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precious-little-scoundrel · 9 months

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From Sarge’s kids I think I’m (as of now) excited to learn more about Daisy. She’s got a lot of Elvis in her and she witnesses Elaine go to hell and back to help him beat his addiction and although she’s independent I hope there’s gonna be someone who will be able to do the same for her or stand by her. Not to mention she’s got a twin who they come off as polar opposites (what with Rosalee being a huge Daddy’s girl) and her comments towards her older sister Ella’s marriage - I get the feeling there’s a lot to unpack there.

I think sometimes Elvis felt like he was too much to love and I see a lot of his personal insecurities in Daisy, she even is a popstar like him and that’s a lot of people loving you with maybe them feeling like they aren’t really known for who they are deep down.

I am so happy to hear this, I’ve got a little started on each kid’s own fic (I want one for each like I had for Jesse, just to establish them and then let loose with the intermingling) and I really think hers is compelling. It’s been truly a blast to get to know her and I’ve gotta be honest she may be the most Lisa-like of any Sarge kid in many ways, partly because she’s so Elvis incarnate. It took awhile but me and my scheming buddies have cooked up a good partner for her and she will always have her family as backup and even her godfather Marlon. I think she will, as you said, be publicly adored but can be rather offputting one on one, even though she desperately needs connection. I think eventually, and not after too long, all these relationships get far better, and Daisy finds her little nook in the family easily. She is the one to go to for the zero bullshit takes or help hiding a body. Loyal and fierce that one.

And here, since you made my day asking about her, have a little random snippet I’ve written about her first big debut recording which came from her rehab scribbles and, unfortunately for the family members her lyrics feature -becomes a sensation.

Era: 1978-9ish??

Warnings: moderate…mentions of past divorce, infidelity, a daughter sorta writing a hit tell all? remincence of a one off threesome and Elvis having straight man panic for it (I’m afraid this couple is polyamorous central I’m the 60’s but nothing explicit) big ole family chat with the grown kids, chaos as can be expected…

What about Wendy?

“Daisy Mae!” Elvis bellows her full name because the crime warrants it, and from behind him, her voice answers, not in person from her place sprawled on the couch but behind him, coming through the stereo in a clear cadence that his creative side must acknowledge is skilled and evocative. What Elvis doesn't find so praiseworthy is his Dear Daughter hanging the family laundry out for all to see with lyrics like:

—“So I'll lock the window and turn on the AC, You'll throw your rocks, and you'll scream that you hate me, But it gets old being forever 20, And what about my wings? What about Wendy?”—

out on a clothesline for all the world to commentate on his failings and his marriage.

The music video coming out tomorrow on MTV, teased as featuring a fresh faced Daisy in a montage of her mother’s most iconic looks -including that secretive wedding gown so few of the nation ever saw, rather hammers home the not so subtle point. As far as Elvis is concerned this is about as disloyal as it gets.

And he is having none of it.

“It’s art, Daddy.” Daisy murmurs, utterly unphased by the hurricane of wrath she can match once she gets that cup of coffee Rosalee is making her.

“Is this how you see us?” Elvis demands and Jesse winces to the side, things had been going so smoothly after Danny was born but lord, the Presley’s just can’t manage to be calm for long, Daisy had to record that stupid black book she scribbled in during rehab and, my does it have some choice takes on the events of the last decade. “This how you see your childhood?” Elvus goes on, “Where we loved ya like no one’s ever loved any kids and gave ya everythin’ and-“

“-and slammed a buncha doors in between.“ Daisy shrugs, not meaning to be cruel, but it’s the truth and she’s never had her sibling’s affinity for the affection that the rest of the kids take as blood money for the insanity they got put through. Daisy doesn't hold a grudge against anyone for her childhood, in fact, she’s thankful for the writing material. But she’s not gonna be sorry for writing shit as it was.

Which was mama playing a haggard Wendy while Daddy flitted in and out of the window at whim like Peter Pan.

“Girl,” her daddy begs her to understand as he takes his seat next to her on the sofa, big ringed hand familiar and pleading on her bony knee, as if somehow this appeal of his will lock the song back into her diary and out of the radio -or maybe he doesn’t care about his reputation anymore, he’s gotten lax about that after the divorce, maybe he really is seeking after his child’s good opinion this time when he continues, “I’m all for art’n’shit but have I not taught ya nothin’ bout-“

“Daddy, ya didn’t even write your own songs.” Daisy gently tries to get him to see the difference in their art but Jesse gasps out in horror:

“Daisy!!” like she just shot their father instead of stating the truth. Which is kinda her problem with her family, they can’t take straight facts.

“Alright, alright then,” Elvis simmers a bit but his tone is restrained as he presses his point, “so ya write from the heart and ya wrote about life, I get ya. So then why’d you call mama Wendy when, w-w-when she’s -she’s my Tinkerbell?”

“You’d rather I used your pet little name in public?” Daisy scoffs at his muddled logic and feels bad for the first time after -soon as his brow furrows in genuine hurt. Daddy loves mama, he loves her again like a new man and Daisy doesn’t get how that works but it’s the truth and she’s got no fight to pick with the truth. It makes her admit with a shrug, “I used it ‘cause Marlon always says she’s Wendy.”

You could hear a pin drop the way everyone’s chatter in the living room stops, even the coffee maker stops spluttering in the distance and it’s highly likely Jesse isn’t even breathing as everyone’s head’s swivel, Daddy’s slower but more intent than any, to look at Elaine where’s she sits in the white arm chair, blanket cast over her where Danny fell asleep while nursing. She’s as white as the rocker she sits in.

“Oh does he now?” Elvis rumbles and Daisy feels the unintentional bite of his nails on her knee.

“Well yeah, he does and -always has.” Daisy insists as if the past and present existence of Brando’s opinions on Elvis’ wife makes shit any better, Daisy knows it the second she lets it out that it’s not exactly balm on the scab.

Her voice doesn't make anyone look away from mama and her perfect, frozen face, carefully neutral and soothingly disinterested in the topic.

“That man has only ever called me, Elaine.” mama laughs an airy, dismissive little thing and the bite of Daddy’s rings on Daisy’s knee loosens their grip. “And if he thinks i'm a Wendy -he should say it to my face.” she jokes and Jesse predictably lets out a pained laugh of solidarity.

“-A-a-and w-who the hell did ya get to sew all those recreated outfits, girl?” Daddy is suddenly back on the original topic with a burst of renewed incredulity at her gall and Daisy knows she can use this to her advantage, get him arguing about fashion, tailors and supporting local folks instead of berating her for her lyrics and-

-Ella watches as Elaine’s stiff face smoothes into relief and she lays her head back against the rocker’s cushion and closes her eyes against the hubbub that’s no longer pertinent to her. Not for the first time Ella wonders if mama is as burdened as she is with thoughts and feelings married women shouldn’t have, they really shouldn’t. Marriage should cure a woman of them but Ella had them all alone on the ranch with her husband gone and Mama had Marlon and his lingering looks and her frozen face whenever his name gets mentioned and mama who is staring up at the ceiling like she’s no longer in the room with them at all.

“Peter Pan, Peter Pan, little lost boy actin’ like a big man,” only Marlon could have made that rhyme sound like anything but a goad, only Marlon really saw what Elaine saw when Elvis was sated, pliable, sweet as a newborn and pretty a sin. “Those producers who’ve got him playin’ tough n’ shit don’t know his appeal, they just don’t get it. Goddamn Peter Pan.”

And he had run his fingers over Elvis’ face, catching his drooping eyelids and pulling them down and over his nose to those cherub lips. And Elvis’ eyes hadn’t opened again till next morning when he woke in angry panic.

Elaine stares at the ceiling and feels Danny shift against her breast, snuggling closer, and she wonders if Elvis ever recalls that night like she does. Ever replays it a million times.

Wendy, Wendy Wendy.

Marlon thinks she’s Wendy, Marlon’s told her own daughter that. But never her. No. He’d just raked his hand through the wrecked coiff of Elvis’ gelled hair and admiringly called him Peter Pan. And Elvis, being Elvis in the state of freshly loved and freshly praised, never balked at it before drifting to sleep in their muggy tent.

Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, he never called Elaine that to her face.

Elaine catches Daisy’s eye next time she looks away from the ceiling, an odd moment of recognition. Funny how each child knows a part of her, but it’s the inner workings of Daisy’s curious, generous, honest self -a heart so very like Elvis’ own- that can look back at Elaine and smile at her, while knowing her fully, faults and all. It’s not so bad having grown daughters as a friend, Elaine decides as she watches Elvis flail backwards against the couch to laugh at his daughter's good natured dig at his unmodified wardrobe.

It’s good not to be his only Wendy keeping him young anymore.

Song based on: Wendy by Maisie Peters

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sarge update #sarge & lil mama #Elvis Au #Elvis #elvis the king #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fanfiction

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weaponizedvirtue · 1 year

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The Face I Hide Behind, Pt. 2 {Peaky Blinders}

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: You met Thomas Shelby as Eli Carter, your hair shorn short, your chest bound, the Royal Engineers crest proudly adorning your uniform. You find him again as discarded Marie Tillerson, a woman shamed but remembered.

Warnings: PTSD, panic attacks

Notes: Thank you all for your lovely reception of this fic. The amount of views and kind comments are so incredibly encouraging. Hope you enjoy part two just as much as you did part one.

Part one can be found here.

Tagged: @everythingelseisextra, @ce1iat, @morrigan-crowmwell, @running-outof-time

Tick.

The sound wakes you immediately. Your eyes snap open and you wait for another. It arrives a moment later just as you expect, soft but sharp. There’s a rhythm to it, a timing that matches the second it takes to pull a pickaxe down and drive it into rock.

Your breath catches in your throat and you sit up sharply, your nerves instantly engaged for a fight. Your eyes sweep over the room, searching desperately for the source of the sound as it continues. Not real, you tell yourself. It’s not real, just an echo of bad memories demanding an encore. Your limbs ache at the thought and you suck air in through your nose, willing the oxygen to clear your head of the fog. You remind yourself that your time in the tunnels is long past, that you walk above the dirt and the mud and the dust and not beneath it. You remind yourself that the air hasn’t smelled of blood in almost a year now.

Tick.

Swallowing hard, you slowly lower yourself back to the bed. Tom is warm beside you, a thrumming anchor, and you focus on the slow rise and fall of his chest, desperate for an easy distraction. His eyelashes flutter for a moment, his own dreams careening about in his head, and then the ticking comes back for a fifth round, a sixth, a seventh. You narrow your attention as best you can to the deep black of each of Thomas’s lashes as they graze against his cheeks.

Tick. It's louder now, chipping through the plaster. Tick. You wait for the burst of dust and curl your fingernails into your palms.

Something moves in the wall to your right.

You swallow a yelp, bolting up from the bed again, sure that the moment you gain your feet, you’ll be back in a hole, buried and gasping and never having left at all. But better to face the enemy on your feet than cowering in a corner.

As you land with a soft thump on the carpet, it feels for a moment as if the whole world has gone silent. The room tips momentarily around you and you lean your hands into the bedside table, swallowing back a wave of nausea.

Tick.

Tock.

You blink at the small gadget sitting inches from your hand and your arms begin to tremble. Adrenaline speeds through your bloodstream, a shouted order to move faster, run farther, hit harder, even now as the threat reveals itself to be nothing.

“Goddamn clock.”

Plucking the device from atop the table, you march into the kitchen, desperately fighting the urge to chuck it through the window. It’s not yours, something in the back of your thoughts says, so throwing the thing out or bashing it to pieces wouldn’t be right. You can be civil, even in the throes of panic.

You turn the clock over in your hands and the pulse of the second hand seems to smack against your palm through the glass. The sound of its ticking still sends a rocket down your eardrums, despite knowing now that it comes from a regular, everyday tool and not a person and you drop the clock to the counter with a hiss. Panic rises into your throat again as each second ticks by like a stab in the gut, hammering incessantly at your earderums.

You step back for just a moment, swaying with anxiety, and you listen hard for it, that soft voice nestled right below the din of sound bouncing around in your head.

“Keep that brain busy.”

Tom had dropped a rolled-up newspaper into your hands once- some new puzzle an American had brought over with him, he’d said later when you found him to demand the origin of the game.

“Did it work?”

It had, though you hadn’t expected it. Giving yourself something to do with your hands had been enough to bring you out of the long nights of sleeplessness and the moments of heart-rattling mania below ground.

It can work now too, you tell yourself, taking in one long breath. If you can’t shut it out of your head, you can shut it down with your hands. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose just hard enough to feel the pain, then you carefully pick up the clock again.

You’re not sure how long it actually takes you to dismantle the thing. Not long, you imagine; before the war, you quite enjoyed taking clocks apart, to your father’s chagrin. Each timepiece had a specific list of requirements, a checklist of dos and don'ts that allowed it to work in perfect tandem. Each wheel and spring and catch had to work with the pieces around them. When they didn’t, when a wheel wobbled or when a spring budged and bucked from its proper location, the whole machine failed. The whole thing operated off of its individual parts working together.

You like that about machines. They are predictable and they rely on a set of rules and a set of values to function. Like people, you suppose, though Tom was always better at navigating those while you preferred to stick to your formulas and algorithms.

You pluck the second hand from atop the clock face and the room goes suddenly still around you.

The absence of sound is so starkly different from the moment before that it’s nearly dizzying. Your shoulders sag with relieved exhaustion and you press one hand to your mouth to keep the creeping hysterics sealed inside your throat.

