the suit, Rogers, and you know it.”

Steve meets your gaze and steps forward, but you aren’t intimidated. There were lines you simply wouldn’t let him cross, not tonight, not after he delivered that cheap shot at Tony without even knowing him. You can see Tony stiffen beside you, as if ready to jump in—or bolt. But you’re not about to let Steve’s words cut him down.

“Think very carefully about what you say next, Rogers,” you warn, voice low and steady. “Because none of you would be here—Avengers, Stark Tower, anything—if it weren’t for this man. Armor or no armor.”

For a split second, you can feel everyone’s eyes on you. Clint shifts uneasily near the back, Natasha straightens from her casual lean against the wall, and even Bruce lifts his head from the tablet he’s been absorbed in. Steve’s jaw tightens; he clearly didn’t expect you to stand your ground so bluntly—and you don’t care. Your top priority is Tony’s well-being, not theirs. With nothing more to say, you turn on your heel and head for the workshop.

By the time you reach the corridor leading to Tony’s private workspace, the echo of your own footsteps has become a steady, reassuring beat. Only then do you register the soft tread following behind you. He’s close—but conspicuously silent, which is out of character for a man who thrives on quips and banter.

“Sir, you have arrived at the workshop,” Jarvis’s polite voice chimes overhead, and the door slides open with a hiss.

You step inside and finally turn around. Tony lingers just past the threshold, his eyes lowered. His silence seems almost heavy, like he’s struggling to find the right words. “I never asked you to defend me,” he murmurs. “But you…you did. Why?” The workshop’s lights glow softly, illuminating half-built armor pieces and scattered blueprints. You let the sound of humming machinery fill the short gap before you speak.

“Because you needed someone to,” you say simply, though your voice carries an undercurrent of heat—residual frustration from your confrontation with Steve. “And because I wanted to.”

Tony’s gaze flickers upward—he looks uncertain, almost disarmed. “I can handle myself,” he says, though he doesn’t quite meet your eyes. It’s a weak protest, more habit than conviction.

You exhale, crossing your arms. “I know you can. Doesn’t mean you have to face it alone. Especially when the hits are coming from the people supposed to have your back.”

“You caught me off guard,” he admits, voice low, “standing up for me like that. Especially in front of the team.”

You stand your ground, letting the seriousness of the moment settle in. “You act like I never stand up for you.”

A wry huff of laughter escapes him. “Not the same way. Usually, you’re telling me not to blow up half my lab or reminding me to eat something other than coffee. This time you had my back when it counted.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” you ask, tilting your head. “I’m your bodyguard, Mr. Stark. That means I protect you—against outside threats and inside threats too. Even if that threat’s a super soldier with a knack for colorful speeches.”

“So that’s it?” he asks, a thin note of vulnerability in his tone. “You did it because it’s your job?” You take in his tense posture—shoulders rigid, hand flexing at his side. Tony’s never been good at showing his more vulnerable edges. Carefully, you move closer, letting your voice soften.

“Let’s get one thing straight. Defending you isn’t just me ‘clocking in.’ I do it because I care. Because I know you’re more than just the suit, no matter what Steve says.” Tony looks up at you in surprise, but you're not done yet. "If this was just part of my job, I wouldn't be spending all my free time down here with you. I would've jumped at the chance to quit when you offered it on a silver platter."

Tony cracks a half-smile, remembering when he outright tried to bribe you to quit, and you surprisingly rejected his offer. The money could've set you for life, supported you and a family if you so desired, but you simply shook your head and informed him about a meeting he had in the morning.

Tony moves closer, so close you can count the faint freckles along his cheekbones. “I hated the idea of having a bodyguard,” Tony admits, voice low. “But I’ve come to realize how much I needed you.” Your heart stutters, unsure of how to respond. Tony swallows thickly, looking uncharacteristically unsure. There’s no witty remark, no deflecting sarcasm. It’s just him, raw and honest, baring feelings you never thought he’d share.

“You’ve become one of the closest people in my life,” he continues. “I trust you in ways I don’t trust anyone else. Hell, Pepper might be the only other person who gets me anywhere close to this.” He hesitates, eyes flicking to your lips before returning to your gaze. “And…I’ve been trying to figure out how to say I might—well—I feel something for you.”

Your stomach flips, warmth blooming in your chest. There’s something surreal about this: Tony Stark, the man who refused to even acknowledge your presence at first, now openly admitting he cares—that he wants something more than just having you as security detail.

A ghost of a smile curves your lips. “I might feel something for you, too.” Tony’s grin is immediate—relief and mischief dancing in his eyes. He leans in, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades.

“Do I have to make an appointment to kiss my bodyguard,” he murmurs, “or is this—” You cut him off by closing the distance, your lips finding his in a slow, tentative kiss.

[vxnuslogy]

𐙚 wipe your tears.

— or in which you receive some comfort when you cry.

— warnings: angst if you squint

— author's notes: self-indulgent, once again credits to @.cafekitsune for the banners.

𐙚  AVENTURINE 

aventurine is familiar with tears. he knows the stinging feeling at the corner of your eyes as you roughly wipe them away. aventurine might not want to admit it, but he's a sensitive man at heart; just the sight of you desperately trying to shy away from him rekindled that vulnerable piece of him he's tucked under his refined mask.

it's a fruitless attempt because with just one gentle touch of his fingertips on your cheek shattered all the walls you've been building up over the years.

the way his arms came to envelop you in a warm hug, his shoulder slowly dampening with your tears, it truly broke his heart to see you in such a state.

aventurine’s gambler like persona crumbles away as he whispers soft comforts in your ears while his hand rubs continuous circles on his back. shushing your cries but never once trying to dismiss the feelings that wrack your body.

aventurine never had a shoulder to cry on after he escaped his cruel fate, he understands what it feels like to bottle up every and any emotion that shakes his very being. he doesn't want you to turn out that way, so he’ll be the shoulder you can cry on.

𐙚  VERTIAS RATIO

dr. ratio isn't the brightest when it comes to tears. the way his brows knit together and the way he bites his lip in frustration when his hands ghost over your curled body.

but despite his inexperience in comforting, he wrapped his steady arms around your body, grounding you; reminding you that he's here by your side.

dr. ratio doesn't whisper soft nothing's into your ears — he isn't sure what to say to lift your spirits. he just stays quiet and hopes that it'll suffice.

and it does. despite what many would believe, veritas ratio is kind. kinder than anyone could ever imagine. 

no one will ever come to understand him the way you do, that's why in this very moment, with your most vulnerable self, veritas ratio repays your patience and commitment to him with quiet solace as you continue to cry on his chest. free from all the judgment the world has given you.

𐙚  WELT YANG

compared to anyone else, welt has seen more tears than he'd like to admit. tears from himself, the people that took him in, and the girl he'd trained under his wings until she herself could fly on her own. welt never fails to offer a comforting shoulder to those who cry, and you are no exception.

you try to curl yourself away from him, arms tightly gripping the sides of your legs as you refuse to raise your head. welt kneels in front of you as he strokes your head, voice soft and just above whisper. careful to not upset you further.

he doesn't question you on why you're crying, he's just that understanding. you often wonder what you did to deserve such a person in your life. 

he doesn't urge you to get up, instead he sits beside you quietly. keeping you in his silent company. you don't know how long the two of you stayed like that, but it wasn't long when welt felt a weight land on his shoulder and instinctively, he wrapped his arm around you. smiling softly as he asks if you're okay now.

𐙚  ARGENTI

the room was cold and you felt very, very lonely without your lover by your side. you knew of the consequences of taking a knight of beauty as a lover, he is always on the move to spread the word of his aeon. he himself has warned you about this but you shrugged your shoulders and told him you'll be fine.

however, tonight, as you let the winds caress your cheek at your front porch, you wish for nothing but argenti’s embrace to distract your mind from your insecurities.

“what's the matter, my love?” an armored hand came to wipe away the stray tears that escaped your eyes. the way your vision blurred as you threw yourself in his arms was brief, it didn't take long for argenti to wrap his arms around your waist and bury his head in your hair.

the knight alternated with whispering apologies and reassurances in your ear as you both stood on your porch. the two of you sway as if you were about to start a waltz. in the end your tears began to dry and a light giggle bubbled from your throat.

that's right. argenti might always leave to spread the word of his aeon to the vast galaxies, but he'll come back to you and your little house by the hill.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[moonstruckme]

face masks - send me a character + an au for a drabble

I'd LOVE to see your take on a college AU - maybe a meet cute? - with Lily?? no pressure at all, I just love your style and scenery so it feels like a cozy prompt! congratulations on 10k - I'm NOT surprised at all!

Thank you so much angel <3

Lily Evans x fem!reader ♡ 526 words

The pretty redhead who sits in front of you is wilting over her desk. Her cheek lays atop her notebook, uncapped pen still in hand and eyes closed. It’s the day of your exam review, but you don’t blame her for falling asleep when she did. Conjugating in the pluperfect is dreadfully boring. 

She doesn’t wake until class is dismissed and the students around her stand, all in a hurry to get to their next class or to the library to study or outside to enjoy the sunny day. She sits up with smudged ink on her cheek (adorable) and a dazed look that quickly turns to alarm as she realizes what’s happened. 

“Bollocks,” you hear her whisper. You have to bite down on a smile as you lean forward to tap her shoulder. 

“Hi,” you say, your voice softening with apology. Her eyes landing on yours feels like pop rocks fizzling in your middle. You rip a page from your notebook and hold it out to her. “Here. I made a copy.” 

Those eyes, still bleary but sharpening down by the second, fall to your notebook. “You…took two sets of notes?” she asks. 

“He speaks so slowly.” You give an awkward little laugh. “Leaves lots of time for writing, and I know you’d usually take your own, but…” 

“Thank you.” The girl finally grasps your outheld page. Her gaze lifts to yours again, brilliant green eyes framed by lashes tinted auburn. Her lips tilt in a tentative smile. “That’s really kind. I don’t know what happened, honestly, I’ve never napped in class before. I knew I should have stopped for coffee.” 

“I still have some left,” you say, before realizing how ridiculous this is. Why on earth would your pretty classmate want the watered-down dregs of your half finished iced latte? But you offered it to her without thinking, because you really don’t think there’s anything you wouldn’t gift her to keep her looking at you like that. 

And maybe it’s charity in the face of your heart-shuddering awkwardness, but she takes the cup you hold out, sipping from the same straw your lips had touched. 

She sighs in blissful relief. “I have to be going through withdrawal or something. This is so good. Thank you, really.” 

The smile she sends you now is bigger than the last, more awake and more sure and all the lovelier for it. Your cheeks tingle warmly. “It’s no problem,” you say. 

“No, you’ve given me your notes and now I’ve just stolen your coffee,” she laughs. “You have to let me pay you back. Can I buy you another?” 

You blink. “Oh, you really don’t have to—” 

“No, I want to, please. Unless you have another class?” 

You press your lips together, shaking your head. She smiles. 

“Perfect. I know a place just around the corner.” 

While you start to gather your things, she turns your cup in her hand, reading the scrawl of black sharpie on the side. “Y/n?” She says your name like she’s testing the feel of it in her mouth, giving it a taste. Her eyes flit up to yours again. “I’m Lily.”

[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 5 - The Deep Dive

Chapter Summary - Y/N discusses the terms of the contract with the owners of ATZ Corp, where Hongjoong surprises her.

warnings: slight hints at sex work - poor descriptions of a house and room

Series Masterlist

The upper-class part of town was full of colorful people. You have the rich side, where the fashionistas and businessmen collide to indulge in brunches and auctions. And then there was the side involved in more illegal activities to keep their power and status.

It didn't seem far-fetched that ATZ Corp was involved in such activities. My own father was too, as it was common in old-money families.

The car ride was silent, not even the radio was on. I felt a sense of unease settle in my belly as we neared the restaurant, I knew this area, my dad's company building was close by maybe 2 blocks away. I stared out the window at the people walking up and down the street in their expensive suits and designer clothes.

A part of me missed that life. Being able to have everything I could ever want in the palm of my hand. I remembered my parents' house, my room was bigger than my apartment now, with the plush mattress and walk-in wardrobe. If I agreed to the contract, would I get that back?

The other half was happy with the life I had created, and the independence I'd gained. Though the progress was slow, I was making a name for myself.

"Miss?" The driver called out, I hadn't even realized he was holding the back seat door open for me.

"Sorry... Thank you." I say quickly collecting myself before stepping onto the pavement in front of the restaurant. I was met by another man, dressed in all black with sunglasses and a mask covering his face. He gestured for me to follow him, and surprisingly I did.

The man led me through the restaurant, a few heads turning as we walked. I tried to keep my breath steady, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise on my cheeks. He led me down a hallway and towards a sliding door that was firmly shut. He bowed to me before knocking twice.

A muffled voice answers and the man slides the door open. I stand there in the doorway for a moment. The only people in there were 8 men. I recognized Seonghwa close to the head of the table, and Mingi who sat closest to the door. Mingi gave me a saddened look, did I disappoint him by showing up?

"You're here." The man at the head of the table said. That must be Hongjoong.

I nod before stepping inside, thanking my escort before going to sit at the empty seat next to Mingi and in front of another, rather broad-shouldered, man.

"Are you hungry?" Seonghwa asks, his eyes staring into mine. I shift slightly under his gaze.

"Not really," I answered dismissively. Seonghwa grins, amused, before nodding to the man by the door, who then leaves.

I glance around at all of them, taking in their appearances. They were handsome, I'd give them that. Maybe I was lucky to have caught Seonghwa's attention.

"Y/N." Hongjoong says. "Let's discuss the terms of the contract, yes?" He says the smirk on his face made my blood still for just a moment.

"Well," I start "I don't like the implication that I'm to be used as an outlet for your sexual frustrations." I send a glare his way for good measure.

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow and sips his drink. "Do you now?" Hongjoong chuckles, and I glare at him again. Was he seriously laughing right now? Maybe coming here was a bad idea, the only one who I might have a chance at taking me seriously is Mingi, and honestly, I wasn't so sure of his defensive abilities aside from physical.

"If you're going to laugh, then maybe I shouldn't have come," I say, moving to stand up, biting back a grin as Hongjoong's expression falters for a moment. If they're going to play games, I'll play too.

"There's no need for that." Another man says quickly. I glance at him for a moment, his eyes cat-like as he watched, no, studied me. I slowly sit back down, glancing up at Mingi who was giving me that same boba-eyed expression from last night. I guess it was kinda cute.

"If you didn't want something from us, you wouldn't have come," Seonghwa states. "So what is it that you want, Doll?"

I think for a moment. What did I want? I wasn't in this for money, I couldn't care less about that no matter how much I missed luxury. I'd never been eager to be involved in a polyamorous relationship before either. Why was I even here?

Maybe it was the security aspect? Knowing that I'd have people to fall back on if my career went sideways? A place to live where I'd actually be able to lock the door at night. 8 men to protect me didn't sound so bad either, I suppose.

Knowing that there was someone aside from Mia who supported and loved my art enough to come to every show. Knowing that someone liked me enough to warn me despite probably being told not to about the dangerous side of their lives.

My mind drifted back to the girl Mingi briefly mentioned. I had so many questions about her, what was her name? What happened to her?

"Y/N?" The man with the broad shoulders calls out from across the table. "Are you alright?"

I nod. "I want to be involved in the making of this contract. It doesn't seem fair that I'm expected to blindly sign it without having my own input." I say, looking at Hongjoong. His smile had fallen, his eyes watching me carefully.

"I want this to be more than what you wrote on that paper. I'm happy you're letting me continue my time at the society, but I can't control how long I'm practicing for. So you'll just have to suck it up." I state. The man with the cat eyes lets out a snort of amusement, covering it up with a cough.

"Go on." Hongjoong urges, leaning forward on his elbows.

"I want to take this slow. This whole thing is new to me and I don't want to overwhelm myself, especially when I'm in the middle of shows."

Hongjoong tilts his head and nods in understanding.

"How about we forget about the contract," Hongjjong says, leaning back in his seat. "It seems pointless and outdated if you ask me."

I blink in surprise, even the others look at him with bewildered looks.

"I'm sure you already know of what we do, thanks to big mouth over there," Hongjoong says, sending a look to Mingi who lowers his head. "So there's no point in keeping you out of the loop, and the contract does state that you don't ask questions."

"So, no contract?" I question.

"No contract, sweetheart." Hongjoong chuckles. "However I will need you to make a decision tonight. If word gets out that you're involved with one of us, and it will, we'll need to have you somewhere safer than your apartment." He says, right as the door opens again. Waiters enter with various trays of food, setting them down gracefully in the center of the table before leaving without a word.

I furrow my eyebrows as the boys begin to start eating immediately, chatting like I wasn't there. Mingi places a plate in front of me with a slight smile before continuing on with his conversation. I listened to their conversations, learning their names bit by bit. The man across from me, San, offered countless times to retrieve food for me so I didn't have to reach for anything.

I felt a pang in my stomach. Seonghwas love letters, Mingi holding doors open for me, and now San offering to retrieve food. Were they all such gentlemen?

"I accept." I blurt out before I can even stop myself. They all paused their conversations, and the sound of cutlery screeching to a halt caused my lips to quirk up slightly in amusement. Their heads slowly turn to me, genuinely surprised by my answer.

"You're serious?" Wooyoung, the man with the cat eyes, says with a mouth full of food. These were supposed to be ruthless businessmen/gang leaders, yet at that moment I saw the opposite. I saw young men who were so open to showing me, a stranger, so much vulnerability I almost couldn't handle it.

"I'm serious," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. At that, the boys all snap their heads at Hongjoong, who is smiling once again.

"Excellent." He says, before taking a bite of his food. I glance at Mingi, noticing the conflicting emotions on his face. I had to stop myself from reaching out, a part of me wanted to apologize to him for my answer, knowing how much he hadn't wanted me to accept.

I stopped myself, however, turning back to my food. I'd gambled with my life with my answer. Was it really going to be hard if I wanted to leave? What if I ended up not liking these boys as much as I'd assumed I would?

I started to regret my decision, however my pride stopped me from retracting it. I sat in silence as the boys continued to talk amongst themselves, about work and other things.

When the time came to go, I was the last to stand. My legs felt shaky and my throat dry. Mingi stood behind my chair and waited for me to stand, pulling it back as I did so I had space to move away from the table.

"No need to return to your apartment tonight. We have a room for you already." Hongjoong tells me, resting a hand on my back which made my body jolt in surprise.

"Already?" I ask as he starts to lead me out of the room. Instead of heading towards the main restaurant, he leads us through to a back door.

"We had it set up in case you said yes." He explains, nodding to the men waiting outside. I blinked in surprise at the number of them. Were they standing out here the whole time? Hongjoong leads me to a car that Yunho had climbed into just a moment prior.

I climb in also, followed by Hongjoong before the door is shut. I'm sandwiched between them, looking up at Yunho who is staring straight ahead with a cold expression. I purse my lips and look away, clearly he wasn't interested in small talk.

The car began to move, the vehicle weaving into traffic and speeding off. I kept my knees tucked close together to stop myself from nudging against the two men on either side. Hongjoong was on his phone, a serious expression on his brows as he aggressively typed a message out. Yunho had a blank expression as he stared out the window. His left hand resting on his thigh, the fingers spread and slightly gripping the fabric of his pants.

I noticed the scars on his knuckles, light pink against his pale skin. I glance up at his face and flinch as my eyes meet his. I quickly turn to the front, hearing him let out a huff of amusement before returning to the window.

Hongjoong had sat his phone down now, relaxing in the car seat.

"Seonghwa tells me you're a talented ballerina," Hongjoong says, finally breaking the silence. "I should come watch a show of yours."

I give him a small smile. "I'm not that good, I've been dancing for years so it's all experience."

"Humble are we?" He chuckles, turning his head to face me.

"It's better than being cocky," I say. "Though you wouldn't know about that would you?"

He lets out a cackle, Yunho doesn't even flinch beside me.

"I see why Seonghwa was so eager to have you." He says, his voice laced with amusement.

"Is he always like that?" I ask, finding a strange comfort now that Hongjoong and I were actually talking one-on-one, despite the looming presence on my right. "Like romantic, heaps of gifts."

"Yes. You'll get used to it after a while, might even come to appreciate it." Hongjoong says. "He's always been a giver, I may be the leader but he runs the house as far as I'm concerned." He smiles fondly while talking about his friends.

"How long have you known each other?" I ask.

"Since we were teens, some longer than others. I met Yunho first." He gestures to the other man. "Met the others not long after." He states.

I turn to the front and realize we are no longer in the city, but instead on a long road, the only light coming from the headlights and the full moon overhead.

"I hope you like blue, I had our housekeeper decorate your room for you," Hongjoong says, sitting up a little straighter as we turn into a driveway. "And don't be intimidated by the size of the house, I'll have someone give you a tour tomorrow."

"How big-?" I cut myself off as the house came into view. I feel my jaw drop slightly at the size of it. I saw the fountain first, the statue in the center carved carefully from stone. The house itself was magnificent, maybe twice the size of the one I grew up in.

"24 bedrooms," Hongjoong says, his smile wide as he looks at me. The car slowly comes to a stop at the front of the house, the tires crunching on the basalt.

Hongjoong got out first, holding the door open as I followed behind him. I strained my neck to look at the house, noticing all the artistic details littered through the brick.

"Impressed is she?" I hear Wooyoung shout from down the driveway.

"Seems like it," Hongjoong says, offering his arm. I hesitate for a moment before taking it.

A man by the door opens the door for us, my heels clicking on the marble. The foyer was brighter than I expected, a chandelier hung low from the ceiling with a grand staircase curving up the wall. My eyes scanned the room, the marble floor a pristine white with black and gold patterns throughout, two plush armchairs positioned neatly underneath one of the stair railings.

Hongjoong started walking towards the staircase on the right, helping me so that my heels didn't catch on my dress. I glance down at the others as the stairs curve to the side. Some had dispersed into the house, others lingered by the door to maintain conversation. loosening their ties to provide some comfort.

Upstairs was a little darker, instead of a marble floor it was a dark polished wood. Hongjoong led me down the hall until he stopped at the fourth door towards the back of the house. He opened the door for me and stepped back, allowing me to enter without being followed.

A luxurious bedroom unfolds, centered around a grand canopy bed. The bed features carved posts of polished wood, supporting a cascading canopy of sheer, light blue fabric with subtle golden embroidery. The bedding mirrors the room’s opulence, with plush pillows and a comforter in light blue satin trimmed with gold.

A cozy seating area in one corner features a pair of tufted armchairs upholstered in blue velvet, accompanied by a small, round marble table with gold legs. The floors are polished wood, softened by a plush, cream-colored rug that complements the room's serene yet regal palette. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room. Tall windows line the back of the room, and light blue curtains are drawn to give some privacy.

"Do you like it?" Hongjoong says from the doorway.

"I love it," I say softly, turning to look at him. He had a soft expression on his face before he spoke.

"There's clothes in the wardrobe for you. I'll have someone go to your apartment sometime this week and collect some of your things." He says, going to shut the door and leave me be.

"Can I ask you something?" I say quickly, making him stop. "Why did you all agree to this? I mean, you don't even know me."

He examines me for a moment before answering, "Same reason as you, sweetheart." Before shutting the door. I hear his footsteps retreat back towards the staircase as I stand there, scared to touch anything and ruin the warm feeling of the room.

I slowly find my feet walking towards the walk-in wardrobe, a wide smile on my face as I notice that it's full. Someone really went out of their way to buy clothes from expensive clothing lines that somehow were exactly my size. I notice folded-up pajamas on the vanity towards the back of the room, my fingers touching the silky fabric before bundling them up in my arms. I walk out of the wardrobe, opening the next door to find a fully decked-out bathroom, equipped with everything I could need.

I got changed and wiped off my makeup before trudging back out into the main room. My eyes felt heavy, and I realized my social battery had gone down to almost empty since the day began. So much had happened, in just 3 hours and I couldn't help but feel completely exhausted.

I flopped onto the bed, the plush mattress beneath me a welcome feeling as I settled beneath the covers. I closed my eyes, somehow feeling at ease despite being in a strange environment. Something about the effort they put in, even if it was just a nice room, made me feel welcomed despite the silence I'd received from a few of them.

Jongho, Yeosang, and Yunho seemed to be a bit more standoffish than the rest. Maybe they weren't as eager as the others about a new person being invited into their home, no questions asked, and for that, I couldn't blame them.

taglist:

@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling

@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

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[ladysharmaa]

Wild Hearts

Jasper Hale x original character

Summary: When a new girl arrives at Forks, she seems to catch Jasper Hale's attention. However, he and his family are hiding a secret. What they don't know is that Evelyn has a secret of her own

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Jasper, Lucas, and Emmett made their way downstairs, already discussing their hunting plans. Jasper adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, while Lucas listened to Emmett's enthusiastic rant about tracking down the biggest bear he could find.

“I’m just saying,” Emmett smirked, “last time, I got the real prize. You two were just chasing dears.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “You mean the one you wrestled for twenty minutes just to show off?”

Lucas laughed. “Sounds about right.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, however, they came to an abrupt halt. Seated in the living room, sprawled across the couch and floor, were Alice, Rosalie, and Evelyn. Each had a thick, charcoal black colored face mask smeared across their porcelain skin.

“What the…” Emmett called, clearly trying not to laugh. “What is this?”

“A self-care night,” Rosalie hummed, crossing one leg over the other. Her blonde hair was tied in a perfect bun. “Not everything has to be about hunting and wrestling bears, you know.”

Lucas cocked his head at Alice, amused. “You do realize you’re a vampire, right? Your skin is already flawless. And very beautiful.”

Alice huffed, waving a hand dismissively. “That’s not the point! It’s about the experience.”

Evelyn pouted dramatically, looking at Jasper. “And you are leaving us. Without even a goodbye kiss.”

Jasper chuckled, stepping forward. “I would, darlin’, but I’d rather not get a mouthful of… whatever that is.”

“It’s a charcoal detox mask." she huffed. "I won’t forget this act of betrayal.”

Meanwhile, Emmett threw his hands up, as Rosalie said exactly the opposite of the demigod. “Oh, come on, babe. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t kiss you goodbye?”

“The kind that doesn’t want a face full of exfoliant.”

Lucas leaned against the wall, grinning. “So you tell me you’ll be offended if I don’t kiss you, but you’ll also be offended if I get face mask all over me?”

"That's correct!" Alice smiled sweetly, supporting her sisters.

The three men exchanged looks, clearly confused. Jasper's eyes sparkled with amusement, Evelyn was completely at ease with his family and nothing could make him happier. She no longer showed her shy side, only when she received a lot of attention and of course, whenever the vampire complimented her. He loved the light pink that spread across her cheeks.

Just then, the front door opened, and Esme and Carlisle stepped inside.

“Oh!” Esme clasped her hands together, delighted. “A spa night?”

“Finally, someone who gets it.” Rosalie smirked, also showing off her freshly painted nails. The deep red made Emmett groan, who got odd looks from the other boys.

Carlisle chuckled, slipping off his coat. “And here I thought I was home for a peaceful night.”

Esme walked over to the girls, inspecting their handiwork with approval before glancing at the three men still standing awkwardly in the doorway. “What’s wrong with you three?”

Lucas gestured at the girls. “They won’t let us leave without kissing, but they’re also covered in that weird stuff.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Esme smiled, clearly holding back laughter. "Act like gentlemen and grab the magazines from the kitchen, please."

Jasper sighed in defeat, stepping forward and carefully pressing a kiss to Evelyn’s forehead — where there was no face mask. Lucas followed suit with Alice, while Emmett, ever the dramatic one, grabbed Rosalie’s hand and kissed it gallantly.