“‘Ey.” You flinch as Thomas’s voice interrupts the silence, bouncing against your eardrum even from the other room. “Everything alright?”

His voice is heavy with sleep, but you’re well aware he’ll come looking if you don’t answer quick enough. Even so, the truth is too embarrassing and you can’t quite admit to a man with a stone face and an even harder shell that you haven’t managed to beat your nightmares back, even now.

“Yeah. Just getting some water.”

You lean over the sink and slowly ease the faucet on. It’s a good enough cover, wil be a relief for your throat and the pounding in your head anyway. The glass is cool against your skin and you down the water quickly, suddenly parched. As you place the empty glass down, the contact sends the softest of ringing echoes rippling out across the tile counter. It’s reminiscent of what woke you, just enough to make you fidget. But the ticking is gone and you’re responsible for that fact. Surely, that’s enough of a task to reward yourself with some rest.

With a sigh, you shadow your way across the room back to the bed and silently crawl back beneath the covers.

Thomas’s eyes follow you, half glazed with sleep but still watching. You wonder if he ever entirely switches off that ever-constant observation.

After a moment, seemingly satisfied with what he sees, he turns onto his back again. The man goes so still that you think he may have fallen asleep again, but then an arm drops down over your shoulders.

"Settle down, Carter."

There's no need to correct him. Not when the name feels just as familiar as Tillerson, as Marie, and not when hearing it again makes you feel like you're home.

There should be some kind of decorum to your actions, when it would be so easy to call you strangers. But Tom is warm and you're too tired to bother with such proper conduct when it's likely neither of you care for that kind of thing anyway.

Your head drops to Thomas's shoulder and you curl one arm around his torso. The smell of cigarette smoke and cedarwood seeps in through your pores and you sigh against him.

He shifts beneath you, his breath halting in his chest for a moment. You think perhaps that you misread the action and an apology spills from your mouth. You begin to pull back, but then his arm shifts from your shoulder to your side. His thumb drags carefully along the curve of your hip, feather light.

It feels like a brand, like his thumb is a match striking alight right along your ribcage.

There's a beat, a moment you can practically see the gears whirring about in his head without even looking at his face. Then his chin settles atop your head and Tom breathes again.

You fall asleep like that, safe and comfortable and home, and it's the sun that wakes you after, nothing else.

“So you’re off then?”

He’s trying to remain passive, you know. There’s a kind of forced neutrality in his voice and you can see it, the nights before a plan was put into action, the few spare minutes before a battle where Thomas Shelby stood amongst a throng of men and convinced them what came next was inevitable.

You glance up at him and for just a moment, your heart rises into your throat. The urge to lock your hand around his wrist, to drag him down the steps behind you and disappear, the both of you, to wherever you’d like, is almost too much. He wouldn’t say yes. Shouldn’t say yes. You know this without asking. He’s got his family. He’s got this town. And he’s got a name to make for himself, or so he’d said the night before, when you were both heavier into the drink then you should have been.

He belongs here. And you don’t. Not yet. Not anywhere just yet.

“For now. Things to see.” Things to become.

Thomas nods, his eyes flicking towards the window, then to the pockets of his coat. He digs into one of them, plucks his lighter out with a focused kind of impatience. But as he lifts it to the cigarette dangling from his mouth, you step forward. Your hand circles around the lighter, pulling it from his grip with the silent demand that he pay attention.

This is important. Goodbye, however temporary, is important.

“I’m going to write you, alright?” Thomas pauses, his eyes stilling on your face this time, and he seems to wait, sensing a promise. It is one, really, when you think about it. You owe him that at the very least.

“I’ll keep you informed on where I’m at, remind you I’m still around.” Your thumb taps against his lighter, your offer solidifying in your gut as you straighten in front of him.

You turned tail last time. Forced or not, you left him alone on the battlefield. It’s a mistake you won’t make again.

“And you can make sure I don’t fall off the map again. Deal?”

You lift your chin, your nerves scattering as he considers you and the words you’d spent the last morning hours crafting so carefully. Slowly, he steps forward, so close you can feel the heat of him against you, and his fingers bump against yours to slide his lighter back into his palm.

“Deal.”

#writing #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders #female soldier #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby

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hannahssimblr · 8 months

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Chapter Eleven

The birthday boy, Elias, and his boyfriend Leon live in an apartment block in the Charlottenburg district of the city. It belongs to Leon’s father, whose job has something to do with the automotive industry, and is the type of wealthy man who prefers to have his properties blurred out in Google Maps. Jude assured us that their place is massive. “Like, unreal, insane, massive”, and offers to travel there with us, only our dinner runs late and we need time to rush back to the hostel and change our clothes, so we agree to meet at the penthouse instead.

The apartment, thankfully, has a lift, and it has even more than that. It has a concierge that glances up from his neat little desk as we push through the heavy doors and with a small sigh says “Du bist wegen der Geburtstagsfeier hier.”

“Um. Ja.” I say, and he waves us towards the elevator. “Zehnter stock.”

“Danke schon!” We shuffle inside it and hit the button for the tenth floor. My stomach seems to lurch more than usual as I stand there and wait to be carried all the way up the building. I smooth my hands over the front of my trousers and take a deep breath, somewhat surprised to find it shuddering. I’m anxious. Something feels charged tonight, but it must be the energy in the air from the looming thunderstorm. Huge, black clouds started rolling in over us as soon as we alighted the train, and now, outside of this apartment block, the great, fat raindrops that narrowly missed us have begun to hammer the pavement.

Our plastic heels clack across the tile as we make our way towards the huge double doors to knock. There is muffled music coming from within, and it suddenly amplifies when the door swings open, and a man dressed as Neil Armstrong stands there. “Hallo.” He says, and stands aside to let us into the apartment, flooded by the sounds of dreamy, psychedelic rock.

I try not to let my jaw hit the floor as I look around us. It really is massive. Unreal, insane, and whatever other adjectives one could use in an attempt describe a place that is beyond description. It is a marriage of concrete and glass and steel, with floor to ceiling windows that provide a perfect view of the glittering city beneath us. A sunken living room with leather furniture is decorated by the beautiful people who sit in it, and the television, although off, is the biggest one I’ve ever seen. There are paintings, and books, and plants, and stunning decor and everything, down to the door handles and the throws on the couches is like a piece of art. I barely even look at the people around me, I just stare, and stare at the pendant lights and the rugs and the bespoke kitchen table, littered with bottles of wine and loose cups that should certainly all be sitting on coasters and wonder how I’ll be expected to do anything else that evening but stare at this place and its ostentatious display of wealth.

“Come on.” Claire tugs at my arm. “Let’s go say hello to the guys.” She leads me into the kitchen, when Jonas and Jude are sitting on a pair of barstools. They stand up when they spot us, and I can’t help but grin. “Hey, we made it.”

“You did.” Says Jude. “Priscilla Presley?”

“Yes!”

He makes me spin around. “You’ve done a great job, my God. Your hair.”

“I’m trying not to think about how I’m going to get it to sit back down straight again after this. I tortured it with a comb.” I take a moment to take in his costume, which to my immense disappointment is a 60s style brown suit. That’s it. “Who are you meant to be?”

“JFK.” He smirks. “Is it not obvious?”

“I can’t believe this. You could just be some guy!”

“Well I’m not just some guy, I’m JFK.”

“Well, groovy, I suppose.” I say, throwing up a peace sign in the spirit of it all, and he chuckles. “I’m pretty sure Priscilla didn’t say things like ‘groovy’.”

“Fine, it’s not groovy, then.”

“Yeah that sounds more like her.” We turn to our friends, in conversation with one another and I do a double take when I realise who Jonas is dressed as. “Charles Manson?” I splutter, and he looks at me with amusement and says “Yes, didn’t I do a good job?”

“A great job.” I agree, “Only it’s a bit awkward, seeing as Claire is dressed as Sharon Tate.” He looks at her and bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, I didn’t know who you were supposed to be! This is terrible!”

She curtseys for him. “Only because people tell me that I look like her. It’s not very obvious, I suppose. She really did dress quite normally.” We make them pose together for at least a dozen photographs on Claire’s new polaroid camera, and then Jude and I grin for Claire when she turns it on us, and Jude puts his arm around me while we pull the ugliest faces we can. Then he pretends to kiss my cheek, lips hovering just a few tantalising centimetres from my cheek and I try my best to act like it doesn’t phase me.

After he swivels around to grab a pair of beers from the counter for us, I ask him “Where’s Jackie O?” He peers around us. “I don’t think anybody came as her, which, honestly, now feels like a bit of a waste. It’s a pity that you and I didn’t think of collaborating or something. You could have been my first lady.”

“Or you could have collaborated with me and been my 60’s Elvis, which would have been way more interesting than your dusty old suit.” I say, but he doesn’t seem to have been listening. Instead his eyes are somewhere over my head. I glance behind me to see Astrid enter the kitchen, and her presence in this space makes my skin prickle, like she’s instantly sucked all of the energy out of the room. The last time I saw her her hair was cascading down to the small of her back in perfect, white blonde waves, and now it’s gone. Lopped off into the shortest of short pixie cuts imaginable. For a brief moment I wonder if it’s a wig to suit her Twiggy costume, but as she gets closer to us I realise that it isn’t, it couldn’t be. It’s her real hair. She’s really cut it all off, displaying a drastically different, sharper, more severe and angular look than before. When her light green eyes meet mine, I swear she almost rolls them.

“Hello.” I say sheepishly. “Your costume is nice.”

Her expression doesn’t budge. “Can I speak with Jude, please?”

I heat up with shame and embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry.” I say. Maybe she saw us taking those photos. Maybe she heard what I said about Elvis. Unable to meet her eyes, I excuse myself to go wandering around the party, somewhere, anywhere away from her boyfriend, who I certainly shouldn’t have been retroactively planning a couples costume with. What was I thinking? But he’s so confusing, sometimes I don’t know where his boundaries are.

There’s a nice group of pretty girls in the lounge who switch to english as soon as they realise I can’t understand them, and I sit and talk with them for a while, learning all of the gossip about Leon’s rich dad, and what he allegedly does with all of his big heaping mounds of cash. They say that Leon takes photographs of models in his studio upstairs for work, while Elias, five years younger and still in college, studies painting and has a dedicated studio in one of the rooms too. I’m curious about it, and vow to sneak up there later to see if I can get a look at it.

On the whole, people here are very friendly and inviting, and after talking to the nice girls in the lounge I dance to some psychedelic rock with another group of people, whose goofy moves make me laugh so much that I think I might throw up. Everyone is cool, but everyone is kind to me in a way that makes me think that they believe I am cool too, and none of them has even thought to question it. I like this place, I like the version of me that these people are meeting tonight, and think about how if I could erase all of my history, and everybody’s memory of who I used to be, I’d probably be this cool, laidback girl all of the time.

“It’s so interesting that you’re an illustrator.” The American girl dressed as Cher says as she spins me around on the floor to Season of the Witch. “I should follow you on Instagram. Do you share your work on there?”

“Yes!” I say, and explain to her about how I’m doing my first mural, and how I’ve done window art and cards for a while now. It’s all on my page, and when she nods along with interest I really believe that she cares, she wants to know, and she isn’t just pretending to. As soon as I walk away to get another drink I get a notification that she’s followed me. When I enter the kitchen to find Claire I spot her giggling with Jonas. He says something to her that makes her snort and thump him in the arm, and I kind of feel like I shouldn’t be witnessing them. If they’re flirting with each other, I’m not sure I want to deal with it now. The concept of her having eyes for anybody but Shane is depressing to me. In the corner of the room Jude and Astrid are still talking, but neither of them looks particularly pleased about it. I find myself thinking about what Jen said about her, and how she’s never been any fun, and as I watch them for a brief moment I consider whether Jude is any fun around her either. They look far too intense for that, huddled like that with drooping shoulders and miserable expressions like they’re gathering for a friend’s untimely death rather than his fabulous birthday party. I just take another beer and wander away.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3 #tw: alcohol

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thedevilsruby · 3 years

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Hide and Seek (Yandere!Karl x Reader fic)

You ran and ran but it wasn't enough. You knew he would catch you but you had to try one more time.

Hopefully, he didn't come to your room, or prison cell as you called it, and notice you weren't there.

Please, please, for the love of god, don't let him notice.

You dodged several trees and rocks, only getting minor scrapes and cuts. It was only a bit more, then you were home free-

"Kitten!" You heard him roar. SHIT! He figured it out!

You quickly hid behind a large boulder, quickly covering your mouth to silence your breathing, your heart pounding.

"God damn it, fucking shit, Y/n!!" He yelled, no doubt swinging his huge hammer around in frustration. "This is the third time this month! Just fucking give up already!" Karl yelled. "You ain't leaving this village and you ain't leaving me!"

"Bullshit." Your mind snarled. "I'm gonna leave this place and I'm gonna go on with my life."

"Y/n, come out and I'll only lock you up for an hour! Come on, Better than three days like last time, right?" He offered.

You remembered those three days. It was awful, being locked up in your room, only a bucket for a bathroom and he fed you small meals through a hole in the door, and a small window being your only source of light.

Karl did it everytime you ran away.

This time would be different. You felt it. He would give up trying to find you and-

Your thoughts cut off as your arm was roughly grabbed. You gasped and saw him grinning down at you. "You're not very good at hiding." He chided.