“There.” he declared. “Proper goodbye, no damage done. And, lastly, your magazines." He ran to the kitchen using his vampire speed.

With their mission complete, Jasper, Lucas, and Emmett finally made their way to the door.

“Try not to miss us too much!” Emmett called over his shoulder. "Man, they scare me when they gang up on us. I feel like everything we say is the wrong thing." he confessed to Jasper and Lucas as they left the house. The other two nodded in agreement with a chuckle.

As they disappeared into the night, Esme settled onto the couch beside Evelyn. “Alright, ladies, I hope you saved some of that for me.”

"Always." Eve giggled. She began to spread the mask on the vampire’s face, closing her eyes and letting her body relax.

Carlisle sighed in amusement as he headed toward his office. “Just let me know when it’s safe to come back. Also, gather in the living room when Edward arrives. He has something to tell us."

"It's definitely going to be something about Bella. I hate her." the blonde vampire hissed, immediately becoming sullen.

"They went to the forest together today. She knows." Alice confirmed his fears, clearly having had a vision of them. "Edward will talk to us, but they seem to be very close in my vision."

"Well, now there's nothing we can do." Evelyn sighed.

She already knew that it would be difficult for the vampire family, especially Rosalie, to accept this unusual relationship. The demigod agreed that it was dangerous, but who were they to keep Edward from his love? Just like everyone else, he also had the right to do whatever his heart told him to do. For now, she let herself listen to Rosalie complain while Alice and Esme tried to smooth things over.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

Jasper pulled up to Evelyn’s house just as the morning sun peeked through the trees, casting golden streaks across the quiet street. He barely had time to step out of the car before the front door swung open.

And then — he forgot everything else.

Evelyn stepped outside, her hair catching the light just right, her outfit hugging her in a way that made his already still heart ache. It wasn’t fair. How did she always manage to look so effortlessly stunning?

Jasper straightened, his golden eyes drinking her in as she walked towards him.

"Good morning." she said with a soft smile, giving him a chaste kiss. Jasper, however, pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, his large hands resting on the demigod's hips.

Jasper tilted his head, a slow smirk touching his lips. “Morning, darlin’. You planning on ruining every boy’s concentration today, or is this just for me?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Evelyn rolled her eyes.

Jasper let out a quiet chuckle. "I'll pretend I believe you.”

Before she could protest, he was already at her side, brushing his fingers along her arm as he opened the car door for her. She slides in, and he shuts the door before rounding to the driver’s side.

As he started the car, he flicked a glance toward her. “You do know every guy at school is gonna be lookin’ at you, right?” I'll feel every single emotion of them. They look at you like you are a meal.” his voice was inferior, edged with something darker. “And I don’t like it.”

“Jealous, Major?” Evelyn raised an eye, amused. His smile widened even more at the tremor that ran through the vampire's body upon hearing the nickname.

“You have no idea.”

"It's a good thing I only have eyes for you." Eve whispered, unable to bear Jasper's intense gaze, which should have been focused on the road but wasn't, and shyly looking away. "Did Edward ever talk to you guys?"

After her spa moment with the three Cullenn women, Evelyn ended up going home to give the vampire clan more privacy to discuss the matter regarding Edward and Bella. In addition, she hadn't spent a night alone in a few days, so she decided to take advantage of it by eating a bunch of junk food while watching Disney movies.

"He just said that Bella had discovered our secret and that he was in love with her. Of course, Rosalie immediately started arguing with him and Carlisle tried to mediate. Edward ended up locking himself in his room like a moody teenager." Jasper explained, as he placed his hand on Evelyn's thigh. "You could have stayed there. Your opinion is important to us."

"That's fine, I think it was better this way. Especially because it's a more private matter, and it's already enough that Edward thinks we're all against him. Having the mindset of a seventeen-year-old boy for the rest of your life can't be easy."

After a few minutes, spent in comfortable silence, they arrived at Forks school and Jasper slowed down until he reached the place where he and his entire family normally parked. He had barely pulled into the lot when the emotions hit him like a tidal wave.

Interest. Lust. Envy.

Everywhere, boys were turning their heads, their thoughts clear even before their emotions gave them away. They were looking at Evelyn — his Evelyn.

Jasper clenched his jaw. He could feel it too vividly. The way some admired her beauty, the way others were already trying to catch her attention, the way a few were even wondering if she was really taken — as if she could be convinced otherwise.

Jasper had lived through a century, fought wars, faced monsters—been one himself—but nothing bothered him more than the thought of someone else looking at his girl like this.

A low growl rumbled in his throat. Rosalie, Alice, Emmett and Lucas watched amusedly, just a little away from them. The couple immediately captured the attention of all the students, and it was amusing to see Jasper so protective. Even after months, this never changed.

Before Evelyn could even reach the door, Jasper was already there, opening it for her. He offered his hand, his grip firm as he helped her out, keeping her close.

“Such a gentleman.” she teased.

Jasper smirked, but his voice took on something more possessive as he murmured, “Only for you, darling.”

Evelyn didn't notice the sharp glance he shot toward the group of gawking boys, but they did. Most of them quickly averted their gazes and quickly hurried up to enter the school.

Satisfied, Jasper tucked Evelyn's arm through his and led her toward his siblings, who were looking effortlessly untouchable.

“You two took your time.” Alice teased with a knowing smile.

Jasper just rolled his eyes, but before he could respond, the attention of the entire parking lot shifted.

Edward and Bella had arrived.

Bella, still somewhat hesitant about all the eyes on her, walked beside Edward as he led her to the school entrance stairs. But there was no ignoring the buzz of curiosity and envy from the other students.

Edward wore dark sunglasses and a proud smile on his lips. Poor Bella, on the other hand, looked very uncomfortable with all the eyes on her. To make matters worse, the vampire put an arm around the brunette's shoulders, whispering something in her ear. The rest of the vampires looked at the couple seriously, knowing that this reckless behavior could bring them serious consequences.

Whispers spread through the crowd. How is she with him? I thought she wasn't into dating. She's so lucky. Look at him.

"Well," Emmett began, smirking. "Look how they're the main attraction today."

Jasper chuckled, shaking his head. But as he pulled Evelyn just a little closer to his side, he knew one thing for sure, he was okay with Edward and Bella being the center of attention if it meant Evelyn could have a day in peace without being bothered.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

"Why do I have to be here while Bella meets you?" Evelyn huffed, sitting cross-legged on Jasper's bed, which he had bought when he met his mate. In turn, Jasper was in front of his bookshelf, looking for his next read.

"Because Edward said that way Bella would be more comfortable. Besides, I want you here." the Hale replied sincerely, turning his attention back to the blonde. She was completely comfortable in his house, in his room, letting herself fall back into the pillows with a sigh.

"Come lie down with me, Jas."

Jasper obeyed immediately, his body going to bed before he could even think about what he was doing. He let himself be snuggled close to the demigod, putting an arm around her as she laid her head on his strong chest. His hands, large and cold, caressed the skin of her arm, enjoying the goosebumps that formed under his touch.

He turned his head to the side, trying to engrave every feature of Evelyn into his mind. Her nose, the small freckles that were scattered across her face, her blue eyes. She was an angel. Coming to this world to make it a better place, condemned to spend her life alongside a monster.

“You’re starring, Jas.” Evelyn murmured, her voice as soft as honey. Like an angel singing. "I love you. I really really love you. I never thought I could feel this happiness, you make me feel like the luckiest person in the world."

"I assure you, my love, I am the lucky one."

Evelyn's heart was stuttering. He was too close now, his golden eyes flickering between hers and her lips. Evelyn's breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing hers — just enough to tease, to make her want to close the distance herself. She did.

The first kiss was soft, slow, but filled with that undeniable pull between them. Jasper's hand slid along her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers with an intoxicating tenderness.

Evelyn melted into him, her hands curling into his shirt as her other hand dug into the back of his head, playing with his curls. The vampire kissed her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered — like he’d been waiting forever just to do this.

"Are you sure?" Jasper pulled back a little, even as the blonde's soft, full lips chased his, looking for more. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't know if I can control my strength…"

"You won't hurt me, Jasper." the girl assured, looking into his amber eyes with full trust in him. She didn't feel the slightest bit of fear, all she needed was him. "I trust you. Please."

Without questioning twice, Jasper brought their lips together again, this time with more force, more hunger, as if her lips were the only way to survive. They let their hands explore each other's bodies, small raspy moans coming from both of them. Quickly, Jasper began helping Evelyn take off her shirt, appreciating her body and kissing her skin with tenderness.

They allowed themselves to be consumed by each other, creating an unbreakable bond. Even with all the challenges they would have to overcome with supernatural creatures and even the problems of any mere human, they belonged to each other. An indomitable force, a love that was the most beautiful thing, but also the most dangerous.

[havendance]

I have to offer: AU snippet where Tim travels back in time to Knightfall and bothers Helena about it :)

Helena's apartment had been invaded. There was a cape hanging over the back of her couch, a pair of boots tossed haphazardly on the floor, and curled up on her couch balancing a laptop at an uncomfortable looking angle with an open bag of chips next to him, was a familiar teenage boy in green tights and a sweatshirt.

She set her groceries down on the counter "What," she said, "are you doing here?"

Robin looked up. "Helena!" he said with far too much enthusiasm for someone she teamed up with once and who was now acting far too comfortable in her space. "It's a long story." He wasn't, she noticed, wearing his mask this time.

The show of trust was appreciated, she had to admit. The showing up without warning was not. Helena crossed her arms and gave him the do you want to try that again look she'd perfected on her students.

He grinned back, unphased.

"My apartment is not a clubhouse, kid."

"I'm here for business," he said, unconvincingly. "I have a proposal."

"Which is?"

"How would you like to become Batman?"

"Excuse me?"

He had a whole presentation prepared, it turned out. Apparently that was what he'd been doing while eating her chips.

"Sorry," he said unconvincingly when she pointed this out.

Helena sighed. "Just show me this presentation."

"You know what happened to Batman," Robin said. In case she didn't remember, the first slide had the picture of Batman being tossed down into the streets by Bane that every news station had been running for the past week.

Helena nodded. "Yes."

"Well that left Gotham in a bit of a mess..."

Point 1 of Robin's argument: Gotham needed Batman. This was argued with a fervent sense of bone deep conviction on Robin's part and also graphs. Lots of graphs.

"I get it," Helena said, after he'd been talking for at least five minutes. "I think you can move on."

He made a face at her, but skipped past at least half a dozen more graphs to get to point 2: Batman's chosen replacement sucked for reasons including assassin brainwashing, not listening, and also more graphs of predicted casualty reports.

"Where did this data come from?" she asked, looking closer. There were some awfully specific points on that graph...

Robin skipped forward. "Not important. Just trust me on this," he said, sounding untrustworthy.

"So why me?" she asked when he finally got to the end.

"I can't take down Azrael on my own," he said, "and it's not like I can put on the Batsuit on afterwards either."

Helena waved a hand dismissively. "That much was clear, but why not someone more trustworthy."

"I trust you," Robin said without hesitating which was both endearing and also a little intimidating.

"But what about that Nightwing guy? Wouldn't he make a better choice."

For the first time that evening, Robin dimmed slightly. He looked away, an unreadable expression on his face. "Nightwing's... complicated," he said. And then, lighter again: "And maybe I want to make Batman sweat a little after ditching me with Azrael. Come on, it'll be fun. Please?" he added when she didn't say anything.

He made a very tempting case was the thing. Helena doubted that it would be as easy as he made it out to be, but it would be fun to mess with the real? former? Batman some.

"If we're doing this, does this mean I get to know who I'm partnering with?" she asked.

"Tim," Robin said, far easier than she was expecting. "Tim Drake. We have a deal then?" He stuck out a hand.

Helena shook. "We have a deal."

[corpsekiller]

i saw your halloween headcanon post from earlier and i just had to to drop this here — bakugou dressed up as ghostface from scream. that's it, this is the only thing going through my head😩

girl, you're so real for this. i've already read so many fics with this trope, but katsuki would definitely also dress up as ghostface on halloween. thank you so much for sending this ask, my love <3 i loved writing this dkksjsksla

PAIRING. ghostface!katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader

WARNINGS. a lot sexual tension, that's it

MASTERLIST

It's strangely quiet.

Your kitchen is dimly lit, the only source of light are the candles flickering auspiciously on your bedside table and the occasional colorful strobe of your decorations you've placed on your windowsill next to a carved pumpkin and some skeleton figurines you've found in a neat little store a while ago.

You're not sure where Katsuki is — he was supposed to pick you up for the party Mina is throwing at her place, but one glance at the clock steadily ticking on the wall above your bed tells you that he's already fifteen minutes late. It's odd, really, because he's always on time, considers punctuality almost as important as strength and victory during battle and yet, here you are, waiting for him as you stuff candy into your bag in preparation for this evening.

There's a faint memory of him mentioning that he wouldn't dress up, ignoring your pleads to wear matching costumes with a dismissive wave of his hand and a typical frown, muttering something about over my dead body and dressing up is only for kids, dumbass, so it doesn't make much sense to justify his unlike tardiness with the lame excuse of him just struggling with his costume.

"Where's that idiot?" You mutter with an exasperated sigh, gently tugging on the hem of your flimsy costume to readjust the fabric before reaching for your phone to text your boyfriend. Just as you're about to open your chats and type your message, a gloved hand snakes around your waist and pulls you back against someone standing behind you.

For a fleeting moment, your heart skips a beat. Then it begins to pound against your ribs — hectical and painful like a small frightened animal caught in the sharp canines of a predator — and your mouth falls open to cry out for help, but no sound dares to leave your trembling lips.

"Did I scare you?" His voice is low, a rough whisper that reverberates in his chest as he pulls you flush against his body, slowly leaning down until the smooth surface of his mask is pressed against your heated cheeks before he continues to speak. "Thought you'd just get away without giving me something sweet and call it a night, huh?"

Carefully, you turn your head and look up at him — hollow eyes and a distorted mouth locked in a permanent scream glare back at you, though the tension finally leaves your limbs and you sigh in relief, almost burst into laughter at your stupidly terrified reaction to his costume. You really must've watched too many horror movies over the span of the last few weeks if you're unable to recognize your own boyfriend.

Because now that you pay attention to the way he grabs your waist, almost possessive in a certain way, you just know his touch — strong, confident, so unmistakably Katsuki.

You squirm in his grip, meekly attempting to fully turn around to face him, but his grasp on your waist only tightens. A whimper leaves your lips, a quiet sound that causes him to chuckle as his hand trails up to tilt your chin, turning your head so you can look at him again.

"No, I don't think so. You're stayin' right here, got it?" His thumb brushes along your jaw, slow and almost tender. Even with the mask on, you can feel his smirk, can imagine the devilish grin that pulls on the corners of his mouth as he keeps you trapped between the kitchen counter and his body without a chance to escape

Though you're not sure you really want to.

"You like it, don't you?" He drawls, tilting his head to get a better look at you — although you can't see his eyes, his gaze seems to burn on your skin and you can't help the violent blush that tints your cheek in a shade of pink. There's a certain edge to his voice too, taunting and dangerous, almost sadistic if you listen close enough, as if he's enjoying the anticipation etched into the soft furrow of your brows, the sheer power he has over you and your body. "You like that I've got you cornered... nowhere to run?"

Oh, this is just a game for him and you've fallen right into his trap.

"Maybe," you reply, barely above a whisper, though you can't help but smile just a little.

"Maybe, huh?" He murmurs, a soft laugh escaping him as he lets his gloved hand wander from your cheek to your neck, lingering there for just a moment before his fingers slowly close around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, not yet, only lets you feel the weight of his hand, but it's enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Better be sure about it. Because now that I've got my hands on you, I won’t let you go.”

With one smooth motion, he pulls the mask up just enough to reveal his face—- the crimson of his eyes has darkened, pupils blown with something you can only describe as hunger and his lips are pulled into a sinister smile that bares all his teeth. There's a moment of silence, then he pulls you into a bruising kiss that punches the air out of your lungs and causes your knees to buckle under the weight of your body until the only thing that is holding you on your own two feet is none other than your boyfriend.

After what feels like half an eternity, Katsuki pulls away. Your head spins with the lack of oxygen, your legs are shaking and yet you can't help but reach out to dig your fingers into the fabric of his costume, roughly yanking him back for another kiss that leaves you just as breathless as the first one.

“Do you really think I'm done with you yet?" He whispers, voice a low rumble, before slipping the mask back down. "You have no idea what I've planned for you...Happy Halloween, babe."

[dpimagines]

Blind Date

SYNOPSIS: Wade is set up with a friend of Ellie's and Yukio's. It goes better than anyone expected it to.

Warnings / Notes: Mentions of past bullying, Deadpool being Deadpool (But His Sweet Side, so Mildly OOC) / I'm super open to writing a continuation of this! This is uncharacteristically fluffy of me, so I'm craving the smut or angst we could get out of this. Shoot me a request if you have any ideas!

Yukio squeals. Wade’s used to her giddy noises, squeaks and giggles and the like. Ellie still cringes like it’s the first time she’s ever heard it, but she still looks at Yukio like it’s the first time she’s ever seen someone so beautiful every time she looks at her, so it balances out. 

“What is it?” Ellie asks, stirring vegetables around a sizzling pan. Wade somehow managed to invite himself to their fajita lunch, and smelling the food makes his stomach growl.

“Y/N!” Yukio exclaims.

“Where?” Ellie says, looking around. 

“No, silly, we should set Wade up with Y/N!”

“Why? Are you mad at her?” Ellie remarks. 

“She literally cannot help but romance Hancock on every Fallout 4 playthrough. Seriously.” 

“That’s your basis? A crush on a fictional character?” Ellie asks, and Wade could spot her amused-bordering-on-pissed expression from miles away. You must be special to her in some way. 

“Well, she… Y’know, she’s different.”

“You think she should settle for him just because of her mutation?” 

“No! No, not at all! I meant her personality! She’s so sweet and patient and stuff!” Yukio quickly says. 

“So why would we torture her by sticking her with him?”

“Y’know, you girls haven’t even asked me if I’d be interested. What if I think she’s a total butterface? What if I talk about my ex-fiancée the whole time? What if she’s too pretty for me? What if-?”

“You asking those questions means you’re interested,” Ellie cuts him off dismissively. “Fine, Yukio. You win. Go for it.”

“Texting her now! Yeah, she’s interested. Just let me know what you’re planning and I’ll tell her when and how to dress.”

“Oh, uh… Maybe a movie?”

“That’d be good,” Ellie says quickly. “That’s a really good idea.”

“She’s ugly, isn’t she?”

Ellie glares daggers.

“Never mind, not a movie. Dinner… At De Luca.”

“De Luca?!” Yukio exclaims. 

“Uh, yeah? That’s a place people go for dates around here, isn’t it?”

“It better be your treat, that place is expensive!” Ellie demands.

“Well, duh. You guys seem to forget that unaliving people pays incredibly well. Anyways, what’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing,” Ellie insists.

“If he doesn’t know, he might hurt her feelings,” Yukio insists. 

“He can ask her himself. Let her say it in her own words, share what she wants to share.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna fuck this up,” Wade already knows. “But at least she’ll get a free meal out of it. How about tonight? The anticipation is already killing me.”

Yukio texts, before looking up and nodding. 

“What time?” she asks.

“Can she meet me in the foyer at five?” he suggests. She types some more. 

“It’s a date!” she cheers. 

“And lunch is served,” Ellie declares gloomily. 

“So, what’s the deal with you and her, then?”

“Ellie dealt with some bullying when she first got here,” Yukio explains. “It was mostly light-hearted teasing, but it was just too soon, and with some people, it kinda got out of hand. Y/N was a senior at the time and stood up for her. From then on, she’s admired her and is always looking for opportunities to repay the favor.”

“That is so fucking cute I could die,” Wade coos. “I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”

“Hearing that coming from you, I’m more concerned,” Ellie grumbles, pushing a plate towards him. “Just eat. And be respectful. Now, and then.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Wade replies before digging in. 

A few hours later, Wade invites Yukio to give him one last once over before he meets you at the door, and her shadow has trailed along diligently. Yukio gives him some helpful pointers while Ellie sulks in silence, still not a huge fan of this idea.

“Lose the mask,” Ellie finally contributes.

“Lose the- No! If I’m paying this much for food, she better be able to eat it!”

“You didn’t seem to mind the price earlier. Besides… She’s not like that. Yukio had a point earlier. Your face works in your favor, this time around. It’s everything else about you that you need to tone down a little,” Ellie argues. 

“Fine. But when she throws up, I’m calling you down there to clean it up,” Wade retorts, taking off the mask. He feels naked without it despite his suit and loafers. This is the nicest he’s dressed since his mother’s funeral.

“There we go,” Yukio says with a beam. “Perfect. Now, go! It’s almost time.”

“Thank you, my fairy godmothers. Wait, it’s not offensive to call you guys fairies, is it? ‘Cause I didn’t-”

“Go,” Ellie insists. He scurries downstairs. You’re not there yet, but there’s a young woman lurking around down there. He hesitantly joins her, and she looks at him with surprise before smiling. Wow, she’s gorgeous, so pretty that he starts to question if she’s a figment of his imagination.

“Wade?” you ask. Your voice sounds like Negasonic’s, so much so that it’s weird, but he brushes it off as best as he can.   

“Y/N?” No way, you’re stunning in a flowy knee-length dress and mary janes, your hair styled in an effortlessly pretty way. You might just be the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen. 

You nod, offering your hand to him. Your eyes say, “Shall we?” He hesitantly takes your hand. Your smile widens. He leads you outside. You trail alongside him to the car, letting your hands swing together, though not too much.

He lets go of your hand to open the door for you. You get seated, and he closes it, quickly making his way to the driver’s seat. 

“Sorry it’s kind of a beater, I can’t be driving anything too showy for obvious reasons.”

You shrug, but he can tell it doesn’t bother you.

“Not much of a talker, huh? I guess that’s why our friends thought we’d work. I talk, you listen, very cutesy…But I need someone to feed off of to be funny, so you better be up to the challenge.”

You giggle, covering your mouth. 

The drive to the restaurant is in awkward silence. He really doesn’t know what to say. He could ask you about yourself, but that might make you uncomfortable considering how little you’re willing to speak. He could start talking about himself, but that has the potential to put you off for more than one reason – either you’ll be disturbed by his life story, or he’ll come across as self-absorbed. 

The two of you enter and despite a wary look from the hostess, you’re seated relatively quickly. 

You’re brought ice water and bread. 

“Damn, this place is fancy…” Wade remarks as you sip your water. You smile sheepishly. “Hm… You seem normal. I was told there was something different about you. In fact, when Yukio had the idea to set us up, Ellie accused her of thinking you should have to settle for someone like me because of your mutation. I was expecting, I don’t know, snakes for hair, Silly Putty for fingers, something. I’m gonna start guessing if you don’t come out with it.”

Your sweet smile changes into a devilish smirk as you challenge him with your eyes. He realizes it’s more entertaining for the both of you if he does attempt to guess, so he gives it a shot. 

“Acid spit?” he asks. You shake your head. “Hiding a third boob in there?” he wonders, lifting his head and looking down for it despite your somewhat modest neckline. Your face scrunches up with amusement as you shake your head again. “Damn it. Can’t blame a guy for hoping. What about another face on the back of your head, Voldemort-style? That would be kinda cool.”  

You shake your head once more, though you’re clearly amused by his attempts to figure it out. 

“Wait,” he says, lowering his voice to a whisper: “Does your vagina kill people? Like that one girl on American Horror Story?”

“No,” you finally say, laughing. “It’s my voice.” 

“Whoa,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah, I can only speak words I’ve heard before exactly as I heard them last.”

“That’s why you sounded like Ellie earlier, when you said my name. She was the last person you heard say it.”

“Exactly,” you reply. 

“Well, that’s not so bad.”

“Most of the time,” you agree. “But I can’t always control my TONE!”

You slap a hand over your mouth as your fellow guests give you brief glances of concern and confusion. 

“Tone,” he says in a normal volume. 

“Tone,” you echo with a look of astonishment. “They call me Spirit Box.”

“Like the things ghost hunters use, right? That’s so cool. You must be great for espionage. Just bring you along as a secretary or assistant or whatever, then slap some headphones on you and turn up some instrumental music all the way ‘til you can get to a recording device and repeat what you heard.”

“I suppose so, but honestly most of the time I just hang out. I have some martial arts training, but when someone can choose between that and a human bomb, WELL, it’s not really a choice,” you explain. 

“Well,” he says for you. “I think it’s super cool. Normally, I get bored listening to other people talk. I doubt that’ll ever happen with you.”

“I might as well warn you- Damn it,” you swear. It’s in his voice. 

“What is it?”

“If I say this word I’m going to end up yelling it.”

“Uh, wanna type it out on your phone? I can read it.”

You blush, shaking your head. 

“Sounds are the same way. Even when I laugh it’s not MINE.”

“Mine,” he repeats, as you seem to appreciate it. “I don’t understand why I’d need a warning for- Oh. Gotcha.”

“I may be an alright… Talker to you, but I doubt you’d want to hear a man’s voice during sex!” Your eyes water as they avoid his in shame. Someone said that to you, and harshly. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I don’t repeat that,” he murmurs, reaching for your hand. You give it to him, your hands resting together on the table. “Besides, I’m pansexual, so, honestly… It’d be kinda hot. Best of both worlds.”

“No kidding,” you reply. It’s all Ellie. “That’s great!” you chirp in Yukio’s voice. 

“You’re pretty good friends with those two, huh?”

You nod. 

“Keeping a small circle helps with consistency,” you add. “But I’m a TV addict, so…”

“Me, too. That totally makes sense. Oh, we should look at the menus. I’ll order for you, if you want.”

“Please,” you moan, swiftly retracting your hand to cover your mouth once more as your cheeks flush. He laughs.

“I’m not repeating that, either. Hot,” he teases you.

“You’re mean,” you reply with a laugh, his laugh. 

“Please,” he says. “Forgive me.”

You smile in response before looking over the menu. 

“You haven’t said anything about my face,” he realizes.

“Oh, sorry. You’re very handsome.” You don’t even look up, still looking for something appetizing. “No prices. Yikes. What are you getting?”

“Uh… Seriously. You don’t wanna ask?”

“I think you should tell me when you’re ready. I meant it, though. I think you’re very handsome.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “I think I’m gonna go with the seafood alfredo.”

The rest of the date goes swimmingly, the two of you conversing on various topics: TV shows and music you both like (and exchanging recommendations,) he shares his story (you fawned over him, maybe a little too much,) your careers (you transcribe classes at Xavier’s for students who are Deaf and/or have learning disabilities, he’s a…freelancer. You giggled at that. He doesn’t care whose sweet little giggle that is, it’s yours now,) and more. 

All good things must come to an end, though. Once dinner’s over, the two of you head back to the school. He walks you all the way to your room. 

“This was really nice,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

“It was,” he agrees. “Can I see you again? Maybe you could come up with a list of words for me to say for you, and I can say them for you over lunch.”

“That’s so sweet, Wade. I’d really like that, but I feel bad. Is there anything like that-” you cover your mouth again at the unmistakably pornographic tone, but he removes your hand gently with an amused smile. 

“Keep going,” he encourages you. “Like that.”

“Is there anything like that I could do for you?” 

“Well, you wanted to go on a date with me after seeing my face, so, you kinda already did.”

You open your mouth, but close it quickly. 