"Let me go!" You shrieked, trying to fight his grip.

He simply shrugged, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, ignoring your fists hitting his back.

"Your games of hide and seek get boring after awhile, baby." He said. "Put a little more effort into it. I like the chase."

You teared up. This was a game no one should ever play.

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl x reader #yandere!karl heisenberg

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writemywaytoyourheart · 3 years

Text

Aim For The Heart | Chapter 2: Push and Pull

Pairing: hitman!jk x female reader

Genre: E2L, romance, drama, angst

WC: 8.2k

Warnings for this chapter: stalking, alcohol consumption, a gun, attempted murder, language (jk has a potty mouth) pls let me know if there's anything I should add!

Tag list; @hopekookies @moonchild1 @barbellastyles98 @teresaisla @ggukkieland @mwitsmejk @scuzmunkie @jaebeomsblackgf @sugaslittlekookies

summary; Jeon Jungkook is an infamous hitman, known for his inability to fail at whatever job is thrown his way. At least, up until now. Y/n, a kind-hearted and full of life teacher, is his newest target. Jeon isn't sure who would put a hit on this seemingly innocent girl, but fortunately, that isn't his problem. All he has to do is pull the trigger.

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Jungkook blinks up at his ceiling, his eyes dry from keeping them open for so long. The light of the sun is starting to peek through his blinds, signaling that morning has officially come. He finally looks away from his ceiling to look at the window where the light is creeping in.

Jungkook sighs and sits up, running a hand through his hair and mussing it up. He's not sure he even got a wink of sleep last night. There's something about this case that's apparently keeping him up at night, and he's barely even started.

He can't help but wonder what this girl did to make herself a target. He's not questioning whether he should go through with it, no, that's not even a question. The money on this girl's head has to be at least three if not four times as much as his previous hits.

Jungkook just wants to know what he's getting himself into, that's what's bugging him the most. He doesn't like walking into situations and not knowing everything that's going on.

He looks around his tiny studio apartment, his eyes blurry. Then, he starts to laugh to himself quietly. With a job that pays this much, he's worrying an awful lot about things that don't matter.

After another minute of delaying the inevitable, Jungkook forces himself to get up and get dressed before grabbing an apple to eat on the way.

As he locks his apartment door behind him, the neighbor's door opens and Jungkook sees a familiar face smiling brightly at him.

"Good morning, Jungkook!"

"Hi, Hoseok. How are you this morning?" Jungkook asks politely.

The older boy smiles even brighter if that's possible as he holds up a rolled-up paper, "I'm great since I've got a new paper to read. Thanks for leaving it, Kook."

Jungkook smiles, "No problem. I was getting one anyway, thought I might as well grab an extra."

Hoseok nods, "Where are you off to? I thought you didn't work at the coffee shop on Tuesdays?"

"Oh, I'm going job hunting," Jungkook responds lightly. "I'm tired of working at the coffee shop." He laughs as Hoseok pouts.

"I haven't even gotten to visit you while you work! Darn." Hoseok snaps his fingers in disappointment. "Oh well, good luck on the job hunt!"

"Thanks, Hoseok." Jungkook smiles and turns to leave, only relaxing when he hears his neighbor's door shut. That's something he doesn't like about having a friendly neighbor, he hates lying to people that seem to actually care about him.

Hoseok was always saying he wanted to visit Jungkook and get some discounted coffee. Jungkook doesn't have the heart to tell him that it was all a lie. In fact, everything he knows about him is a lie.

That's why he doesn't involve a lot of people in his life and he plans to keep it that way.

Jungkook shakes his head to clear it. He's been getting too emotional lately and his head isn't in his work.

"That stops here and now," Jungkook vows to himself as he waits at a crosswalk, watching the cars drive by.

A few minutes later, he arrives at Sunshine Kindergarten.

Jungkook is caught off guard when he sees the girl immediately. He had expected to have to wait for her arrival again today. She's sitting outside the school on the steps, a book in her hands that's long forgotten as she looks up at the sky. It looks like she's talking to someone, but when Jungkook looks around, there's no one else anywhere near her.

The girl cocks her head to the side, then starts to rock back and forth a little as she continues to talk to no one. Too curious for his own good, Jungkook crosses the street to get closer. Maybe if he gets close enough, he can hear what she's saying.

"I th-think...maybe s-sandwiches would be a good idea."

The hell?

Jungkook glances at her as he pretends to just stroll by. She's definitely talking to herself.

"No, no no no. I had a s-sandwich for l-lunch yesterday..." She bites the fingernail on her right thumb as she seems to contemplate something. She takes no notice of Jungkook while she continues to look at her book, then the sky.

"Mm, maybe tt-tteokbokki?"

Jungkook fights the urge to look at her like she's insane and just continues to walk by until he's safe to turn and keep an eye on her.

"Oooh, tteokbokki sounds y-yummy." The girl says with finality. Then she glances at her phone, notices the time, and starts putting her book in her cupcake and cookie decorated bag. A minute later, she's walking into the school and leaving his line of sight.

"What the hell..." Jungkook mutters to himself.

Who even is this girl?

_____________

Today, as Jungkook follows behind the girl as she walks home, she stops several times to talk to babies, dogs, and even a bird.

Jungkook just follows behind in disbelief.

This has to be some kind of an act.

Yeah, that's definitely what it is. This girl is better than he thought, she's got her whole act planned out to throw anyone off her track. She's going to have to do better than acting like some innocent school teacher to throw him off though.

This time, instead of heading straight home, the girl goes to an arcade. When Jungkook walks into the arcade a minute later, he spots her in the same white skirt and chunky tennis shoes, a light blue cardigan around her shoulders.

She's playing one of the games by herself, her face set into one of pure determination. Jungkook goes to a game where he can still see her and starts to play. He's more focused on making sure she doesn't leave, so he ends up losing that first round.

He doesn't really care though, he watches her carefully as she shouts in triumph. A few tickets come out of her little machine and she snags them, running to the front to trade them in for a tiny stuffie.

The girl ends up staying at the arcade for another two hours, collecting enough tickets to trade in for an octopus stuffie that's almost the size of her to go along with the tiny starfish one she got earlier.

She looks laughable as she carries her prizes out the front door and down the street, clutching the giant octopus like her life depends on it. The little starfish rides along safely in her bag.

One more stop is made as the girl gets a little cup of ice cream from a man selling it on the side of the street. The second he asked her if she wanted to buy some, it was like she couldn't say no as she hurriedly agreed and bought one scoop of ice cream. When she leaves, Jungkook goes up to the man and buys a scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream to eat while he follows her.

He hasn't had a decent meal all day and he's starving.

It's starting to get dark by the time Jungkook recognizes the streets they're on and realizes she's finally heading home. Weirdly enough, the girl turns and walks down a dark alley, even though the streetlamp near it is flickering on and off.

Doesn't she have any sense of self-preservation? Jungkook thinks to himself.

It might not be good for her, but it's definitely something that could help him out immensely. He'll have to keep tailing her for a few more days to make sure, but if she continues to use this dark alley as a shortcut, then she's practically doing his job for him.

Sure enough, they end up a lot closer to her apartment by the time they're out of the alley. So, it's a shortcut she probably uses quite often. Then Jungkook notices that she hasn't turned around to look at her surroundings this entire time.

She's making this too easy.

He could have this job over with by the end of the week if luck stays on his side. It's always a relief when it doesn't take him long to get a job done.

He's really had nothing to worry about, why was he worrying so much? It isn't his business why this girl is a target, it's his job to carry out his end of the deal, that's all.

It feels like a weight has lifted off of his shoulders as he climbs the stairs to his apartment that night. He says hello to Hoseok, who's sitting outside and reading, before making his way inside.

The first thing he does is jump in the shower, then when he's finished, he makes himself some ramen.

Jungkook sits alone at his little dining table, gently blowing on the noodles in-between his chopsticks. His hair is still damp from his shower, but he's cozy in his sweats with something close enough to a real meal than he's had all day. He gets up once to grab some kimchi and soju from the fridge, then he stays at the dining table until he's downed two bottles.

This happens every time he gets a new job. It feels good at the moment, but he knows he's going to regret it in the morning. That's the only thought that stops him from grabbing a third bottle.

By the time he's settled into bed, he's forgotten what was worrying him so much the past few days. He smiles to himself, relieved that he'll be getting that money in a week at most. He'll have to come up with a plan when he isn't hammered like he is now. That's the last thought to pass through his mind before he's out like a light.

______________

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping.

Not real birds, just the sound that you chose for your alarm. Something you're grateful that Mina helped you do. The other alarm sounds just give you anxiety when they go off.

You don't notice it at first, but by the time you've become aware of your surroundings, you realize that your legs are all tangled up with the tentacles of a giant octopus stuffie. The small starfish stuffie is laying by your head. The events of last night, you getting enough tickets to get your new little friends, makes their way into your brain.

You laugh and snuggle into it more.

No wonder you slept so soundly last night; you had something to cuddle!

You breathe deeply, after a few minutes you're awake enough to sit up and rub your eyes. Smiling to yourself at the sight of the beautiful golden light seeping in through your blinds, you sigh happily. Normally you don't like waking up, but today feels different. There's something that's shifted, but you can't tell what it is.

Maybe it's because you slept so well last night. The nightmares that usually plague your dreams, were absent. You smile at the giant octopus in your arms, "Y-You chased away all the b-bad dreams!" You exclaim, hugging it tightly to your chest, "Thanks, C-Cookie!"

You named the stuffie last night, the starfish also got a name, Smiley, due to the tiny smile stitched into its adorable little face.

You sit in bed for another minute or so, just staring into space and thinking about random things. Then you slip out of bed and hurry to the bathroom to get a quick shower. As the water pours down your head and shoulders, you start to sing a song that's been stuck in your head for a few days. Your voice cracks as you try to hit the higher notes, but you pay it no mind and keep singing your heart out.

With your hair wrapped up in a towel on top of your head, you pour yourself a bowl of your favorite cereal. You play your favorite songs as you eat and hum along to them, your mind wandering. When you're finished, you move to your room to get dressed.

Opening your closet, you stand there and scan the limited amount of clothing you have as if you had millions of choices to pick from. "One, two, three, four..." You count lowly to yourself, pointing at each shirt, skirt, and pants hanging in your closet. After a minute of debating, you decide to wear your light blue flowy skirt today instead of your favorite white one. You pull it on, then grab a white blouse along with some frilly white socks.

Mina texted you earlier to tell you how sorry she was, but she couldn't drive you today. Her work wanted her in at six o'clock sharp. You didn't need to be at work until seven. You reassured her that you would be totally fine walking. You love to walk in the mornings anyway, the fresh air always smells so nice and all the birds seem to be braver as they are out more in the morning. The whole world is just so quiet and beautiful as it wakes up.

You hum to yourself as you pull on your favorite tennis shoes. It takes you a few tries to get the laces done, but you manage.

"What should I eat f-for lunch today?" You ask yourself as you scan your fridge. You really want to try making some kimbap, but the last time you tried that without Mina's help, you ended up with a burned finger and almost lost another finger trying to cut the veggies.

So, you decide to make yourself another simple sandwich today, cheese this time. When you're done putting it together, you get out your cookie cutters and get to work. You have to contain your excitement at the heart-shaped sandwiches sitting on the counter after you're finished.

You stick to letting yourself jump around for a second to let the giddiness out, then you force yourself to calm down enough to grab a container and gently put the little sandwiches in. You grab a few more little snacky things to put in your lunch bag, then you zip it all up.

Finally, you're ready to go!

You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder, then you snag your lunch and clutch it tightly in your fist as you make your way out of your apartment, remembering to lock the door this time.

Mina would be proud of you.

The crisp June morning air hits your nose and you breathe in deeply, a smile spreading on your face as you descend the stairs.

You make good time this morning, seeing as there isn't much to catch your attention today. You arrive at the school twenty minutes before the bell is going to ring, so you decide to sit on the steps again today like you did yesterday. It's just too nice out here to be all closed up in your classroom before your kids even get here.

You pull out your drawing pad from your bag and get comfortable on the front steps. Next, you take out your colored pencils as you scan the area, trying to figure out what you should draw today.

You see something across the street, the kind old man that runs the paper stand. Maybe you could draw him and give it to him as a present when it's all finished! You nod in excitement and get to work, your nose soon buried in your drawing pad.

______________

Jungkook had decided this morning that he would follow the girl from her home. If he was lucky and she was going to walk today it would be a perfect chance to see if she always uses the alleyway or if she had just used it by chance last night.

The girl comes out of her place around six-twenty, in a light blue skirt this time. Jungkook smirks, so she does own something that isn't just that one white skirt.

Her hair is a little messed up as if she forgot to brush it before leaving. She's got a scrunchie on her wrist, but it appears that she has no intention of using it.

Jungkook follows a little ways behind her, as he has been these past few days. With how distracted this girl gets, he could walk right behind her and she'd never notice him.

Surprisingly, she doesn't stop much on the way to the school. She skips a little, probably to the beat of the song she's listening to in her headphones. A few people, Jungkook notices, give her odd looks.

He later finds out when he hears her, that it's probably because she's talking to herself as she looks at the sky, then down to her shoes as she watches herself walk.

He shakes his head, seriously wanting to know what the story is behind this target.

She deserves an oscar, Jungkook thinks in amusement.

Then he notices that she doesn't use the alley, she just passes by it.