“What is it that you’re needing to say?” he asks quietly, like he’s trying not to embarrass you in front of someone else despite the two of you being alone in the quiet hallway, the only sound besides you both being the ticking on an old grandfather clock. You raise your hand, touching his lips. “You want to kiss me?”

“Yes, I want to kiss you.” 

Wade grins before taking your cheeks in his hands and uniting your lips with his for the first time. Neither of you wants to pull away, but air is an unfortunate necessity. 

You take your phone out of your purse, tapping around before presenting it to him on the Add New Contact screen. He eagerly types in his name and contact details, adding in the notes: “Just FYI after the whole Weapon X debacle I am hung like a horse and have an incredible refractory period. I only mention the refractory period because I’m pretty sure I’d explode if you even looked at it. Seriously, you are MAJORLY hot” 

He passes the phone back to you, and you look. You turn red before nodding in understanding. 

“Goodnight, Wade.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 31

SUGGESTED POTENTIAL NON-CON

You have completed your contract admirably soldier, I think our mutts may miss you - Laswell

It’s strange. You wake up without your alarm in your own bed and it’s strange. You go put the kettle on for a cup of tea and it’s strange.

You are no longer under contract for the Kennel. The month had been defined as 30 days, so here you are with more money than you know what to do with, a body that is aching from all the hedonism of the past weeks and an utter uncertainty about what comes next.

You suppose what comes next is taking a week off to recover and not have to think about it yet.

So you showered (had you had to wash your own body at all in the last month or had there always been someone to do it for you?), dressed and went to get groceries. You caught up on TV shows mostly once everything was packed away.

It was sort of nice having alone time but sort of not knowing that it was probably going to be like this for the foreseeable future.

You had still been contracted at the end of the day, so it wasn’t like you were suddenly going to develop the ability to date. It was just sex. Just a release for people who needed it and were too dangerous to get it from civilians.

So why did you feel so conflicted about the likelihood of never seeing them again?

—

The day went quickly, but the evening lasted forever as you laid on the sofa and just tried to process. At least until you heard something from your bedroom. Could have been nothing, but you didn’t have a veritable shit ton of military and special forces training to dismiss things that could be nothing.

You had checked your house as soon as you had gotten back and it hadn’t been touched, so you knew there was a gun safely stowed away in a drawer of the coffee table. You got it out slowly and stood, going to investigate the bedroom.

Now you had never actually seen Ghost masked up before, it wasn’t like he cared about hiding his identity in the Kennel and the people he was around weren’t in any position to judge his scars, but you’d recognise those eyes anywhere. He was looking at the photo on your bedside table, you and your cat (she had died a few years back and it didn’t seem fair to adopt another when your work meant they would be staying with a neighbour most of the time).

“Gonna shoot me princess?” he asked, still looking at the photo.

“The Kennel shouldn’t be escapable” you said, keeping your gun trained on him.

“It’s not. Not if I was trying to get out alone. But give me a group of very motivated soldiers? Becomes a lot easier then” he said as he placed the photo back where it was and turned to you, arms crossed. “Get your sweet arse packed, I’m taking you home.”

“Nice try” you said, both hands steadying the gun.

“Gonna shoot me?”

“I don’t want to Ghost. You need to leave.”

“Then sink a bullet into me princess, because I’m not leaving without you and I don't much care if you're conscious for the trip.”

You aimed for his shoulder, just a warning graze but it must have hurt like a bitch as it took off a chunk of skin at the surface and his body jolted with the force. Good thing you picked a rural house, there were farms around here so gun shots weren’t totally uncommon with critters coming to feast on chickens.

“Yes you are.”

“Hmm” he chuffed, seemingly a little surprised you had actually shot him but not at all put out by it. “You never did let Mace fuck you with a gun did you? Could be fun you know.”

You were hopeful that it didn’t show on your face that your dumb hind brain found the idea a little hot. Mace had threatened it when you were playing the part of the doe-eyed step-daughter who idolised a daddy that definitely wanted to fuck her. Would he have went through with it?

“And if I said red?” you asked because there in lay the issue.

Under contract you had some protection. You did not imagine the same would apply if he took you back now.

You were furious with yourself when your wrists were twisted and Price disarmed you. You should have been paying attention behind you, should have considered that Ghost would hardly have come alone.

“Depends on my mood sweetheart. If I really think you need it I’ll let you safeword.”

You went for him, tried to get him down so you could rush past and get out of the situation. But your hand to hand was rusty and he was stronger than you, so it didn’t take him long to get you pinned against him and restrained.

“So what you just kidnap me? You’re supposed to fucking run the Kennel but I’m starting to think you should be a resident sir.”

“So am I sweetheart. Of course if you lived there then being a resident doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I’m not spending the rest of my life in a prison because you want a personal whore.”

“You’d be free to come and go so long as you came back to us” Ghost said, calmly watching the whole exchange.

“And what? I just get a brief everyday of who I’ve to service?” you asked, bitterness flooding your tone.

God it was so stupid. The deal was technically good. You got to live a life of luxury, got freedom to come and go and got to be intimate with people that you foolishly held affection for. Would it be so bad? So what if it wasn’t real? So what if you were just a means to an end for them while you would be doomed to pine forever for reciprocation of what you were sure would bloom into love?

“You’d get briefs from people who want to spend time with you so you can choose if you want to or not” Price answered, squeezing you a little.

“And if I never say yes?”

“Unlikely. We all owe you orgasms after being so mean with them yesterday, don't you want what you're owed?” Ghost laughed.

“I told you I’d only listen to a safeword if I thought you really needed it sweetheart. What you’re describing is a situation where what you’d need is a good fucking to remember who you belong to.”

“I belong to myself John Price.”

“Technically that’s true in the eyes of the law and God” Ghost said, considering, sly.

You could feel Price harden against your ass and you made a sound of protest.

“Can’t help it sweetheart, he’s got wedding bells in my head.”

“I- excuse me?”

“Seems a fair trade. You’d agree to belong to me and by extension all my dogs in the Kennel, I’d agree to belong to you and by extension they would too. Fuck you’d look stunning in white” he groaned, hips rutting against you.

“White?” Ghost said with a smirk.

“Doesn’t count if she was under contract. I’m sure Farah will lend her something borrowed if it comes down to it.”

—

She did. You wore a little reddish bead on a necklace on your wedding day. Price barely made it though the ceremony given that he was rock solid the whole time. Fucking wife kink.

It took place in the Kennel of course so everybody could attend. Things had changed. Velikan was a temporary resident now, mostly because he enjoyed trailing a step behind you when you went out shopping. Soap was permanent on account of Ghost saying he was sick of not having 24 hour access to his holes. You’d have thought it was romantic from how Soap preened about it. Valeria was gone but she visited sometimes. That iron control of herself she had meant the Kennel didn't have much justification to keep her locked up.

You met Nikolai in person and discovered him and Price made a hell of a tag team.

And you got to see what it was like when someone new was brought in with Kreuger. It wasn't pretty. You wondered if they had all been as untameably violent and angry about it when they first got here. If not for Mace and König you weren't sure the guy would even be unchained ever, but to your surprise they gelled well with him and turned out very good at keeping him in check.

By the time there was a second wedding he had calmed a lot. Enough that he got to attend with everybody else when Farah got a ring on Alex (another ring you thought given the ink that looped around his cock).

The only mention of the gunshot wound Ghost had was jealous looks from Nikto. Sometimes you thought about that little brand sitting on Ghost's skin and how it might look burned into yours. There were still silvery marks from the knife and you were almost sad thinking about how they would likely fade entirely.

You didn’t stop working, but then you were one of the monsters now so may as well do what you were trained for. Your radio and signals room was state of the art and half the kit in it was definitely not legal, but at this point legal was a pretty meaningless concept. You did horrible things, but at least there were always warm bodies to keep the nightmares away. Plus you had a little fluff ball companion keeping you company since a cat had shown up out of the blue (you were fairly certain exactly who had brought her in but he never mentioned it).

Sometimes you got whisked away. Ale and Rudy took you to Ale’s family vineyard for a week in the Mexican sun. Calisto surprised you with a romantic night in Paris. Keegan shoved you in a ridiculous dress so he could show you off to his team and you paid him back for every dig he took at you that night. Gaz took you to a football game during which him, Nova and Price argued the whole damn time. Lots of holidays, lots of laughter and dare you say contented happiness.

Now you just had to avoid giving in to that pesky fucking pregnancy kink half of them had.

[volklana]

If You Keep Willing Those Flames To Go Higher. You Know They Will.

Title Comes From This Song:

Summary: When Yelena brings a woman from Bucky's HYDRA past back to the tower to be part of the team, his hatred for himself, spills out into his treatment of her, threatening to destroy everything he's worked on and what could have been the beginning of a new love.

Warnings: There's a scene where reader puts herself purposely in harm's way just to feel something.

Sometimes Bucky was irritable and snappy. He was mean, dismissive and rude and sometimes his sharp tongue said things he didn’t even really mean, but nevertheless most people just accepted that was part of the parcel of Bucky and underneath it all was a caring man who would do anything to protect those he was close to.

But that was precisely the problem, he wasn’t close with you, despite your numerous attempts at getting to know him when you first joined the team.

Yelena had simply come back with you one night and expected everyone to welcome you with open arms, but Bucky could not.

He had known you, back in his Winter Soldier days, had seen you first hand on similar missions to his own for HYDRA, gathering counter-information for the Russians, and carrying out kill missions for both parties alike.

But despite all that, you had made it your mission to show him that you had changed, you followed his orders to a tee. You were first to show up to training every day and the last to leave.

You made everyone food, going as far as to bring it to his door when he refused to come down to the living room.

You were always the first up, coffee brewing for when he would emerge into the kitchen, looking like he hadn’t slept in over a week, the first to offer him help in a mission and try to take care of him when he was hurt.

“Morning Bucky,” you smiled softly and he scoffed from somewhere deep in the back of his throat.

“Barnes to you,” he spat and you stepped to the side to allow him to fetch a cup of coffee. 

He overheard you on a video call with your therapist one day and he hardened his face when you emerged from your room, red eyed and wiping away tears in a haste when you bumped into him, eyes going wide with embarrassment but he didn’t say anything either in contempt or reassurance and he watched you traipse down the corridor heavy shouldered and tired. 

He didn’t care about you, he had to remind himself.

You were like sunshine in the tower, your laughter bounced off the walls, Yelena and Bob felt so comfortable around you there was always one of them glued to your side, sometimes Yelena would simply plop her head onto your lap and Bucky would watch you twirl your fingers absentmindedly through her hair as her eyes slipped closed and for just a fraction of a second he would think that maybe, just maybe you were good, and wonder what it would feel like to lay his own head in your lap and let you ease him into sleep.

Everyone else loved you.

But his nightmares would sharply remind him every night that you were not good.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” he spat and you almost wilted under his glare.

“Barnes?” your soft voice was calling and it took Bucky a second to come back to reality, the warm light enveloping his room allowed him to quickly assess that he was here, he was safe, and your silhouette beside the bed was a non-threatening entity, he sharply released the grip he had on your wrist and sat up in the bed, his face was foul and you stood for a moment nursing the wrist he had gripped so tightly you were sure it would break.

“You were crying out my name. I thought you were in danger- I didn’t realise it was a nightmare.”

“I am in danger. We’re all in danger as long as you are under this roof.”

He hated you, so why did the expression of hurt that flashed across your face make him regret his words for just a second, before you quickly masked it like the good assassin you had been trained to be, and he swallowed down the regret. 

“I’m trying to make up for it. All of it,” you said finally, in a voice that was too small and not your own, “Neither of us are who we used to be, I know I can’t go back and undo all the bad I did but you won’t even give me the chance to try and do some good now.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Bucky spat “I had no say in anything I did. But you-” his voice was accusatory and he didn’t care now that there were tears in your eyes.

“You think that I had a choice?” you cried.

“They had to torture me, repeatedly. Wipe my memory, repeatedly to get me to do the things I did. You skipped into it all willingly.”

He watched your mouth open and close trying to formulate words, hand still clutching the wrist he had injured and tears pooling, dangerously close to falling.

“The rest of the team might be buying into this nicey nicey bullshit but don’t forget that I have seen the real you,” he spat and before you could stop yourself you spat it back.

“And I saw the real you.”

You wanted to take it back as quickly as it fell from your lips but the damage of the words had been done as you watched Bucky’s expression change and your throat burned with the want to cry.

“I will stay out of your way Barnes. You have made it very clear what you think of me and I can see now that you will never give me the second chance that was given to you. After this night we have nothing to say to each other.”

“Just get out,” he sighed slinking back down into his bed and flicking his bedside lamp off, he heard you shuffle gently out of the room and you made it precisely to the close of his door before you erupted into tears, a huge sob leaving your chest as you gulped for air.

He pretended not to hear it.

You had both hurt each other this night but neither of you would admit to it.

You were no longer first in the training room, eager and ready to learn and train with him.

There was no more coffee brewing in the morning for him.

No baked goods on the counter, no family dinners and any time he bumped into you in the corridor now, there were tears in your eyes.

He didn’t care, he told himself. So why did he?

“What’s wrong, please talk to me?” he heard Yelena pleading with you one night and your harsh, biting “Please just leave me alone!” followed by the dejected slam of your bedroom door made his heart heavy as Yelena emerged from your room, shrugging his way in defeat as they passed each other in the hallway. 

Bob could sense it like a moth to a flame, he was afraid to get too close now for fear the other guy would appear and pull everyone back into the void. You understood, of course you did, but it was another hurt to add to your list of hurts.

You were depressed and there was no other way to describe the depth of the darkness you were feeling.

“You know it is a condition of your pardon, and of being on this team,” she scolded.

Val was berating you in hushed tones in one of the conference rooms and Bucky really tried not to eavesdrop but it was a curse of his super hearing.

And you were stood arms pulled defensively around yourself, eyes locked on the ground.

“Not going to your court-mandated therapy is just not an option Y/N.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” you sighed “No amount of therapy or sorries can change what I’ve done,” you cried and Val tutted and swatted you on the arm.