Maybe she'll use it again tonight, he thinks hopefully.

At one point, the girl trips over a crack in the sidewalk and lurches forward. He isn't sure why, but he finds himself stepping closer, his hands out to catch her before he realizes what he's doing. Jungkook steps back and clears his throat, watching as she catches herself anyway, and continues to skip down the sidewalk.

When they get close to the school, Jungkook crosses the street and heads over to buy a paper from the old man before finding a bench and settling down on it. He looks over the paper, expecting the girl to just go inside, but instead, she sits on the steps again.

He watches as she pulls a notebook out of her childish bag, then she pulls out a little box. Out of the little box, she takes some colored pencils. She looks across the street and he can tell she's decided to draw the old man at the paper stand.

Huh.

This girl is undoubtedly strange.

She sits and draws in concentration for a good ten minutes, then she gathers up her things and heads inside. She must be too excited about her picture because as she's skipping in she yet again trips on the last step and stumbles. The girl catches herself and continues in as if she's used to tripping over everything.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, then just shakes his head again and goes back to reading the paper. He's got some time to kill before school is over.

It turns out, he would see the girl before the last bell.

Jungkook thanks the man at the food stand and heads to his little bench to sit down and eat his lunch, grateful that he's going to be eating actual meals today.

He digs into the tteokbokki and fish cakes immediately. It's as delicious as he expected it to be and he tries not to groan in satisfaction at the taste of something that isn't just instant ramen noodles. But what he doesn't expect, is to see the girl coming out from the school.

Jungkook chokes on a rice cake as he scrambles to grab his paper and flip it open, covering his face. He settles his breathing enough to be able to swallow the bite that almost killed him, his eyes closed in annoyance. When he slowly peeks over the top, he sees her sitting on the front steps again, a little pink lunch sack in her lap. She moves her legs so her skirt doesn't ride up and expose anything, then she opens the lunch bag.

Jungkook watches in mounting disbelief as she pulls out what looks to be a heart-shaped sandwich.

How much weirder can this girl get?

She says something to herself before taking a big bite of the sandwich, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk that stuffed one too many nuts in his mouth.

He shakes his head and stabs a little rice cake before shoving it in his mouth. He isn't sure why this girl is starting to annoy the crap out of him, but she is. Jungkook looks up again when he hears a loud laugh ring out from across the street. A couple that was walking look at the girl like she's insane, but she doesn't seem to notice.

She just covers her mouth with her hand and snorts as she looks at something on her phone. Jungkook scoffs and goes back to his paper, the annoyance seeping off of him.

How can someone be so annoyingly happy all the time? Damn.

It's like she knows she's got everything she's ever wanted and she couldn't care less about anyone else's problems.

Jungkook despises people like that.

It's as if a switch goes off in him and he's suddenly really freaking pissed off. People like her think that life is so easy all the damn time. Do they ever struggle with anything?

He snaps his paper to straighten it out, trying to calm himself down before he goes into that nasty hole of becoming envious of those more fortunate than him.

Against his better judgment, Jungkook looks over the paper at her again, his chest only burning with more hatred as she starts to count the stupid little carrot sticks in the container on her lap.

Fucking annoying.

By the time Jungkook looks up again, the girl is gone. A second later, the bell signaling the end of lunch rings loudly.

Jungkook sits on the bench in a funk until the end of school bell rings. When he finally sees the target coming out of the school, he stands up and starts to follow her. The same routine he's been doing since Monday. Jungkook mulls over a few things in his head as he watches her stop at several food stands until she's got a cup of rice cakes, a scoop of ice cream, a fish cake skewer, and a mochi that's bigger than usual. He doesn't know how she is able to carry all that, but she manages.

She walks around a bit, looking into the windows of shops, her forehead pressing against the glass as she stares at a gaudy red dress. She stuffs another bite of mochi in her mouth, chewing sadly as she reluctantly drags herself away from the store window.

Jungkook looks at the dress in distaste; it's hideous. He can't imagine someone actually buying that thing, besides, it's probably way overpriced anyway.

He turns from it to keep following her, seeing that she's stopped now at a window where a few puppies are running around and playing with each other. The girl smiles at them and puts her hand up to the glass. A tiny brown puppy inches close to her hand and licks the glass that separates them.

She giggles delightedly.

Jungkook watches, emotionless.

When is she going to head home?

Finally, after what feels like hours, the girl starts taking the streets that lead back to her apartment. Jungkook sighs in relief, then he gets another nice surprise when she turns to head into the alley by her house.

A smirk spreads on his face as he enters the alley behind her. He knows what he's going to do.

_______________

The next day passes just like they have been this past week. Jungkook trails the girl from her apartment to the school, from the school back to her apartment. It's a relief to find that whenever she walks, she takes the alley by her house on the way home.

Now, Jungkook is sure what his plan is going to be.

It'll be sure to draw attention when this girl is dead, there's no doubt about it. No one is going to suspect her of being anything other than a school teacher, so why would someone kill her?

Jungkook has thought through it all. This is what he does for a living, of course he isn't going to be sloppy about it. He'll be done with this by Sunday and no one will suspect anything other than a robbery gone wrong.

He happened to overhear the conversation between the target and her friend that drives the black car. The friend will be gone by Saturday morning, out of the picture and none the wiser.

Jungkook needs to be careful today though. He also overheard them this morning talking about how they are going to be meeting up at the girl's apartment tonight. Something about doing girl shit before the friend leaves tomorrow.

So, Jungkook decides to take the day off. He heads back home, not about to be caught by this friend that's probably a lot smarter than the target.

He'll just come to her apartment tomorrow morning and the plan will be over by tomorrow night.

______________

When you see Mina's car parked out in front of the school, you start running outside excitedly, your bag bouncing as you bound down the front steps.

"M-Mina!"

She has a huge smile on her face when you open the passenger door and climb in. "Hey, girl!" Mina shouts, yanking you over to hug you. "Aren't you excited it's Friday??"

You nod, "Yes, b-but...I am g-gonna miss you." You pout.

Mina shakes her head, "Nuh-uh. Tonight we party, there shall be no tears!"

You laugh as you buckle yourself in, "Ok, I p-promise I won't cry. W-What are we going to do tonight?"

Mina smirks sneakily and nudges your arm, "Oh you'll see~"

_______________

You clap in excitement when you see what Mina has planned for you two. After you unlocked your apartment door and let her in, she had set down a few bags, then instructed you to open them.

Inside one, you found a tub of ice cream, a box of cookies, and a few bags of your favorite types of chips. In the other, there were two blankets, two pairs of fuzzy socks, and a couple different movies.

"We g-get to have m-movie night?" You jump up and down as Mina nods happily.

"Yes! Now you have to pick which movie you want to watch. Should we do romance or comedy?" She starts pulling the stuff out of the bags as you mull over the different choices.

You have a hard time deciding things a lot of the time, that's why Mina usually has you make the choice. She wants you to get some practice making decisions.

After she's set everything up, she turns back to see you on your knees, leaning over the movies that you've laid out on the ground. You're biting the nail on your thumb as you appear concerned, looking at the movies.

Your best friend laughs and moves to crouch next to you. She looks at you and speaks softly, "Do you want to laugh tonight, or do you want to get the butterflies in your tummy?"

You turn to her and a shy smile spreads on your face, "Ok, l-let's do romance!"

A few minutes later, you're cuddled up next to your best friend. You both have fuzzy socks on and blankets, keeping you warm. You each also have a spoon, scooping out the ice cream as your eyes are glued onto one of your favorite romance movies of all time.

Not even three hours have passed when you're both dead asleep on your couch. Soft snores leave Mina's mouth, both of your legs tangled up with each other. The second movie is playing in the background, long forgotten after you both fell asleep not even halfway through.

The next morning, you wake up on the couch groggily. You look around in confusion, forgetting for a minute why you're on the couch. Then you remember and you laugh to yourself as you rub your eyes. Then you look around again.

Mina isn't anywhere and you think for a moment that she's left without saying goodbye. You hang your head, trying not to cry. Then you hear the toilet flush and the water run in the bathroom. You sigh in relief and wait patiently for her to come out.

When she does, you instantly stand up, "Want s-some breakfast?" You offer. She smiles sadly, "I wish I could stay for breakfast. But I have to leave now. I still have to grab my luggage and head to the airport. My flight is at ten."

You look at your phone and see that it's eight o'clock.

"Oh," You say sadly.

Mina walks over and hugs you, "Don't worry, ___. I'll be back before you know it! And I'll call you whenever I'm not working, okay?"

You nod and smile at her to reassure her that you're okay.

She leaves a few minutes later and you find yourself alone in your quiet apartment once again. Your nose twitches as you try not to tear up, then you move to the kitchen to get yourself some of your favorite cereal to cheer yourself up.

You'll have to plan some fun things for you to do while she's gone, or you might just go crazy.

______________

Jungkook has been outside the girl's apartment since eight this morning. He saw the friend leaving a little after he got there. He recognized her shoulder-length black hair immediately and he knew it was the driver.

He had smiled to himself when he saw her get into her car and drive away. He honestly can't believe the luck he's had on this job so far. This is going to be the easiest he's ever had it.

But now, he's sitting on a bench in complete and utter boredom as he waits for the girl to leave her house. It turns out, she doesn't leave her house until almost lunchtime.

By the time he sees a flash of black and grey, he's almost fallen asleep on the bench. But he jerks up the second he sees the girl hurrying down her stairs. She looks totally different today...

Jungkook is surprised to see the girl is in grey sweatpants and a long black t-shirt. A black bucket hat is on her head, seemingly hiding her bed head if the knotted bits of the hair he can see tell anything.

She's usually more put together, but then again, it is the weekend. Not everyone should be expected to go all out to look decent when they aren't working.

But there is one thing that hasn't changed; the girl is still simple as hell looking.

She doesn't have a bit of make-up on as she rubs her eyes.

He gets up to follow her once she's about two blocks away.

Jungkook shakes his head when he sees that even though her outfit is completely devoid of color today, she still has that damned bag covered in colorful treats.

It seems like today this girl is on a mission. She walks briskly and not a single thing distracts her. She only stops once, to get a small bite of lunch from a food stand. Jungkook realizes where they're headed a second before the girl stops.

She looks into the window of the store and waves at the brown puppy. It wags its tail at her and she smiles for the first time that Jungkook's seen today.

The girl goes into the store and Jungkook follows a minute later.

He sees her talking to a woman at the front. She points at the dogs in the front window and the woman nods with a smile. A minute later, the girl has the brown puppy in her arms as she's sitting in one of the little places with a bench and walls to keep the dogs that are being held from getting out.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Jungkook flinches and turns to see the woman that helped the girl looking at him with a smile. "Oh, uh...I, uh..." Jungkook looks around frantically, then he points at a little black kitten that's sitting in a big cage, staring at him.

"Can I uh...hold that kitten?"

Why the hell is he so awkward??

The woman smiles brighter and nods, "Of course! Come with me."

Jungkook tries not to groan in frustration as he follows her to the kitten's cage. This wasn't part of the plan, but whatever.

The little ball of fluff mewls when the woman takes it out and hands it to a very stressed Jungkook.

Damn it.

He flinches when the kitten licks his nose. The woman laughs, "Looks like he's finally found someone he likes. No one that's ever come in here to hold him has ever had him more than a few seconds before he freaked out."

Jungkook forces himself to smile at the employee. Then, he turns to keep an eye on the girl, pretending like he's just talking to the kitten.

"Hi, little guy." He speaks softly, his eyes shifting to see the girl hugging the puppy close to her chest.

After a few minutes, the girl reluctantly hands the puppy back to the store employee, her eyes watering as she talks to the little dog.

"I p-promise I'll come back and b-buy you next t-time, okay?" Then she hurries out of the store, making Jungkook hand the kitten to a random employee. "I might get him another time." He says in a rush before hurrying out after her.

The day is spent much like it is after she gets off work every day. The girl gets some steamed buns and walks through the park, humming along to whatever song is playing in her headphones. Jungkook strolls along behind her, going through the plan over and over again in his head to make sure he isn't missing anything.

He's pretty sure he's got it all down to the last detail, nothing should go wrong tonight. This target is quite predictable, but there's always that chance that they pull something that you don't expect. Jungkook doubts that'll happen with this girl, but he can't be positive. After all, if she is acting, then she could turn it on him in an instant.

Jungkook watches the girl doubtfully as she tries to stuff more steamed bun into her mouth than it can take.

Geez.

Then the girl suddenly plops down on the ground. Jungkook stops and sits on a nearby bench to watch her. She sets her paper bag of remaining steamed buns on the grass next to her, then pulls out the drawing notebook that Jungkook has seen her use several times this week.

The girl gets right to work, her nose stuffed into the notebook as she scribbles madly. Jungkook fights the urge to get up and look over her shoulder at what she's drawing. He used to love to draw when he was younger. When the world wasn't such a brutal place to live in and be accepted.

Jungkook leans back on the bench and tilts his head up to the sky as he closes his eyes. He gets the feeling that they're going to be here for a while. Besides, he can still hear her drawing, no need to keep an eye on her. The feeling of the warm sun on his skin makes some distant memories try and sneak their way into his brain, but Jungkook immediately blocks them out.

He takes a deep breath of the fresh June air through his nose, then blows it out through his mouth slowly. Hell, he's exhausted.

Jungkook reaches a hand up to snatch his black baseball cap off and sets it in his lap. Then he starts to massage the back of his neck, his eyes still closed. He feels like he hasn't had nearly enough sleep this week, the stress of just wanting to get this blasted job done keeping him up at night.

The sound of the girl drawing and mumbling to herself reaches Jungkook's ears as he continues to massage his neck. Then he moves down and starts to rub the tense part of his shoulder close to his neck. After that, Jungkook moves his hands to start massaging his face. He rubs his eyes and temples, moving down to his cheeks.

"Hello, mister."

Jungkook flinches at the tiny voice and his eyes fly open as he yanks his hands from his face.

There's a very very small girl standing in front of him, her long black hair in two braids on either side of her face. Her huge dark eyes stare into Jungkook's as he calms his breathing.

Fucking hell. Scared the shit out of me.

"What do you-"

Jungkook cuts himself off when the little girl steps even closer until she's standing in between his spread legs. He leans back, one of his eyebrows rising in confusion.

The hell does this girl want?

Jungkook looks around to see if he can find her mother or father. When he looks back at her, she's smiling shyly, her wide eyes still staring straight into his soul.

"What do you need?" He snaps.

She doesn't react to his sharp tone, she just reaches out and snags his baseball cap. Jungkook tries to protest but she places it on her head anyway. She looks even tinier if that's possible, his hat looking positively massive on her small head. "My name is Mi-Rah." She whispers.

Jungkook feels a twist in his stomach. This innocent child shouldn't be anywhere near someone like him. He kills people for a living.

Where on earth are her parents? Have they taught her nothing about stranger danger?

Then Mi-Rah reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of candy in a very crumpled wrapper. She takes Jungkook's large hand and places it into his open palm. "You look very sad, mister. Sometimes all we need to feel happy is something sweet, no matter how small."

Jungkook tears his eyes away from the little candy and looks at the tiny girl in disbelief. How old is she?

"Uh...thank you-"

"You don't have to thank me, mister. Maybe just...make someone else smile today. Give someone else a chance to be happy." The little girl says simply. Then she takes his hat off her head and places it back onto his own before turning and running off.

What the hell.

That girl spoke like an adult, but she couldn't have been any older than seven. Jungkook shakes his head, then glances at the candy. It has a bit of lint on it, there's no way in hell he's gonna eat that. So, without thinking, he stuffs it into his pocket, then his eyes shift over to where the girl is drawing.

Except she isn't there.

"Fuck." Jungkook jumps up and whips his head around, scanning the park. When he doesn't see a single sign of her, a growl leaves his throat and he starts walking. If that kid hadn't distracted him, this wouldn't have happened.

Jungkook walks around for a good two hours, but he hasn't seen the girl once. Now he's starting to panic. The sun will start going down soon.

What if she already went home?

His plan would be ruined.

Crap.

Jungkook takes his cap off and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. He doesn't want to have to wait another day to get this over with.

One more hour passes as Jungkook frantically walks around the city. He even goes to the girl's apartment to see if he can tell if she went home, but all the lights inside are off so she probably isn't in there.

After another hour, the sun is down.

Jungkook curses and kicks at a little stone on the sidewalk, watching it roll into the grass. He fucked up. He got distracted and now he's going to have to do this all over again tomorrow if he's even lucky enough that the girl will go out and stay out all day tomorrow.

After all these years, he's never lost a target before. He feels like an idiot. Out of all the hits he's had, every single one, this weird-ass kindergarten teacher is the one he loses. All because he let some kid come and distract him for a second.

He curses again and resists the urge to throw a punch at something, anything.

Jungkook turns around, ready to head home and curse himself until the day he dies. But he stops short when he sees a familiar figure walking down the street. A bucket hat covers their face, but the unmistakably ridiculous bag is hanging from her shoulder.

"Fucking hell." Jungkook sighs in relief as he watches the girl make her way towards the alley. His luck is back! The second the girl turns into the dark and desolate walkway, Jungkook follows her in.

She's singing softly to herself as she walks slowly, taking her time. As if there isn't a killer looming right behind her.

Jungkook pulls the gun he grabbed from his safe earlier out of his back pocket. The girl stops, then crouches to pick something up as Jungkook switches the safety off his gun.

He raises it slowly.

A tiny laugh slips out of the girl's mouth as she messes with something on the ground, her smaller figure crouched on the dirty cement of the alley.

Jungkook aims carefully, he's got a perfect target.

He can do it.

He can be done with this.

So, why isn't he pulling the trigger?

Jungkook shakes his head and raises the gun again.

Fuck.

The girl stands up again and starts to walk quickly.

Shit, shit, shit Jungkook scrambles after her, almost tripping on the trash piled in the alley. She happens to be the one to trip on it first. Her arms flail out and a tiny shriek leaves her mouth as she tumbles to the ground. "Ow." He hears her whimper quietly. "Owie." She pulls her right knee out from under her and pulls her sweats up enough to see the small cut on it. Ok, enough dilly-dallying Jungkook. Get it done. Jungkook raises the gun once more as the girl gets to her feet and starts to walk away. He's about to call out and get her attention so he can get her from the front. Make it look like a robbery gone bad. That's when he sees the papers on the ground that had fallen out of her bag when she fell. He doesn't know what possesses him to look closer, but he does. Shock courses through him at the drawings he sees. They're fucking terrible. They look like a four-year-old drew them, the coloring not even in the lines she drew. What the hell even is that? A fucking bird? There's something that looks kind of like an apple tree next to the deformed-looking bird thing. Another picture shows an awfully drawn lollipop. Who messes up a lollipop? Jungkook looks up at the girl, who has stopped to look at her phone. "Give someone else a chance to be happy." The tiny girl's words suddenly ring through his mind and Jungkook swallows thickly. He lowers the gun, his arm hanging limply at his side. "Damn it." The girl swivels when she hears the voice of a man behind her, but when she turns there's no one there. She glances at the dumpsters and trash bags and listens intently. When she doesn't hear anything, she quickly turns and runs out of the alley. She runs the rest of the way home, only stopping when she's gotten inside and locked her door. ________________

"Fucking stupid!" Jungkook screams and throws the gun onto his bed. Why the hell did he hesitate? He never hesitates. He's shot dozens of people dead and he never blinked an eye. Why? Why now? This is the most paying job he's ever gotten and now he's fucked it up! He got distracted. That's all. If he hadn't spoken to that kid today or seen those stupid drawings, he wouldn't have messed up. "Ok, that's it," Jungkook growls and stomps over to the file sitting on his coffee table. It's been sitting there since Sunday a week ago. He grabs it and opens it angrily, a few papers spilling out and onto the floor. He doesn't bother cleaning them up. He just grabs the last one, the folded picture of the target. Jungkook unfolds it and glares at the image of the smiling girl. "I don't give a fuck why you're a target. I'm going to fucking kill you on Monday and that's it!" Then he tears the picture in half. He tosses it onto the coffee table and slumps down onto his couch, mentally exhausted. _______________ Jungkook spends Sunday holed up in his apartment. He's never been so pissed at himself before. No more distractions. If he doesn't get this done tomorrow, he doesn't know what he'll do. This hit is driving him insane. The only time he leaves his apartment is when Hoseok knocks and asks him to come over for dinner. As much as he would rather do anything but that, he agrees with a plastered smile. Jungkook sits at Hoseok's dining table awkwardly as his neighbor plates up the fried rice he made and hands a plate to him. "Thank you." Jungkook takes it and his stomach growls the second he smells the food. This is the first homecooked meal he's had in...well as long as he can remember. Suddenly, there's a knock on the door, and Hoseok laughs, "Oh, I almost forgot! I hope you don't mind, I invited some more of my friends over." Jungkook shakes his head, "I don't mind at all." When Hoseok opens the door, Jungkook sees a tall handsome man with broad shoulders and black hair walk in. He's taken by surprise by the man's beauty for a split second before he snaps out of it and sees another man walk in. This one is shorter and his hair is bleached blonde. The first man has a huge smile on his face and the second looks like his face has been set into a permanent look of uninterest. "Hi! You must be Jungkook!" The taller man says happily, reaching a hand out to shake Jungkook's. The younger man nods, "Yes, I am." "I'm Seokjin! And this is Yoongi." The handsome man turns and points at the blonde. Yoongi nods and sends Jungkook a small smile. "Nice to meet you," Jungkook responds politely, trying not to be awkward as hell. The only person he's really spoken to as an acquaintance for years is Hoseok, and he's only known him a little less than a year. Dinner goes by rather smoothly and the food is delicious, but Jungkook is grateful when he finally steps back into his own apartment. He's usually good at faking with people, part of his job is to charm people and put all suspicion off of himself. Tonight was different though, he felt exposed and like he couldn't put up a facade with those men. He takes a long hot shower, trying to wash away all the stress from the past week. When he's out of the shower and in his shorts, Jungkook crawls into bed and turns out the light. He blankly stares into the darkness for a while, trying not to let his brain run rampid so he can sleep. But he thinks back to the dinner a little while ago, anyway. Seokjin and Yoongi were nice, and Hoseok has always been kind to him. But, Jungkook feels uncomfortable, he feels off. He just isn't cut out for friends. He's a killer. That's all he is and that's all he'll ever be. And killers are meant to be alone. ______________ Jungkook sighs as he sits on the bench in front of the school. Hopefully, this will be the last day he has to do this. The girl had already gone into the kindergarten hours ago, it's nearing the end of the school day. All he has to do is tough it out until tonight. If the girl doesn't stay out till dark, he'll just have to lure her out of her apartment later somehow. He'll figure that out when he comes to it. The bell rings and Jungkook gets up to buy a paper from the old man that he's become quite acquainted with this past week. The two of them chat it up a bit as Jungkook watches the school doors. Eventually, he sees the girl leading a long line of kids out the front doors and down into the grass to wait to be picked up. It takes a little longer than usual, but finally, all the kids are gone and the girl goes back inside. When she comes out and starts walking down the street, Jungkook follows on the other side. As he walks he keeps an eye on her, but that means he isn't looking ahead. "Umph!" Jungkook jumps back in surprise when he sees a little old woman glaring at him after he ran into her. "Oh, sorry. I'm sorry." Jungkook bows his head in apology and the old woman nods curtly before walking around him. He looks back across the street, only to groan at seeing the girl is nowhere to be seen. "Not again." Jungkook moans in dismay. Then he jumps a mile high when he feels someone tap his shoulder. "Excuse m-me, sir." Jungkook turns and his heart stops in his chest when he sees the wide eyes of a horribly familiar girl staring up at him. She's clutching a piece of paper in her hands as a smile spreads on her face when she looks at him closer. Jungkook blinks a few times, the rest of him frozen in horror at being caught. "Th-This is for you." She holds out the paper. Jungkook takes it limply, his eyes never leaving hers. When the initial shock leaves his body, Jungkook tears his eyes away from the girl and looks down at what she gave him. He squints in confusion at what he sees. Then he looks back up at his target. What the hell is this?

_____________________________

a/n: I hope you guys like this one. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it at first. Let me know what you think <3

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llamagoddessofficial · 4 years

Text

Got hit by my first wave of inspiration for a while, and decided to ride it out instead of fighting it. So, for anyone who wants it... have Mc’s first meeting with Zoo!Naga Skull. (Yes, the one that ended in kidnapping ;) )

Nervous was an understatement.

“Keep track of him at all times. Always make sure you can get to the door, never let him cut you off. Don’t underestimate him just because he’s blindfolded.”

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest so loudly it was getting hard to pay full attention to Maggie, the senior zoo staff member in front of you, hard to keep a grip on the large and heavy bucket of meat clenched tightly in one hand and the hooked feeding pole in the other. You weren’t even supposed to be doing this, you were too low down on the zoo staff ladder... you should’ve been feeding the little snakes or the herbivores, you should be years away from this level of care! The naga were already leagues above your pay grade, and now they wanted you to feed the biggest one of them all!?

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this. You cringed- but I can’t refuse, I need this job!

“Talk to him, move loudly, make sure he knows where you are because the last thing you want is to spook him. I know you’ve had good experiences with the other two naga but that doesn’t mean you should ever let your guard down, understand?”

“... Yes.” You said, voice barely above a whisper, grip sweaty on the feeding pole. You couldn’t help it, your eyes flicked down to her left hand- the one she didn’t have anymore, the one that had just a wrist stump remaining.

“... You’ll be fine. We’ll all be watching, if something does happen for some reason we can get in and help you.” She took on a slightly more comforting tone, noticing your line of sight. Her injury was the reason she wasn’t the one bringing the naga his food, given her senior position and superior experience. “I got this when I was young and cocky, and because I followed the safety protocol I lost a hand and not a neck. So long as you stick to the rules and don’t do anything stupid, you won’t have a problem with him. Ok?”

“A-are you sure I’m...”

“Yes, you’re ready. You’ve dealt with the other two.” She cut over you, turning you by the shoulder. “Now go, before Skull gets hungrier.”

And just like that, you were pushed through the door of the enclosure, that shut firmly behind you. The secondary door opened... and despite the fact that every part of you was cold and shaking, you had no choice but to go forward. As scared as you were, someone needed to get the naga fed... someone needed to go straight into the beast’s den.

... You stepped into the enclosure.