“Honey, it’s not about whether you’re sorry or not. It’s whether the public thinks you’re sorry and can trust you.”

“Well they shouldn’t!” you shot back and Val rounded on you.

“You need to snap out of it. Okay this pity party, invitation for one, it’s not cute. You have a job to do and if you can’t show up to your fucking therapy and slap a smile on that pretty face of yours, I will find someone else who can do it.” 

A movement in the corridor caught your attention and you locked eyes with Bucky through the glass walls of the conference room and as he passed by his face was conflicted. He hated you, so why did seeing you so upset break his heart? 

“Y/N,” she cried.

“She’s gone!” Yelena burst into the living room, brandishing a piece of paper around crying, Alexei rising to grasp the note and asking her who.

���But,” Bob interjected, grasping the note from Alexei, reading it quickly, “But she didn’t even say goodbye.”

Bucky grasped the note and scoured it quickly himself, “I’m so sorry I just can’t do it anymore.”

His heart was thumping in his chest and he suddenly felt hot everywhere.

“Yelena, where would she go? Where is her family?”

“Family?” she shot back “Bucky, I met her in the Red Room, there is no family!” she said it accusatory like it should have been obvious.

Suddenly your words from a few weeks ago came back to hit Bucky like a freight train,

“You think that I had a choice?”

Bucky had been so intent on seeing you as complicit in the actions of HYDRA, that he hadn’t taken a moment of clarity to look into your history.

“They broke her legs because of me,” Yelena cried and Bob squeezed her reassuringly on the shoulder because of course he had seen it in the void.

“I messed up a mission and even though we were all trained to be cruel and selfish and to not care about anybody else, she took the blame for me. I can still hear her screams.”

Bob was crying too, and Bucky suddenly came to the realisation that he had heard those screams too. 

“And she would just leave me now without saying goodbye?”

“No, this is my doing,” he said softly “It’s on me to put right.”

“I want to come too,” Yelena begged as Bucky was packing a backpack.

“She wanted so badly to be your friend,” Yelena sighed, there was no blame there or any accusatory tone, but Bucky sighed there really fucking should have been.

“I got this one wrong,” he told Yelena honestly and she reached forward to grasp his hand.

“Put it right,” she begged and he promised her faithfully that he would.

Your stomach ached from hunger but you could not bring yourself to eat, in fact you couldn’t actually remember the last time you had eaten.

The night sea air whipped your hair wildly around and you pulled your cardigan tighter around your body, the large moon illuminating the water was the only source of light on the beach.

You slipped out of your shoes, leaving them on the small wooden boardwalk, and stepped out into the dunes, relishing in the cold squishy feel of the damp sand around your feet.

The sea was calling your name and you were ready to walk into her open arms, you just wanted to feel something, anything at all and the crashing coldness of the waves had always been your way of feeling the most alive.

The tide brought the waves in until a crashing wave covered your bare feet and you kept walking until you were knee deep in the icy waters.

Even if there were tears cascading down your cheeks this was the happiest you had felt in weeks.

You thought about the joy in finding Yelena again, the little sister you never had, and Bob, the way he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars.

And Alexei who told you the same stories over and over again, but you let him with a good natured patience because life had not been the kindest to him either.

But the thoughts of Bucky wiped any smile off your face in an instant.

You had admired him for the longest time. Before you had even become a part of the team. He had given you hope when you first decided to go straight, to take the hands that had injured and killed and lips that had lied so easily and try to do some good with them.

You saw yourself in him and so you had tried with all your might to show him how much you respected him. You trained harder than anyone else. You made him coffee every morning because you heard his screams all throughout the night but every day he looked at you like a piece of shit on his boot and it was slowly killing you.

You were waist deep in the icy water now and a few more steps you would be under, you took a deep breath bracing yourself and plunged, the coldness hit you like a punch to the gut and you had to struggle against the current, but you were suddenly grasped around the middle and hoisted out of the depths, all air knocked from your lungs and flung down onto the wet sand of the shore in a matter of seconds.

His long hair was clinging to his skin and it became evident that he dived in after you, to rescue you, his cobalt, icy eyes scanning you all over until they settled into boring into your own.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bucky was panting before you, face laced with concern and panic as he cupped your face inspecting you for any sign of harm.

He didn’t remove his hands from your face.

“I didn’t- it isn’t what you think! I just wanted to feel something. Anything. Other than guilt and shame.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I got this all wrong, it was never about you, it was about me and I took it all out on you. That was so fucking unfair.”

He hated the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, “I understand,” you swallowed “I understand why you hated me, I should have left sooner- I didn’t deserve a place on that team,”

“Y/n, stop,” he shook you gently but with purpose “I only hated you because I looked at you…and I saw me.”

You flinched, confusion written all over your features and he watched you trying to make sense of what he was saying.

“Everything I can’t stand about me, it’s right there in you. But people love you, they accept you for it. You walk into a room and you light it up, your laughter fills that tower and people levitate towards you. When people look at you, you hold your head up high and you own your past. And when people look at me- I burn. I burn under the shame.” 

The silence was thick and the air heavy as you looked at each other, aching for the other to understand.

“I thought if I pushed you hard enough, you would crack under the weight. That you would break the way that I did. The nightmares, the screaming - I know you hear it. I thought if I could break you down too, then I wouldn’t feel like such a broken, utter failure..”

This time you could not mask the hurt across your face.

He had used you as an emotional punch bag and somewhere beneath the hurt you were feeling there was an understanding for why Bucky had done what he had done, but that still hurt.

“But you didn’t crack. You showed up every single day, coffee brewed, ready and willing for me to batter you in training or berate you at every chance and you never once looked at me like the fucking monster that I am.”

“You’re not,” you cried shaking your head in his hands, “Bucky you’re not a monster.” 

Bucky, not Barnes, not Seargent or worse James, Bucky and it cracked open something fragile inside of him.

“I don’t hate you,” he cried, brushing a thumb across your cheek and you shivered.

You took a small step forward and he let you, he didn’t flinch or try to move away, just shivered under the weight of your gaze.

“I want to stop fighting with you. Have wanted to from day one, I just don’t know how to stop,” he admitted, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

You ached to reach out to him, to caress him and tell him all was forgiven but you were scared.

You could feel it in the tension between you now, that everything had changed, that there would be no going back to how it was before.

Scared that he would suddenly snap- that he would push you away again.

You had tried to be tender to him before and ended up hurt.

And his words echoed somewhere deep inside you “I only hated you because I looked at you…and I saw me,” they weighed on you from the inside out, did he really only see the worst of himself in you?

So you did nothing, except listen to the sound of the waves crashing in the background and the sound of your own heart thumping in your ears.

But he looked at you then, straight into your eyes- into your very soul. And there was no hatred there, no anger, just something undeniably vulnerable, raw and human.

He was looking at you like he wanted to ask you to stay but he just didn’t know how to and so before you could overthink it you closed the distance between you, placing a trembling hand to his face, your thumb brushing delicately across the stubble on his jaw and he leaned heavily into your touch.

“I’m scared,” you admitted honestly and he brought his flesh hand up to hold yours against his face, “I’m really scared because I think I’ve loved you all this time and I can’t go back to how it was before. If you don’t stop adding flames to that fire of anger you feel inside you- it’s going to burn everything to the ground, you and me included, and I can’t watch it happen again…I won’t.”

He squeezed your hand in acknowledgement, face a storm of pain.

“Will you just let me try?” he pleaded voice soft and broken, “I want to try..for you.”

Softly and apprehensively, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

His breath shuddered but he didn’t pull away, arms locking around your frame and pulling you closer until you were flush against him, his arms shook around you and when the first tear fell, it fell against your own cheek.

He was crying into the kiss and you let him, hands flying up to cup his jaw, and he allowed himself to be this vulnerable for you.

You deserved it, the honestly and the vulnerability- for the way he had treated you.

He finally pulled away, just a fraction, to look at you. Really look at you.

His eyes were stained red from tears but he made no attempt to hide.

“Come back to the tower with me?” it wasn’t a request but a begging, “I can’t go back there without you. Can’t go back to what I was and I can’t face it without you. Come home, where you belong.”

“I’ve never belonged anywhere,” you cried and Bucky’s heart shattered because he knew how that felt all too well.

“Perhaps we can find where we belong, together,” it was hopeful and raw and you were nodding in his arms.

And yes you would belong with him, and to him.

Yes you would come home.

Because you already did. 

Tagging:

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[sentientcave]

Fuck-ass Mohawk

Contains: Alcohol, smoking (cigarettes and cannabis), Soap being Soap, Ghost being Ghost, uninvited touching, tall fem reader

Short little thing about Johnny liking it a bit when you're a bitch to him (And Ghost likes it too)

868 Words ~ MDNI

You’d rather stay home and play board games, but Laurie had convinced everyone that it was a good night for clubbing. You hated clubs— The noise, the crowds, the smell of sweat and alcohol and hormones— and spent the better part of club nights standing outside chain-smoking, or crammed into a dirty bathroom stall holding back a friend’s hair as she threw up blue curacao because she didn’t listen to you when you told her to eat dinner before going out. Tonight didn’t look like it was going to end up with anyone puking their guts up, at least. Laurie’s flirting with a gorgeous hunk with a devastating smile, and Alex and Hannah are dancing, so you go out the side door into the alley for some fresh air. Or air, anyway, since the alley’s where folks go to smoke. You light a joint, because at least that will dull the effect that the sound is having on your head. It’s getting close to midnight, which at least means the night is almost over, so long as someone doesn’t drag you along to some weirdo’s house. “Hey, wha’s a bonnie thing like ye doin’ out here all alone?” A voice purrs in your ear. You jump, surprised that he could get so close with out you noticing him, especially once you turn and really look at him. He’s huge, not that tall, probably your height when you’re not wearing boots (You have about an inch and a half on him in your shit-kickers), but broad and way more muscled than anyone has any reason to be, wrapped in a too-tight shirt, and smiling at you, bright blue eyes fixed on yours with unnerving intensity. He pats your shoulder. “Didnae mean to scare ye, lass, just wanted to say hello.” You take a big step to the side, establishing a new bubble of personal space without him in it. “Well, hello,” you say dismissively. “Goodbye.” There’s a snort from a few meters away, a big fellow with a kn95 mask dangling on one ear, his hand up in front of his face, a cigarette clamped between his fingers. “Och, dinnae be like tha’, hen.” “Don’t like it?” you ask, glaring at him. “Go away. Plenty of girls in there’ll go for whatever all this is.” A sweeping, unimpressed glance from his boots and ripped jeans up to his stupid mohawk would usually do the trick, but it only made this fellow smile wider. “No’ enough fer ya? I can sweeten tha deal some. The big fella doesnae mind sharin’ a sweet lass with me noo and again. There’s plenty of ye ta go around.” “Johnny,” the big fellow in question says sternly. His mask is back in place, covering the lower half of his face. “Dun’t look like she’s interested.”

“Tha’s where you’re wrong, LT. She just doesna want to admit it. Hen’s got pride. Wants to make me work for it, right lass?” He winks at you. “No. Don’t like your fuck-ass mohawk.” You puff on your joint, keeping your face still while he splutters, indignant. “Fuck-ass mohawk?” he asks. “What do ye mean by tha’?” “I mean it looks like you have a contentious relationship with your father,” you say. Maybe you’re being a bit mean, but it’s always fun to take a cocky fucker down a peg or two. “I don’t fuck with men with daddy issues. Most of ‘em are cops or military lads.” The big guy— LT?— laughs aloud at that while Johnny’s still looking at you with his mouth hanging open. The side door opens, and your friends pile out, Laurie arm in arm with her hunk, and Hannah and Alex clinging to handsome fellows of their own. “There you are,” Laurie says. “We’re going back to Hannah’s. Are you coming?” “Uh. I guess.” Laurie beams at you, and looks up at her hunk. “Kyle, do you need to find your friends?” “Nah. These lads right here.” He gestures at Johnny and LT. with a grin. “Knew Ghost would be out here, and Soap’s always followin’ him around like the big puppy he is.” “Ah’m no’!” You fall into step at the rear of the group. You’ll probably head home rather than join them, but Hannah’s flat is on the way to your own. Johnny and his handler flank you, matching your stride when you slow down or speed up. Annoying. “So what, is the big guy your replacement daddy?” you ask. “Wha— No!” Johnny says hotly. “He’s just my lieutenant.” “Could be your daddy, if you like,” Ghost says, putting a heavy hand on the back of your neck. “Got a thing for caustic little cunts.” “Oh fuck off,” you say, trying to shove his hand off. His grip squeezes a little tighter, and you try to ignore the way that core clenches around nothing. You channel the heat into anger, and dig your nails into his wrist hard. “Don’t fucking touch me.” He grunts, but doesn’t seem all that affected by your claws. “Look at you, ‘issin’ and spittin’ like a puffed up alley cat. S’cute. But save it for later, eh? Don’t want you to tire yourself out too early.”

[photo1030]

Heyyy I have a suggestion to make it’s kinda stupid whatever so it takes place at the mayor’s party where Arthur Morgan and Dutch is meeting mr Bronte and reader come running to Mr Bronte for some random reason and sense she’s wearing a corset she can’t get all the air in her lungs AND SHE PAST OUT so Arthur or Dutch (I LUV THEM BOTH teehee) gotta RIPS her out the corset.. that’s all I got LOVE YOUR WRITING BTWW MWAH! ❤️❤️❤️

Hi there @lizzie2980 So sorry this has taken me forever. Thank you for being so kind and patient (and hopefully still interested?) This was a great prompt, had a lot of fun with this one.

This is a bit out of the canon story, hopefully that is OK. This is a little bit of flirty and protective Arthur, with a smidge of charming Dutch in there...lovely combo, if you ask me....which you did...(This is not part of my existing fic, Leather and Lace, btw)

(The images used here were found on a lovely blog that is apparently designed to help fanworks. Check it out! Thank you to whoever put that together. https://reddeadreference.tumblr.com/post/679731317406072832/the-gilded-cage )

*Special thanks to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

DON’T MAKE A SCENE 

Summary:  You are at Angelo Bronte’s house for a fancy garden party when you meet a certain group of outlaws.