It was built to resemble a near-surface cave; the walls and floor were made of slightly uneven smoothed stone, with a few windowed ‘cracks’ in the fake stalactite ceiling providing enough daylight to see by. There were some interesting objects to provide a little enrichment, like ‘boulders’, patches of fake grass, a little filtered waterfall dribbling into a relatively shallow pool... and a small tunnel, leading to a den with no windows he could juuust about curl up in so he could have some privacy.

... Inside that den, you could see a hint of a steely blue-grey... scales.

... You sucked in a tiny breath through your nose, and stepped further forward, following the zoo protocol of tapping the metal end of the pole lightly against the bucket of food to let him know it was feeding time. It took a moment for there to be a reaction, but... slowly, surely, the mass of muscle resting inside the den began to shift.

Giant claws hooked over the stone edges of the den entrance, bone hands as big as your head... the thing about Red and Sans is they were very vocal naga, Sans regularly hissing and snarling and Red making curious rattling and purring sounds. But with Skull... there was nothing but the low sliding sound of scales against rock, that sounded long and oh-so heavy.

... He emerged, head moving into the light, vicious cranium crack and tight fitted black blindfold plain to see... with just his skeletal torso out he was already almost as big as you. A shot of panic doused your system and you had to clench your teeth together to stop yourself from crying, or dropping everything and bolting back through the door. The rest of him followed after; the long snake tail that made up over three quarters of his body length coiling behind him as he raised himself up, gathering like a loosened rope, thicker than you were wide... faded blue and littered with scars that just didn’t seem to catch the light in the same way the other two nagas did.

He was... huge. You knew this already, but there was something different about seeing him with nothing in the way.

... You had to swallow the terror again, no longer able to tap on the food bucket as your hands were shaking too much. I’m fine. I’m fine. The door is right behind me.

... He was keeping his distance from you, head turned downward slightly, facing in the direction of the bucket. A flash of blue around his mouth- his forked tongue flickering rapidly, which could either signal curiosity, hunger or both. The pounding in your chest became more intense.

“... H-hey, big guy.” You stammered, keeping your voice as gentle as possible, as low and soft as you could in order to not spook him. He reacted immediately, his head cocking a little, raising to face directly at you instead of the bucket as if making eye contact despite the blindfold- just get this over with, (y/n), just get this over with. “... I-I’m... supposed to talk to you, to let you know where I am... talking worked with the other two, I... h-hope it works with you, too.”

You put the bucket on the ground, sliding a decently heavy chunk of the special treated naga-friendly meat onto it. Skull had a unique feeding hook; it was much longer than usual, slightly difficult to handle, but reinforced along the inside to facilitate easier feeding from a distance. You raised the pole with the hung meat and slid it slowly closer to him, keeping careful watch of the way his tongue would flicker toward the food... you were so ready to bolt. You just needed to get this done.

“I’m, uhm...” You felt like an idiot. You could feel all the other staff members watching. “The food’s on the hook. You probably know that already, but...”

... He moved forward and caught the chunk straight off the hook, swallowing it without any chewing or pausing, then going immediately back to sitting there, patiently, watching. Waiting for more. You brought the hook back, putting on another piece, moving it toward him again... careful to keep hold on the pole despite your sweaty palms.

... He was eating as quickly as your unpractised snail-pace would allow, but most notably.. without issue. You finally felt a droplet of relief in the sea of fear; he was eating normally, he wasn’t being aggressive or trying to approach... this was going pretty well, for your first time feeding the moodiest naga in the zoo.

“... There we go. Good, this is going good. Please don’t eat me.” You half-joked, repeating the process. Retract pole, hook meat, offer it out. Starting to get into a rhythm. “... I hope you’re always this relaxed with me. That would be really helpful.”

He took the meat again, obediently. You let out a tiny sigh; the more he just did what he was supposed to, the calmer and more comfortable you felt. He’d probably learned by now that it was just best to get the food offered, instead of biting the hand that was feeding him.

... Or biting it off.

“... Everyone’s watching. I think they’re waiting for me to mess up. Do something dumb and get kicked out.” You mumbled. You felt... surprisingly not-awkward? Sometimes, when you spoke to the animals, you felt weird because they clearly didn’t care... but in this case, you got a strange feeling from the way his head would twitch and follow you despite the meat, how his tongue would flicker only when you’d stopped talking. It felt like he was... actually listening?

Besides. Nobody could fault you for talking to the naga to keep it calm and not-murderous as you passed him food from as large a distance as possible, right? If it worked, it worked, and you kept your limbs.

“... There we go.” You said, as you passed him the last piece- you then tapped the side of the empty bucket with the hook like you’d been told to, so he’d hear the hollow sound and understand there was no more food, before you picked it up again. You felt... a lot less terrified? Still nervous, but not like you were about to throw up.

“... Uhm... thank you.” Your voice was still pretty small. “For... being calm. I appreciate it.”

... He stayed where he was. You felt, again, like he was watching you, despite him having no vision.

...

You took a step back, ready to go back through the door and throw up... but as soon as your foot sounded against the stone floor...

Everything about him changed.

His lips and teeth parted... and the most powerful hiss you’d ever heard filtered out, filling the room, tearing through the air and right through your body. Like someone had set off a huge firework but it just kept hissing and hissing and hissing, deep and loud and intertwined with an open-mouthed growl, it echoed off the walls and shook everything inside. It was as if someone had flipped a switch in his head, something inside him had snapped; his shoulders rose, tail beginning to move across the floor and rearrange itself. It sounded like... a warning.

You froze, heart dropping into your stomach, all the warmth and colour draining from your face.

...Oh no.

... The hissing stopped, but he kept his new position. He’d stopped in a more aggressive, coiled posture like a tightened spring, tongue now flickering constantly.

...

“... Maggie.” You said, voice cracking, essentially calling for help. Your eyes were locked onto him, you couldn’t remember any of the safety protocols for aggressive naga, every part of you was petrified, you couldn’t feel your hands or toes you could only feel the pounding in your own head. You were afraid to blink- it was going TOO well, I’ve used up my luck, it’s all gonna go wrong now!

“... Okay, just relax.” You heard her voice over the exhibit speaker system but you daren’t turn your head away to look at where she was. “He probably just doesn’t trust you yet, and is getting possessive over food he thinks might still be in the bucket. Okay? Use the pole to push the bucket toward him.”

You swallowed, following her advice; you set the bucket down without taking your gaze off him as if your feet were glued to the earth, and then used the end of the pole to push the bucket across the floor. It made an ugly scraping/rattling sound as it moved.

... He wasn’t even turning toward it. He wasn’t paying attention to it. His attention seemed steadfastly on you, if his head direction was any way to tell. You were sweating, your neck hairs were prickling.

“Alright. Now back away slowly.”

... One step back.

He immediately started hissing again, even louder this time, with deafening aggravation... he lowered his head.

A strike position.

You didn’t hear Maggie’s shout over the speaker system, you could hear nothing but your heart and his hissing. The rabbit-like urge to RUN overtook your whole body, something in you shattered, and you staggered backward with the intent to turn and dive for the door.

... The speed at which he crossed the entire enclosure would’ve been incredible in any other circumstance.

He lurched with all the power readied in the wound muscles in his tail, striking forward so quickly it was like he vanished from his spot, and suddenly you were screaming as the pole was knocked out of your hands. Suddenly something huge and hard was gripping you and your clothes and your legs went out from under you, the world was dark and turning and you brought your hands up over your head in an instinctive defensive posture, you faintly heard the sound of dozens of voices shouting out in synchrony but everything was ringing, the heels of your boots were dragging so quickly across the floor it felt like the friction was going to burn through them and kicking your legs into nothingness as a pathetic attempt at attack/escape did genuinely nothing, you cried out...

... And then just like that, your body came to a halt; you’d stopped moving.

You opened your eyes, forcing in deep terrified breaths, finding yourself in almost total darkness and taking only a few milliseconds to realise you were inside his den. It was so cramped and the floor and walls were moving, why were they moving, you put out a hand to try and steady yourself or get to your feet...

...

That wasn’t the floor or walls. Your hand landed on smooth, hard scales.

You were on him. You were on his coiled tail.

You made a sound you could only describe as a broken whimper-cry of fear and tried to sit up and get some control, but it was almost impossible as he was still moving, his body shifting and writhing underneath you and forcing you to only sink deeper into his scales, deeper into his hold. Something wound around you, starting from your chest and moving down to your knees, binding your legs together- and the scariest part was that you could feel the power as he shifted, you could feel the strength behind the scales when they pressed against you. He was a living muscle, and with little more than a flex he could squeeze, and you’d go squish.

That’s what’s going to happen. He’s going to constrict me to death! Your breathing was getting so fast your chest was heaving, you tried to push the coils on your middle but it was like pushing the unmoving floor, you were getting dizzy with panic, you started to beat them with your fists, S-someone help me-!

His face came into view. Hovering over you, only just silhouetted by the light creeping into the entrance of the den.

... Once again, everything in your body just... stopped.

All thought, all movement, everything froze, as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

... He’d removed his own blindfold. A bright, blood red ring was gazing down at you... fuzzy around the edges, the hole in the centre nothing but a dot.

... His own movements were slowing, as he apparently settled on the position he was in. You were almost horizontal, your head lifted up ever-so-slightly, everything lower than your chest totally bound and covered and crushed under more of his body. He was so close.

...

He was warm. Like summer’s day. And he was... just staring.

...

You could hear absolute havoc breaking outside of his den. But even so, your breathing was slowing... you were calming, despite it all. Something about his eye... the way he was hanging his head... how his tongue just ever-so-slightly peeked out of his mouth, as if only curious...

... How he hadn’t killed you yet. He wasn’t squeezing. You felt so, so very tiny, trapped in the coils of a giant naga...

Why hasn’t he...?

...

A single, sharp phalange moved over to your face. You naturally flinched leaned away at the sight of such huge claws coming close, sucking in a breath... and as soon as you did, he... paused? He took a moment, with his your-head-sized hand just hanging there...

... Like he was giving you a second? He held your eye.

... When he started moving again, he moved so slowly. So gently... and he turned the hand over, brushing the back of his thick knuckle across your cheek with a feather-light touch. His hands were warm, too.

...

It was a like a cat, the way his eyelight widened, blowing to fill his whole socket.

He seemed to lose whatever self control was making him move slowly, and instead his massive head leant in, before you could so much as muster the energy or presence of mind to squeak he pressed his face flush against the side of yours with his teeth just under your ear. Instead you just let in another tiny breath of shock and felt a shiver travel across the whole length of your body- he was nuzzling, with an unmistakable joy, parts of his tail moving ever-so-slightly like he just couldn’t contain himself. In amongst the gleeful nuzzling he took a few inquisitive breaths in your hair, his tongue flickering out and surprising you with how ticklish it was- you brought your shoulder up in defence but he seemed to like that tiny reaction and did it again, chasing your sensitive spots.

“G- ah, stop!” You said, but less out of fear and more out of ticklishness- you couldn’t get away from him, it was like being fussed by a giant overly affectionate puppy. He was breathing right down your ear, and his breath and tongue made everything prickle, you tried to put your hands over your neck but he wasn’t having it. “... G-guys? Guys, are you out there?!”

You distinctly heard someone mutter ‘oh my God, she’s alive’, before a sharp “Play dead! We’re coming to get you!” sounded pretty close to the den.

... You saw Skull’s reaction- and by saw, you meant heard and felt. As soon as he seemed to realise they were approaching the entrance to his hide, he stopped nuzzling, face still against your neck... and a slow, upset snarl began to filter out of his chest, and seeing as you were surrounded by him it was deep and so close it was vibrating your insides. At the same time, his snake body shifted and started to tighten, slowly moving to cover you more, bring you in further into his coils... trap you underneath.

“N-no, no!” You said, panic at possibly being constricted to death rearing its head again. “Don’t come any closer without sedatives, please!”

“... What the hell’s going on in there?!”

“H-he’s just... he’s just got me wrapped up.” You stammered, swallowing, wishing you could see them instead of the den ceiling right now; your voice had a strange, echoing quality inside the small space. “I-I can’t move. When you come closer it agitates him and he squeezes. Don’t come closer. Please just go get sedatives.”

“... Are you sure you’re okay in there?” You could hear them backing up, thank fuck. And he could definitely hear them too, noticeably relaxing. “It’s gonna take us a while to get anything strong enough for him.”

... Skull let out a strange, deathly soft hiss, apparently really liking your hair... so quiet, only the two of you could hear it. His scales were warm, and although you were trapped, it almost felt like he’d deliberately trapped you in this reclined position in order to make sure you were comfortable in his grip.

...

“Y-yeah, I... I think I’m fine for now. Just please don’t take too long.”

#llamagines #llama writes #naga au #naga sanses #heeee #local monster just wants to kiss pretty face- please stop running

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colossal-fallout · 3 years

Note

Historia and male bodied reader. Breeding kink. I'm making you go further down this hoe you dug

The Farmhand Father 🌾

Male bodied reader X Historia

Momma Sarah is feeding you male bodied readers well with this one...

Warnings: 18+ NSFW smut. Breeding kink. Size kink. innocence tainting. Seducing. Orgasm denial. Slight pillow Princess Historia.

Seriously... This is filth. You've been warned.

You remember mere hours ago that cute face of Historia blushing deeply, squirming in such a shy way, you thought it was absolutely adorable. Her huge, sky blues' glancing away nervously, her hands behind her back a sure sign of her feeling uncomfortable as she confessed her desires for you.

This powerful, high queen dressed now in normal clothes as she came to your farm escorted by her two most trusted guards.

You blink, her words melting into a blur as if you were receiving some awful news.

Yet, it couldn't be further from the truth.

Queen Historia. In all her royal glory. Someone who had visited your farm a fair few occasions. Nothing special. Royal duties and all that. You had been in awe at her beauty - as were most. She was straight from a fairy tale. Innocent, pure and sweet.

No.

She wasn't like she were from a fairy tale. Historia was the physical manefestation of inspiration to write the most gorgeous queen in the land. The most dangerous calling siren; her luring beauty so hazardously tempting.

You had to admit it, you were more than surprised to see her at your door, still looking devine even in nicely pressed civilian clothes.

"And so, due to royal duties I must produce an heir, to keep the Riess bloodline and - "

You were sure you'd heard her but your mind just wasn't accepting it. This had to be a dream. There was no way this was actually happening.

Perhaps you'd fallen and hit you head on the horse plough again and this was some weird coma dream. You were sure to wake up to those two Colten boys from the next farm over annoying you by trespassing. The usual, fantasy free life.

"Of course, I understand if you don't want to. Please don't feel forced because I am your queen. It's just... You are my first choice. I've wanted you for some time." Her crimson face glances away.

You already felt your cock twitch at the mere words of her suggesting what she was.

It was torture every single time she's visited to boost morale of the farmworkers. Her graceful form would float in, her delicate frame surprisingly strong as she even helped out with certain tasks, her kindness overflowing, pouring into the hearts of her citizens.

God what you wouldn't give just to smell her...

The amount of times you'd tugged yourself stupid, panting her name and imagineing her little pussy stretching around your colossal cock.

Boy was she in for a shock.

You hold yourself steady, your mouth watering with excitement. You did well to hide it. Surely if she knew how desperate you were for her, the extent of the yearning for her would surely make her rethink her decision.

You sit tense - still not really allowing yourself to believe this was real.

"What about your guards?" You ask, trying your hardest to keep your words steady.

She glanced back out of your living room window, the guards waiting by her carriage at the bottom of your large yard.

"They've been told to stay put. But, I don't mean we do this right now. I want you, I do. But shouldn't we get to know each other a bit more?"

Shit.

Now she was within your grasp, you couldn't risk her changing her mind. This was an opportunity of a life time. And you'd be damned if she gave up her innocence to some soldier.

But what could you do?

You most certainly were not going to force yourself upon her. You weren't a monster. Also, even if you were, you would probably be executed for such a thing.

And rightly so.

Your mind races as she stands up to excuse herself.

"It'll allow you some time to think. I'll be back here in one month from now."

A whole month?!

30 whole days of knowing she wanted you, was wet for you and might change her mind at any given time?! No way were you about to let that happen.

You spring to your feet, throat now suddenly dry.

"Historia. If I may...?" You hold out your hand feigning patience.

You're thrilled when her satin soft palm lands within yours, a touch you'd craved for the longest time. A gasp escapes her as you sit back down and pull her comfortably onto your lap. Her heart hammering with excitement as this strapping farmer she had been wanting for a while now pulls her down with such bold strength.

Her lips stay parted and that cute magenta tone etches her cheeks.

"Of course. Let's get to know one another better." You sneer. "There's something I must warn you about."

"Oh?" She sings in surprise as you allow yourself to finally inhale her scent. Her warm form on your lap was enough - your monster cock growing, yawing and stretching itself awake.

You swivel her around so she's now straddling you as you lean back further into the chair, your hands firmly caressing her thighs as her crotch sits on your solid errection.

Her eyes widen, nails slightly dig into your skin reflexively when she feels the sheer size and girth of you. Her thighs subconsciously squeeze together as that Magenta colour deepens into more of a crimson hue.

"Oh... I..." She stammers, squirming uncomfortably.

She didn't think it would be possible to want you more. You'd certainly caught her eye and she'd thought about you often, wondering how you were doing and wether or not you saw her the way she did you. And now, feeling your huge beast beneath her ceased all of her cognitive functions.

"Would that be okay, my sweetheart?" You coo, brushing her hair from her face and holding back a sneer.

You needed this to work.

You. A mere farmer about to fuck the queen. The innocent, pure queen who no one else had fucked (male anyway). You didn't mind the rumours that she had dated a fellow female soldier in her cadet days. She's still untainted by sinful cock.

Beneath your cool exterior was a panicked inferno of hazed lust. There was no possible way she was walking out of that door without being fucked by you, now you felt the warmth of her pussy rolling through the cloth of her panties under that skirt as her legs splayed across you.

Historia's blood ran hot and she was close to crumbling.

"I need to go." She muttered yet didn't make a move. Her eyes were still wide - her mind telling her to leave but her body refusing to let her.

Your fingers snake up to her waist before you begin you push her back and forth, her slit rubbing against your large buldge.

"I just wanted to make sure." You mutter, your soft facade quickly falling away as you have her warmth massaging you, moving her small form with such ease. "Before you go. I need you to be sure. I need you to really feel me. To know what you're going to be having."

Her face deepens in colour as warm, beautiful sensations caress her clit and folds as you rock her up and down against your length what was now throbbing; aching to be released and inside of her.

Wit great restraint, you prevent yourself from running your hands all over her. If you come on any stronger it would surely break the spell. You had to wait for the right moment.

"y-yes. Of course." She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling as you push her down a little harder, your groan being held back.

"You're so beautiful." You marvel, as if it was your first time noticing it.

Her hands suddenly and quickly run up your chest as she leans forward with a moan and crashes her lips against yours, her hips now grinding against you on their own accord, your hands now free to roam up her back as her hands run through your hair with desperation.

You sneer into her mouth, her lust too far gone for her to notice as this beautiful woman rubs against you frantically like a cat in heat, moaning into your mouth.

"I need you." She breathes, rubbing her head anywhere she could against you. "Please don't let me go. I need you now. Please have me... Oh please..."

With a grunt you get to your feet, her body wrapped around you as you carry her towards your bedroom. Your tongue swirled around her sweet little mouth, devouring her as you lock your door behind you and lower her down onto your bed.

"Jesus, Historia..." You gasp when you see a wet patch on your trousers where she'd been sitting.

"I'm sorry!" She squeaks, mortified. You didn't think there were a deeper shade of red on the colour spectrum as she slithers in embaressment.

"Don't be." You breathe, removing your damp pants and springing your cock free.

She gasps at the sight of your huge dick, it's fat head gleaming with malice as it almost angrily pulses and throbs, demanding entrence inside of her.

Pushing her legs up harshly, you put your face close to her soaked crotch, finally inhaling her scent before you encase your mouth around her, sucking the moisture from the material - your hot breath feeling heavenly as her head throws back.

She'd never wanted a man so much in her life. Nor had she been so turned on in all of her twenty one years.

You continue to suck and hum, your wish finally coming true. You couldn't wait to ruin her tiny frame, your fingers hooking at the cloth and pulling them down her legs.

"Please, don't stop." She pleads.

You glance down at her bloom that sat neatly between her legs.

Thick ropes of slick covered her small pink lips, her hunger making it twitch and clench, her insides spasming and trying to grab onto anything it could to ingest.

"fuck..." You sigh before leaning down and running your tongue up, moaning at her taste.

"Ah~!" She cries out in Hysteria, her back bending and hands gripping your sheets as you run your tongue painfully slow over her clit.

You had to give her the best orgasm of her life. You would go insane having her then not being able to again.

You take a fingertips and push it against her warm hole. You weren't sure how your were going to fit inside of her.

You'd make it fit.

Your name leaves her lips over and over as you insert your index, her insides instantly pulling you inside with glee.

Suddenly you pull away, leaving her starving as you make her way up her stomach, removing her shirt.

"You can't cum yet..." You explain as your trembling fingers removes her coverings. "It needs to be huge and at the same time as me. Best chance of becoming pregnant."

She nods, pained but understanding.

"Gonna fill your pretty pussy with my hot cum..." You groan into her as her now freed breasts are caressed by your mouth. "Get you nice and full with me. Gonna breed you like a pedigree bitch."

She whines at your words, your name repeating over and over as you kiss her breasts as if they were her mouth; tongue lapping and swirling around her pink nubs, lips smacking loudly against her soft, clean skin.

You lean back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Queen Historia, a flustered quivering and pleading mess - naked and splayed on your bed.

"Let's get you a little used to my size, huh?" You grunt, pupils dilated with a predatory hunger, pushing her arms up by her head and hovering above her chest removing your shirt with one hand.

You push your leaking head to her mouth.

"Kiss it." You command.

She does so immediately, her mouth pouting as she presses it against you, smearing your messy liquids around her lips. Rocking your hips you grab her hair with one hand pushing her mouth down. Her jaw is wide and you can only get her lips just past your huge head.

Hissing loudly you push her as far as she'll go, her eyes tragically beautiful as they water at your size her warm mouth sealed tightly around you; her tongue flat as you rock her head by her hair, her stifled moans loud and hysteric.

"Shi~~~t..." You sigh, as she gags and chokes, the back of her throat spasming around you, pulling her faster as you thrust into her, now with two hands as you push yourself up higher onto your knees.

"You've never had your mouth around a dick before, huh?" You ask.

She shakes her head, wet lashes fluttering with blinks before they roll with another loud choke.

You pull out, allowing her some air, ropes of her saliva sticking to you, keeping you connected to her mouth.

She whines your name after her gasp of oxygen before you push yourself back in, thrusting harder than before, your grip on her hair nice and tight as you skull fuck your queen.

"By the time I'm done with you, you'll only ever want my cock." You hum, sneering as her eyes roll furher, the squelching noises like music to your ears. One final deep thrust and you pull out, your orgasm brewing at a dangerously high speed.

"Take me, please!" She begs. "I need you inside of me! I'll do anything... Please!"

Panting you spread her legs, the arousal of you fucking her mouth now a wet patch on your bedsheets. Taking the bottom of your shaft you line up to her heat. You can already feel her walls trying to pull you in from within her. You sluggishly rub your thumb againt her external g spot, pushing yourself forward.

She cries out loudly, her spine folding backwards and head tilting as your head squishes into her tiny hole.

"It's s'so big... Ah~! I'm so full!"

"Oh baby..." You frown. "My head isnt even fully in you yet."

She whines in response as you slowly rock yourself, your angry errection tainting her with its poison, her purity ebbing away with each push, each millimetre that slides inside.

"So fuckin' tight." Your moan is desperate, hungry and predatory.

Glancing down you see her lips splitting apart at your girth, the pink colour washing out into a faded white as they attempt to swallow you.

"y/n!" She warns. "I can't. It's too good!"

You were inside of her now. You were too far gone to care as her entrance begins to spasm at the delicious full feeling of you, her orgasm hitting her hard as she silent screams, her eyes rolling.

"Fuck..." Your mouth waters as she gets even wetter, her ridged tunnel attempting to pull you in deeper. You take this opportunity, harshly thrusting into her while her mind was swirling in the void. You jut forward as your head finally passed her entrance, just as she comes back around.

You can't believe your eyes as you see the bump of your head pushing up against the flesh of her lower stomach - the sight alone almost making blow your thick load.

Historia is now extremely needy, her hands pulling you down and her lips taking yours faithfully as she sobs.

"S'so... Good. Ah~! Don't ever s'stop. Baby..."

"Never." You grunt pushing further into her.

"I can't... I'm going... Again...!"

Your eyebrows fly up in surprise as her nails sink into your back as she clings to you for dear life, holding you as close to her as possible as she cums once more around you.

Your eyes furrow closed. It was getting harder and harder not to cum and you hadn't even thrusted yet. You still weren't fully sheathed. Maybe you shouldn't have gotten cocky and fucked her sweet mouth.

You finally push yourself fully into her as her tongue lolls from her mouth.

"s'so full ah~! Y/n."

You begin to slowly dip into her, her snug insides so warm and tight, embracing your length lovingly, clamping and dancing around you in joy.

"I can't... Go back " she suddenly groans. "Not without you. Without this. Come back with me. Fuck me whenever I please. Your queen commands it."

Had you died and gone to heaven?

You nod. "Sure."

"Fuck me like this every night. I'll just lie here and your size alone can just... Ah~! Again~!"

Your dick is squeezed again, as she cums for a third time without much effort on your part.

"Fuck me over and over. Keep impregnating me. Only your cock is good enough, y/n. Yes! YES!"

Those words pushed you over the edge as well as her greedy tiny cunt sucking out your essence.

"Historia. I'm gonna cum."

"Give me it all." She sobs. "I want every last drop!"

Your pace quickens your hand grabbing and tugging her hair once more.

"Your dick is the only one I've had. And only one I ever will. It's too good not to own. It's mine now. Fuck me, please!" She cries out as she cums yet again.

You roar as your thick, hot cream splurges out of you, colliding with her cervix as she milks you dry. It sure as hell felt like she was taking every last drop - your orgasm going on and on. Your cum is leaking out of her stretched lips by the time you've filled her to the brim - her eyes in the back of her head and mouth open.

She'd ment it too. You didn't even have time to pack your stuff after you'd recovered as she whisked you away to her carriage. Admittedly, she was walking a little weird for a few days after.

Part 2 coming soon....?

#snk #attack on titan #snk imagines #snk season 4 #snk fandom #attack on titan x you #aot historia #historia reiss #historia x reader #snk historia #historia #snk smut

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goodgirlofglory · 4 years

Text

Three times Steve defended you, and one time you defended him / One-shot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 5,5k

Warnings: 18+ content, Explicit sexual content, Explicit language, light descriptions of smut, light descriptions of injuries, light descriptions of violence, some description of blood, kind of slow burn but not really at all.