Your hands clamp down tighter as the plump elderly matron apologetically yanks the strings of the restrictive corset. Nails of already shaky fingers dig into the wooden bedpost that you use to support yourself with as you stand on wavering feet. You wince on the verge of painful tears as Bridget stands behind you and pulls the threads of the already too tight garment even tighter still, testing the limits of its stitching and causing a gasp to quickly get sucked into your folded-up lungs with each pull.

Sunset has already begun, the brilliant orange disc settling itself softly behind the horizon line for the day, and your room slowly dims to a pastel dusk as you get ready, the wall sconces glowing against the ivory painted walls of your lavish private quarters inside Angelo Bronte’s mansion. The garden party below will be starting any minute, and the shadows that dance along the walls inside the house mask the dread inside your chest. It is as if your hope and spirit are diminishing with the quickly-fading sun. You are hoping that Bridget doesn’t see the trepidation creeping into your expression as she flits about you, but the older woman is too shrewd for that. 

“You know...Mr. Bronte…he isn’t going to wait much longer for you”, she murmurs as her weathered fingers begin to run over your frame, smoothing out the fabric of your dress, picking at errant threads. “He will eventually want what he feels he is due.”

The obvious statement hits your gut like a prize-fighter’s punch. “I know,” you utter with a dejected sigh, your voice almost a whimper in the air.

The thought of the man’s pock-marked, oily skin against your own makes you sick to your stomach. It would be like a vile lizard rubbing up against you. 

But Bridget is not unsympathetic to your situation. She is definitely a woman of experienced years, as the graying hair of her loosely tied-up bun gives testament to. And she knows a thing or two from her twenty-some years in service to upper-society households. 

“You know, sometimes when you’re a woman, you just have to do what you have to do. Close your eyes and let your mind go somewhere else when it’s happening.” She waves her hand dismissively in the air as if speaking about the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “Just tune it all out, let the man have his way, and then it will all be over quickly. In fact, it’s usually over quicker than you think.” She gives you a whimsical wink as a sharp cackle snaps out of her throat at her own joke. Whether Bridget is speaking specifically about Bronte, or any man for that matter, you are not sure, as this seems to have the feel of a rehearsed speech she has given many times over.

When Bridget sees the distaste of such a thing clearly coating your face as you silently stand there with your hands fidgeting over themselves, she continues.

“If you’re clever enough, you could let him have what he wants, but then have something for yourself on the side, you know.” 

Your eyes immediately shoot up to hers to find that knowing twinkle in her eye. The thought causes a humorless huff from your lips. 

“I can barely manage to look after myself, Bridget. I couldn’t manage that cat-and-mouse game.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and continues to primp and preen your outfit. 

Despite the odd advice, you are grateful for Bridget’s counsel. She is the only friend you have here in Angelo Bronte’s mansion. You are not a hostage per se, but he has made his opinions very clear on how he feels about a woman, especially one indebted to him, leaving the premises to socialize without him as your escort and chaperone; so improper, so ungrateful. 

It is especially warm tonight on the evening of the garden party that Mr. Bronte has been planning for weeks now. The whole household buzzes with excitement and anticipation for the fancy event, despite the sweltering weather. St. Denis is dreadfully hot and muggy, making it difficult to breathe on a good day. You’re not used to such heat. You come from the northern state of Massachusetts, which is much cooler. The heat here is bad enough, but the humidity clings to the air like a wet blanket. 

And this damn dress doesn’t help in the slightest. 

The dress that Angelo Bronte hand-picked for you to wear tonight is way too tight, making you lightheaded already. You watch in the full-length mirror as the constricting fabric pulls your body into shape under Bridget’s strong, able fingers, transforming your voluptuous figure into an hourglass. A deep midnight blue hued fabric that shimmers in the light is cut to hug and accent your physique, leaving little to the imagination of the observer. 

If the origins of the dress weren’t so distasteful, you may have very well liked the beautiful gown that currently clings to your form and drapes over your hips in a cascade of silk. But you know Bronte did not provide this gown to please you. No, he did it for his own inflated ego. Bronte will parade you around tonight like a prized horse out of his stable, showing you off to all in tonight’s attendance. And he’ll treat you as such too - like something he’s purchased and owns outright.

You curse yourself for letting yourself get into this situation. You hate that you have to rely on this man for a place to live. You arrived new to St. Denis a month ago and were promptly robbed upon arrival, leaving you with nothing. So much for civilization. 

Bronte noticed you at the train station, frazzled and lost, and totally beside yourself as to what you would do now. You came here with no relatives, no contacts, just the promise of jobs and new adventure out West from an ad you saw in the newspaper back home. The man quickly made your acquaintance, preying like a vulture on your vulnerable situation. He was charming with a note of authority, like he knew exactly what to do and where to go. But it quickly became apparent that he offered you his home as a sanctuary in hopes to win your affections. You’ve managed to play coy for awhile, however, agreeing to be on his arm and accompany him to various social functions in town in exchange for residency in his home. But you have denied the man what he wants most - you in his bed. 

An involuntary sigh passes your cherry lips as Bridget takes your hand in hers, patting it in the same way a grandmother comforts her troubled grandchild, and leads you to the vanity along the opposite wall so she can set your hair. Your body mindlessly drifts to the tapestry-padded stool, like a lost flower petal in the wind, void of any energy or enthusiasm. 

Bridget’s nimble fingers curl your hair and pin it back to showcase your pretty face, adding in beautiful crystal clips for decoration and she even weaves a few flower buds from the garden into your locks. You sit silently in front of the vanity mirror with a blank stare, a melancholy overtaking your soul as you watch her prepare you to be the perfect accessory to the rich man’s life. The motherly woman’s presence comforts you, but she is also serving you up to the master of the house like a slice of beef on a silver platter for him to devour. 

“There, now. Don’t you just look breathtaking?” she breaths in awe. The deep-set lines around Bridget’s hazel-colored eyes crinkle as she admires her masterpiece. Your eyes refocus to catch the old woman’s proud gaze in the mirror, and then back over your own reflection.

“Yes, Bridget,” you whisper with a sad smile, your lower lip quivering just slightly. “You did a fine job. Thank you for your help tonight.” She catches the reluctance in your fluttering eyes and can only nod in agreement. She lovingly pats your arm in an attempt to comfort your growing uneasiness. 

“Well, I had better get downstairs and tend to the kitchen, then. Don’t hide up here too long, miss.” And she wipes her hands on her apron as her wide hips carry her to the bedroom door before she slips out and you are alone with your thoughts once again. 

With a deep sigh, you haul yourself up to stand. You swish the heavy fabric of your dress-skirts to the side to allow you to amble over to the balcony doors of your private room. Pulling the double-doors open wide with both hands, you step out onto the freshly painted wood as a rush of humid air hits you like a wall, causing you to take a brief pause to try to catch your breath. Your hands eventually find their place upon the smooth railing as you step up to the edge to look out over the balcony at the garden party below. 

Jovial music floats up to your ears from the string quartet that is playing on the patio beneath you. String lights delicately criss-cross over the open garden area, resembling a net that has caught a thousand fire-flies. Bronte’s guests have already started to arrive and their chatter fills the air, alternating with the clinks of champagne flutes. You casually observe as greedy fingers grab at the delectable food and free alcohol that is meticulously displayed along elegant tables that dot across the property, the delicious aromas wafting through the evening air. 

The scene laid out before you is like a page out of the society section of the newspapers. Always over-the-top, always impressive, Angelo Bronte spares no expense in his functions. Decadent food, expensive wines, extravagant decor. Always to impress the upper echelon of society. And yet, you have no desire to mingle with the high-society of St. Denis. From what you’ve seen, it’s hardly impressive to you. 

You watch with disinterest over the crowd, observing from the elevated vantage point as people collect in small groups, then turn to whisper to each other like conniving socal piranhas the moment one of the fold turns to leave to join another circle. With a scornful roll of your eyes, you have no idea how you are going to make it through this evening unscathed. 

And then, a collection of unknown men catch your eye. You’ve never seen them in Bronte’s circle before. And they clearly don’t belong. Under closer observation, this is an assembly of rugged looking gentlemen, a sharp contrast to the other guests in attendance tonight. Though they may have donned fancy tuxedos and hats, the way they carry themselves indicates they are not used to wearing such garb. Their eyes nervously shift all around instead of at whoever is addressing them as if more interested in what is happening around them rather than trying to assert social connections. Your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth as your curious gaze lingers on them, trying to determine if they were invited or snuck in with the crowd.

As if he can feel your eye on him with the sixth sense of a trained outlaw, Arthur instinctively looks away from the men he is standing with and looks up towards the balcony of the great house and notices you. He doesn’t smile or even move for that matter, other than a single eyebrow lift as if in confusion. Your breath catches a bit at being caught staring. But yet you cannot bring yourself to break eye contact with the startling blue eyes gazing back at you from across the garden. And you can’t help the soft smile that blooms across your blushing cheeks at the ruggedly handsome man. 

When the mystery man eventually turns his attention back to his companions, you shake your head back to reality and decide you’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to begin to make your way down to the garden party and get this over with. You leisurely stroll along the length of the wrap-around balcony of the house to the stairs that will carry you down to the patio. Your hand has to grip the railing of the staircase as you walk, as your dress is so tight that descending the stairs makes you out of breath. The boning of the corset digs painfully into your ribs and hipbones as you move. Such a dreadful, masochistic thing, you wonder why on earth women put themselves through such torture for the sake of fashion. Once at the bottom, you attempt to take a deep breath, bringing your fingertips to your temples before bracing yourself to join the guests. 

First order of business, you scan the crowd to locate your host. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually lock-in on him when you hear his boisterous, condescending laugh echoing over the throng of people. Angelo Bronte really is a toad of a man. And despite his money and power, he is rather socially inept. Maybe it’s the fact that he's not from this country. Or maybe society is held differently in Italy. But either way, the elite here in St. Denis have mixed feelings about the wealthy man. Mixed as in, they like his wealth but do not care for the man. And that is where you come in. 

Bronte’s idea is that having a beautiful, refined and charming woman on his arm will make him appear more distinguished. Your role in this little arrangement with him is to be the doting young paramore, helping him to navigate the social circles. No one needs to be the wiser that the two of you sleep in separate rooms on completely different ends of the house. But for appearances sake, Angelo Bronte has acquired himself quite the crown jewel with your presence. 

As you meander through the crowd, you keep getting intercepted by random party guests, each one handing you a new glass of champagne. Your eye catches Bronte’s a few times as you mingle, as he checks to make sure you are performing as expected. Of course, the witty jokes, effervescent laughing and demure little smiles that emanate from you work according to plan. You can see Bronte pointing you out to guests from across the garden, a crude grin of approval splitting across the faces of the men he leans into, all chattering with hushed tones and hungry eyes. It’s enough to make your corset-restricted stomach turn. 

After about forty five minutes of false chuckles and empty smiles, you are desperate for fresh air and peace and quiet, so you discreetly head to the rose garden which is off to the right side of the party, hoping to find less people there.

Wandering aimlessly through the maze of hedges and rose bushes, you manage to find a quiet little corner away from prattling visitors and raise your tired eyes to the heavens above. The smog of St. Denis covers the night sky and it leaves you with a heavy feeling of disappointment that even the vast galaxy of stars is being kept from you in this dreadful place. With a dispirited sigh, your tear-misted eyes slowly roll shut, attempting to find some sort of solitude from this hell on earth. 

“Is this a safe place to hide?”

The sound of a deep, gravelly voice suddenly cuts into your mind, causing your eyes to snap open as you spin to see who is speaking to you. 

And there he is. The handsome fellow who you were staring at from the balcony. He stands quietly, a slight smirk of amusement on his face. It takes you a few moments to realize that he is indeed real, no fantasy apparition to come to stand before you. Confused blinks skitter across your face as you take in the sight of him. Now that you are up close to him, you can see just how tall and broad-shouldered he is. 

“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers when you hesitate to answer, his simple apology carrying little fanfare or bravado. Just a simple statement with no malice, no ill-content and no agenda towards you. 

“Oh…no…you didn’t startle me,” you manage to stammer as you try to regain your composure.

The stranger’s ocean-blue eyes float across your frame, head to toe, assessing you with a slight tilt of his head.  “You sure about that?” he jokes as he gives you a deeper smirk now.

Picking up on his genuine humor, you release the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. “No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I just needed a minute, is all. I didn’t expect anyone to be back here.” 

When you lob a smile back at him in return, Arthur takes a gamble and begins to move slightly closer to you, specifically intent on maintaining this conversation. “Hmm, needing to get away from the herd? Is that it?”

The term causes a chuckle to erupt out of your throat. “Yeah, something like that.” You begin to step towards him as well, both of you moving slowly yet purposefully towards the other to close the gap between you until you are about three feet from each other. The air surrounding the garden is like that before a thunderstorm, exhilarating because it could be both beautiful and dangerous at the same time. The two of you stand quietly, simply staring at the other like a couple of clumsy teenagers not knowing what to say. 

“No offense, but you don’t seem like you belong here,” you finally break the amorous spell with a raised eyebrow. As your words hover like a butterfly in his ears, you note the faded scars along the man’s chin, embedded into his tanned skin and nestled beneath his rugged beard that you can see was probably hastily groomed for this evening.

He doesn’t deny it, but counters almost playfully with “I could say the same for you.”

You flirtatiously narrow your eyes at him. “What makes you say that?”

He waves his large finger towards you. “You carry the same disdain for this place on your face that I do.”

Well, you have to admit, he’s got you there and all you can do is nod in agreement. “That obvious, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he chuckles, bringing his hand up to pinch his fingers together to accent his point. “It's ok, though. Glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to be here.” And he tosses a perturbed glace back over his shoulder towards the noise of the party. 

“I guess that makes us two peas in a pod, then, doesn’t it?” you muse with a glittering smile that makes his chest tight.

A grin pulls at the corner of the stranger’s plump lips, causing his scarred chin to wrinkle. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?” 

“My name is Y/F&LN”. You extend your hand out and his large hand completely engulfs yours, dwarfing your delicate fingers with his own. You immediately notice how his skin is rough, yet warm to the touch, his hand strong in a comfortingly protective way. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

And the two of you hold each other’s gaze like a spark of electricity pulsing through the air to connect you. You can feel your fingertips go numb as your heart beats faster within your perfume-dusted chest. And Arthur hopes that you do not notice how he thickly swallows, flexing his now-sweaty hands before awkwardly kneading his thumb into the opposite palm. 

But your beautiful little moment together is short-lived when you hear your name being called out into the night, snapping you back to the real world. And before you know it, a very anxious-looking Bridget appears from around the hedges, her eyes darting around, her lips pressed tightly together in worry. 

“Miss Y/N, there you are! Mr. Bronte is asking for you.” She gives you a sharp wave in her direction before her eyes quickly slip to the burly gentleman to your right.

An embarrassed school-girl blush dusts your cheeks as you clear your throat. “Yes, of course, Bridget, thank you. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Arthur. “Well, Mr. Morgan, it was very nice to meet you. If you will excuse me, please.”

“‘Course.” Arthur dips his head with a respectful nod as you float past him, your fingertips nervously tucking a few tendrils of hair behind your ear. 

Bridget gives Arthur a good look up and down before she turns and follows behind you back towards the music of the garden party with a sly, smug smile drawn on her lips. “Maybe you’re more clever than you think,” she whispers impishly in your ear. You shoot her a cautionary look as you smooth your hands over the fabric of your dress, making sure that you are presentation-ready before you make your way to your host. 

As you navigate the crowd to approach Bronte, you take notice that he is talking to the other men that came with Mr. Morgan. The moment he catches sight of you, Bronte’s face lights up.

“Ah, Miss Y/N! There you are! Come, Come!” He waves you over to stand next to him. “I’d like you to meet some special guests.” Bronte crudely clutches your hand, bringing it to his saliva-slick lips before eagerly wrapping it around his arm. “This is Mr. Van der Linde, and his associates, Mr. Williamson and Mr. Matthews. Gentleman, this is my…’companion’, Miss Y/LN.”

You force down the bile in the back of your throat that the toad conjures up as a graceful nod and accompanying smile adorns your pretty face when you turn towards the men you are being presented to. “Gentleman, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Van Der Linde greets you as he flashes a sultry grin in your direction, boldly reaching his ringed hand to take ahold of yours that sits tucked in Bronte’s elbow. He brazenly brings your digits to his warm mouth to place a tender kiss along your knuckles. “Call me Dutch.” His dark eyes fully take you in with a glitter of mischief behind them. “Mr. Bronte is indeed a lucky man.”

Unlike Angelo Bronte, you find this new social contact of his to be quite charismatic and charming. And while most of the attendees of this event carry some level of bravado, this man standing in front of you seems to be quite different, the type to put his money where his mouth is. 

Interest flashes through your eyes at this dark-haired stranger. And Bronte is quick to notice. With a deep scowl of disapproval, his arm quickly snakes around your waist, holding you possessively against him in the presence of these men, so tight that it makes you squirm against his grip. You are about to protest the moderately painful discomfort when Mr. Morgan suddenly joins the circle, his azure eyes immediately targeting the meaty hand that grips your hip before lifting to meet your grimacing expression. The sight makes his face turn dark with a menacing presence to it. It almost shocks you to see the stark contrast to his demeanor from your encounter a few moments ago. 

“Quite the shindig you got goin’ here, Bronte,” Mr. Morgan says cooly, his statement breaking the tension of the social circle. “You always run things like this?”

The disapproval in your new friend’s voice causes one of the other men in his group (Mr. Matthews, is it?) to shoot him a glare of warning, to which Mr. Morgan shrugs off. 

Bronte lifts his nose at the rub, but he will not be made a fool of so easily at the challenge. “Ah, I’m sure you country folk are not used to such luxury, yes?”  

“Personally, I don’t care for it,” snarks Arthur with a snort of derision. “Hard to enjoy myself like a gluttonous pig when there’s people right outside the gate starvin’”

As you stand there next to Bronte listening to these men throw thinly veiled contempt at one another, you begin to feel dizzy. Your head starts to swim, spots dancing before your eyes, making your stomach lurch. But no one notices at first, except for Mr. Van Der Linde.

“You alright, miss?” Mr. Van Der Linde questions you with concern skipping across his dark features. 

“Oh, yes,” you wave him off. “It’s just…just this heat…” You begin to fan yourself, desperate for some cool air to caress your face. 

And suddenly the world around you starts to spin and your knees give way underneath you as if they move of their own accord. You begin to crumple in front of everyone and Dutch is quick to catch you just before you hit the ground, his strong arms shooting out to enfold you and ease you into the grass. The moment Arthur sees that you are in trouble, he promptly hovers over you as well, catching your hand into his own and placing himself between you and Bronte as things go dark in front of your eyes.

A collection of curious guests begins to gather around the spectacle, whispers and fingers discreetly pointing in your direction.

“The lady needs some air,” asserts Dutch as he kneels behind you.

Arthur is at a loss on what to do at first, but is quick to notice how restrictive the corset of your dress is, as your chest can barely move as you desperately gasp for air, your face turning red from the heat of the evening.

With a look of determination, Arthur’s rough hands wrap around your biceps and carefully lift the upper part of your limp body to lean against Dutch, who cradles you into his chest for support. Without a word, Arthur grabs at the fabric of your dress and quickly rips the corseted area wide open, easily tearing the seams under his hands, to release your lungs, exposing the delicate silk undergarments and bare skin hidden beneath. Shock slaps Angelo Bronte in the face as he stands behind Arthur, helplessly watching this embarrassing little scene unfold before his eyes. 

Ignoring the judgemental gasps of the partygoers, Arthur then proceeds to snatch a glass of champagne out of the hands of one of the nosey women craning her neck to see the spectacle and tosses the liquid into your face. The moment the bubbly fluid hits your skin, your eyes instantly pop open as you deeply gasp, desperate to expand your lungs to draw in fresh air. 

Arthur cautiously watches your face in anticipation as you rapidly blink the sweet nectar out of your lashes. Your eyes land on Arthur in confusion as to what has just happened before looking down at yourself and realize that you are now exposed to the whole party. But Arthur immediately takes off his jacket and lays it overtop of you as you sit nestled safely against Dutch who is still behind you. And Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when he recognizes the threads of alertness brightening your features once again. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Arthur orders the crowd, waving them away with a wide arc of his long arm. “Nothing to see here, just a woman needing some air, is all.”

“Can you stand, miss?” Dutch’s deep voice carries softly over your shoulder and into your ear, anchoring you back to consciousness. 

“I think so,” you venture, although the wavering in your voice is not entirely convincing. Your head is still swimming with confusion, but at least you can breathe now and the pounding in your temples has started to recede. 

Arthur takes your hand again, his other slipping under your arm to guide you to your feet as Dutch carefully steadies you from behind. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you say sheepishly looking up into Arthur’s worried face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Bronte suddenly bellows, finally finding his voice of outrage. “Thank you?! You make a scene in my house and you say ‘thank you?!”

“Easy, leave her be,” Arthur growls out, turning his threatening gaze to the party’s host. “Can’t you see the lady isn’t well?”

“No, she most certainly is not!” Bronte spits back in anger. His heartless, burning eyes now land back on you, his nostrils flaring wildly with impatience as his expression screws up into a hateful scowl. “Nuisance! I knew it was a mistake to bring you here” he hollers at you, flecks of spittle flying in your direction. “Should’ve left you at the station where I found you!” His finger thrown in your face causes you to shrink backwards, leaning your back into Dutch yet again, where the man’s hands protectively come up to cradle your arms. 

But Arthur is not having any of it, protectively placing his large bear-like frame between you and Bronte, towering over the other man and desperately trying to refrain from landing his massive fist into his face. “You best keep that finger to yourself, Mr. Bronte, else I'll break it clean off.” Arthur’s tone is low and deep, his threat making a shutter cascade down your spine as you watch with baited breath for what is to happen next. 

“Get out! All of you! Get! Out!” Bronte screams, waving at the group of newcomers. “And take that bitch with you, too!”

Your heart sinks as you watch the Italian spin on his heels and storm off towards the house, his arms flailing wildly as he vents his frustrations and anger out into the ether. The party has clearly ended now, as the guests murmur and whisper amongst themselves about the outrageous scene and begin to file out of the garden to leave. 

Your head hangs a bit in shame as you nibble nervously on your pink bottom lip, holding Arthur's jacket over your chest like armor. You have no love lost for Angelo Bronte, but the idea that you now have nowhere to go is a little terrifying. You have no money, no provisions. Nothing. 

Arthur turns to look at you, seeing your soft face frozen in stunned silence. His own countenance turns sheepish as he now realizes that he has cost you your home. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to get you tossed out.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” You shake your head and place a grateful hand along Arthur’s arm. “You probably did me a favor.” Your smile is warm and forgiving, but it doesn’t make him feel any less responsible for your new predicament. “But I meant what I said, Mr. Morgan. Thank you,” you whisper emphatically. Your gentle voice causes butterflies to flutter in his belly. 

“You have anywhere to go now?” Arthur asks, his blue eyes burning into your own. God, how you could get lost in those eyes for hours. 

Sadly, you shake your head, confirming his suspicions. 

“Well, then,” interrupts Dutch from where he still stands behind you, “If that is the case, you are welcome to come with us, Miss Y/L/N.” He offers you another of his charming smiles as he holds open Arthur’s jacket as you slide your arms in, and he pulls the oversized garment protectively over your shoulders. He then offers you his arm to escort you away from the party, with his entourage in tow. 

Arthur gives a lofty eye-roll to the heavens at Dutch’s attempt to swoon you, causing Mr. Matthews to chuckle at the interaction. But you smile graciously at Mr. Van der Linde’s offer as you gladly accept his arm and begin to walk with him. You look back over your shoulder and give Arthur a demure little grin, which he returns as he follows you and Dutch out to the front of the property towards the awaiting carriages with Mr. Matthews and Mr. Williamson close behind. 

“Thank you, Mr. Van Der Linde,” you smile brightly up at him. “I just may have to take you up on that offer.” 

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[marks-bby]

ARKHAM KNIGHT THOUGHT

the lock pick in your hand fumbles and falls out of your palm as you crouch in front of the last door until you saw freedom. "what are you doing, little bunny?" you freeze, your whole body suddenly not being able to move.

the heavy footsteps creep up on you. "i know my little bunny didn't want to leave me, did she?" he stops behind you. you slowly turn around, worried as you see a mini group of militia behind him. the arkham knight eyes the lockpick by your feet before picking it up, twirling it around in his fingers as he examines it.

"where did you get this, bunny?" he turns his head to you, his mask concealing his face. "answer me!" "i-i found it in one of the vents." you stutter. "one of my past bunnies must've left it." he pushes it in one of his many pockets, his attention on you again. "i'm feeling generous. don't disobey me again and we'll have a good day." he pulls you onto your feet again by your chin, his gloved index finger curled under your head.

"i have a meeting soon. i don't trust you to be on your own so you're coming with me." you looked down at your attire. you were wearing a red and black oversized sweater with some black socks. you weren't ready for a meeting. "i-i'm not wearing any good clothes." 'it'll do." he yanks you by your arm close to him.

"do we understand the basis of the mission?" the arkham knight's booming voice sounds throughout the whole room. the militia's eyes were all on you. the arkham knight was known for making abrupt decisions but him bringing you was unpredictable.

your plump ass was fit perfectly on his crotch. every time you tried to adjust your bare thighs on his rough military pants, you could feel his cock hardening. "i'm tired of you teasing me." he seethes in your ear before lifting the bottom of your sweater up to your waist. you hated that he never provided you with underwear. you were always walking around the quarters without any panties. but he loved it. he could take you whenever-wherever and no one could say anything.

he didn't care of how obvious he was being with you. he was so quick to pull out his cock from his fly before bending you over, plunging in you. "you see this?" he chuckles as he hears you whine. "this little bunny has tried to escape. we don't want that. do we, boys?" the room fills with 'no's. the arkham knight grips your waist as you grip his arms, needing to hold something as he abused your cunt in front of his soldiers.

"she's mine. if any of you touch her-shit!" he groans, throwing his head back as he slaps your ass. " you're 's fucking tight." he laughs before continuing his sentence. "if any of you touch her without my permission, i'll kill you." he pulls his gun from his side holder, pointing it around the room.

then his attention averts back to you. he would never admit to anyone but he's growing fond of you. every time he took you, he secretly took notes of what sent shivers down your spine, what made your walls flutter around his length. he yearned to make you feel good during intimate acts. so for you leave him after falling for you left a sick taste in his mouth. "say you love me." he begins to thrust harder. "you're-" he seethes, "you're all dismissed." he had taken notice of his men palming themselves at the sight of him taking you apart.

the men beeline out of the meeting room. most likely rushing to their bunkers to relieve themselves, storing this moment in their spank bank. "say it." his mask was now fully off, the 'J' scar saying hello to you. "i love you..." you moan. you felt a ring of arousal around the base of his cock as you both release, streams of hot white cum painting your walls. "kiss me." he pants. he couldn't get enough of you. he was insatiable.

he shoves his tongue down your mouth, the tip of his tongue not letting any part of your mouth be undiscovered. "you're not leaving me. i'm making sure of it." he pants, putting your cheek as he sees you drift off. "understand me?" you nod, your eyelids heavy. "good. 'cause fucking love you." he huffs, rubbing your ass before pulling out.