Summary: Three times during your initiation into the Avengers agents program where Steve came to your aid and defended you, and one time you defended Steve. Along the way you find each other.

Author’s note: This one has been a personal pleasure to write. I love thinking of Steve and Y/N as having a hank for banter with each other, at the same time as they appreciate and admire each other. I’m just a real sucker for respect, y’all<3 (Not been proofread by anyone but me, so all mistakes are mine)

Part 1

Fire was raining down around you, the blood pumping in your ears as fear and adrenaline coursed through your body.

You had told them it was far too early to bring you on a mission, but Steve had insisted after you’d done so well in training, quickly climbing the ranks despite being just a recruit.

Besides, this should have only been an intelligence gathering mission, in stealth, during a time of which no goons were supposed to be on the drug cartel base.

Clearly not, you thought as you crouched behind a pillar, bullets chipping away at the stone.

You could hear the fighting around you, but panic clouded your mind in a hazy fog so you couldn’t pinpoint where, your body stiff as you curled in on yourself.

This was all wrong. You were going to die on this hellish mission, and more horrifyingly, disappoint Steve, who’d put his trust in you.

Actual tears blurred your sight as you clutched the gun in your hand.

“There’s one left, he’s coming towards you, Y/N,” you heard Steve call through your earpiece

Then, through your tears you saw a figure peer around the corner, gun in hand.

You knew you needed to shoot him, but your body didn’t obey you.

You heard your name shouted as the goon pointed his gun toward you and the ear thrumming sound of the gunshot jolted your body. Your eyes shut tightly as you saw your life flash before you.

But the pain you expected didn’t come, and instead you heard the distinct zing of Captain America’s shield flying through the air. A few grunts followed before you tentatively opened your eyes.

The goon lay sprawled on the floor, lifeless, and before you Steve was kneeling, dressed in the stealth suit that made his baby blue eyes pop. He was looking at you with worried eyes.

“Y/N, are you alright?” he asked, breathing hard.

You nodded, about to answer when you noticed the bullet hole in his suit. Your hands shot out in panic, forcefully groping at his abdomen, going to apply pressure.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, not that

“Oh my god, Captain, no, no, no,” you rambled, thoughts racing, eyes wide.

He gently took your hands in his and caught your wild eyes with his, gentle and calm.

“Don’t worry. Bulletproof, remember,” he said, nodding calmly, and you nodded furiously, your mind trying to calm itself through your panic.

He smiled fondly at you, and you noticed how everything was silent around you, the fighting finally over. Then it hit you.

“Steve, you took the bullet for me!? You shouldn’t, you idiot! I-I’m just a recruit, I..” you rushed out, guilt screaming inside your head. If Captain America died on some pointless mission protecting you, some no-name recruit, you would never forgive yourself.

He was chuckling now, your hands still in his.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. I think I know what I’m doing, I’ve been doing this for a while, ya’know,” he said, not sharing any of your worry, but looking profusely amused by it.

“Plus, I was the one who pressed you into this mission. I am responsible for you,” he added seriously, and your stomach flipped at the words. You tried to swallow the fluttering of butterflies.

He was your mentor and your trainer, nothing more, but his words still lingered on your mind for days.

Part 2

The earth-shattering explosion ripped you from your dreams of baby blue eyes, and a split second later, the floor gave out under you.

It took a moment to remember who the hell and where the hell you were.

It was in the middle of the night, and you’d been sleeping peacefully in the recruits lodging area of the compound, in the room you shared with four other girls.

You fell down, the floor crumbling and falling with you. The bed hit the floor beneath your level with a thud that had your head whipping backwards painfully. You had fallen down into the recruit sparring gym, empty at night.

The wooden bed split in half with a loud shriek, and you slumped down the crack, only cushioned by the mattress, your cover having been blown away by the force of the explosion.

Another searing jolt of pain shot through you as a heavy piece of concrete landed on your leg, and you screamed in pain. Above you, you heard your roommates shout your name, but the rumbling of the building verging on collapse was overwhelming and deafening.

“GET AWAY! GET OUT!” you shouted up at your friends, tears in your eyes now.

They disappeared and you tried with bloody hands to move the boulder. It wouldn’t bunch even a bit. Around you the whole building shook and rumbled. You could feel that it wasn’t long until it would crumble.

You realized you were stuck, bleeding and about to be crushed by a thousand tons of concrete.

“Y/N!” you heard a familiar voice from above shout.

Looking up at the hole in the ceiling above, you saw Steve standing, his shield on his arm.

You weakly protested as he jumped down, landing on the bed beside you, carefully avoiding the boulder pinning your ankle.

You could feel your mind blurring over in pain and shock, barely registering as Steve knelt down close, a warm and steady hand on your shoulder.

“Stay with me, Y/N, I’m gonna get you out of here,” he assured you hurriedly, his voice the most worried you’d ever heard him.

“Steve,” you sobbed, trying to reach out to him. He grabbed your hand in his, and in a move that was so surprising it snapped you back to consciousness, he kissed it. It was quick, barely there and kinda panicked, but you were sure he did it.

The deafening rumble of the building dying snapped you back to urgency.

“I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt,” he said as he released your hand and reached down to the boulder squeezing your leg. He heaved it off, and a scream ripped itself from your lungs.

He was quickly on you again, dragging you by the arm from where you lay squeezed between the two pieces of your cracked bed.

You wrapped your arm around his broad shoulder, noticing for the first time that he was shirtless, only wearing a pair of grey joggers and his shield, barefoot. He wrapped a strong arm around your waist, his body a soothing, warm presence against yours.

“Hold on,” he shouted as the ceiling cracked open, and then he was jumping through the window to your right, glass shattering around you.

You hurled through the chill, night air, Steve landing gracefully on his feet on the ground, one story below where you’d jumped out. Your feet dangling in the air, he held you close to his body as he ran across the lawn, and you heard the building crashing down behind you, the noise getting alarmingly close.

He threw a look back before stopping to a halt. Disposing you on the ground, you landed on your ass, looking up at his standing form. Behind him you saw a dust cloud charge at you. He kneeled down, holding his shield above his head as he curled you in against him with an arm around your shoulders.

He was shielding you with his naked upper body as the cloud enveloped you, and deep in your chest, through the shock and fear, astonishment and a whole lot of admiration bloomed.

You curled into his embrace, putting both hands up to support the shield as stray rocks and debris hit it.

You stayed like that for a while as the building settled in a collapsed ruin behind you, the dust cloud slowly dissolving. Your faces were so close, panting at each other, chests heaving. You remembered suddenly, you were only wearing a tiny tank top and panties, and despite the situation literally being a life or death matter, you blushed.

Steve put down his shield, throwing it on the ground as his arm released its grip around your shoulder.

You locked eyes with him, and in that moment he was everything. Tears of gratitude spilled forward as his hands held your shoulders, your own hands spread out on his naked chest, feeling his heart hammer against his ribcage.

“You saved me,” you whispered, “thank you. I don’t know how to thank you, Steve, you saved my life, ” you continued, whimpering.

“Are you alright? We need to get that leg looked at immediately,” he said, averting his eyes slightly, the tips of his ears pink. But that’s probably due to the exploding building, you reminded yourself.

As soon as he said it, the pain in your leg shot to the front of your brain, and you looked down to find a long, bleeding gash along the front of your ankle. You tried to move it and a startled, pained cry left your mouth.

Steve flinched at the sound, before quickly scooping you up, one arm under your knees and the other under your shoulder. You moaned in pain as he got to his feet.

“Your shield,” you said weakly as he started walking towards the compound again.

“It’s not important,” he said without a beat, catching your eyes in an intense look that had your heart fluttering.

You later found out Bruce Banner’s Hulk had caught him off guard as he’d worked in the lab two stories under the gym, which had led to the entire wing of recruit lodgings collapsing. There had been no casualties, though, miraculously - you and Steve being the closest.

Again he had saved your life, ridiculously risking his own in the process. You had thanked him over and over as they wheeled you into surgery, grabbing his hand and kissing it like he had yours, hoping he understood how grateful you were.

Your friends giggled as they huddled around your hospital bed. It was your eighth day in the med bay.

“You know he came straight to our room, right?” Helena said, giving you a giddy smirk.

“Oh come on, he was certainly checking on everybody,” you dismissed.

“No no, Dean said he saw him sprinting up the hall, barely even telling people to get out before he reached our room,” Sandy corrected, and the girls giggled again.

You were blushing profusely, trying so hard to fight the thought that Captain America, Steve Rogers had come specifically to check on you once there was danger. You were kind of a special protegé, as you’d earned the privilege of sparring with him one on one, but he had been nothing but professional towards you. Suffice to say, you didn’t feel like that justified him coming for you and only you in times of danger.

“Yeah, and I saw how he threw himself down that hole to you. Like nothing else mattered,” Cindy added dramatically.

“You guys, stop it, now you’re just hyping the story up to something it wasn’t,” you tried, but you were giggling with them. “Our room was at the end of the hall, closest to the lab. He probably just figured that was the part that would collapse first,” you added, forcing yourself to believe it.

“Oh well, I don’t know, he’s been here every day since you were admitted, right?” Sandy pushed, and now you were the one giggling, glancing at the flowers in the corner that he’d brought you the day before.

“Yes,” you admitted, “so you better scatter, for he usually comes around this time,” you told them pointedly, swatting Helena’s ass.

They kissed you on the cheek before skipping from the room, but you heard them greet “Captain” up the hallway.

Your heart fluttered as Steve Rogers appeared around the corner, smiling fondly as he let himself in.

Part 3

The music was loud, the room cheery and filled with talk and laughter.

Your recruitment was finally over, and you were officially agents-in-training, which was cause for a huge, fucking party.

Everyone was there, including several members of the Avengers. Natasha was sipping on a beer in the corner, surrounded by a crowd listening intently to a story she was telling.

Sam was playing pool across the room, crushing every guy that tried him on.

But most importantly, Steve was there, wearing a ridiculously gorgeous blue button up, the two buttons on the top undone, making your mind raise with promiscuity. You had finally bitten the bullet and admitted your feelings. To yourself, that was, and no one else.

Your eyes met three times over the crowd before he finally came over.

“Good evening,” he greeted you cheerfully.

“Hi,” you answered, suddenly all hot and bothered.

“Great party,” he said as he took a stand next to you, looking out on the sea of happy partiers, drunk off their asses.

“Yeah, I’m surprised you’re here. Isn’t Golden Girls having a rerun tonight?” you teased.

He looked at you with playful annoyance.

“Yeah, and I suppose it’s past your bedtime, young lady,” he answered and you threw your head back in a surprised laughter, not expecting him to banter back.

He was looking at you with a fond smile when your laughter turned to a giggle. A moment passed as you looked at each other, and you felt yourself glowing under his gaze.

“Did you get my flowers?” he asked then, and you blushed at his abruptness. You’d been nervous about bringing it up.

“Yeah, and you really don’t need to keep sending those. It’s been a while since I got out from the med bay now,” you said, trying not to reveal how flustered you were.

“I know, I know. I just seem to keep getting you in trouble,” he said, looking down at the beer in his hand.

“Steve, you’re the one who’s always saving me from trouble,” you said, putting your hand on his wrist to catch his attention again, “I hope you know how grateful I am,” you added, trying to convey how genuine you were.

His eyes met yours with such emotion, your breath caught in your throat. The room suddenly felt empty, the music fading to a lull.

You swore he inclined his head slightly before you abruptly removed your hand, straightening yourself. He snapped back to himself, clearing his throat awkwardly before looking around. You did as well, relieved when you saw no eyes on you. You did miss Natasha's knowing eyes peek at the two of you from the corner of the room.

“Excuse me,” you murmured as you stepped away, flustered, your heart hammering in your chest.

You found the balcony out from the party empty, the cold autumn air cooling your suddenly flushed skin.

Was he about to kiss you?!

You stood by the railing, enjoying the fresh air when you heard someone come out on the balcony. Your heart skipped a beat.

“What do we have here?” a slurring voice shouted, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head when you realized it was Jason, a fellow recruit from your year; mediocre fighter, arrogant asshat.

“And how are you tonight, Jason?” you asked, not bothering to mask your annoyance at his presence.

“Checking out the meat, sweetcheeks,” he answered, smugness dripping from his voice.

Before you managed to turn around and give him your best death stare, a hand reached up your bare thigh, pushing the flimsy black fabric of your minidress up. You yelped and spun around, smacking his hand away.

“Oh, don’t be like that, pretty girl. I know you were checking me out earlier,” he said, pouting sarcastically as he moved to pin you against the railing.

You squirmed at his intrusion into your personal space, mild shock settling like a sting in your chest. His breath stunk of booze, the rest of him of sweat and a nauseating amount of body spray.

“Jason, back off. I don’t know what you think you saw, but I’m not interested,” you tried to tell him authoritatively, but you sounded so small. This had never happened to you before, and your head swam with thoughts about what you should do.

“Then why are you looking so sexy tonight, teasing me in this little dress,” he said with a sneer, ignoring your discomfort completely.

You were about to lash out when a hand on his shoulder had him pausing, his hands trying to pull yours away from where they were covering your chest.

“She said back off,” you heard Steve say, and the tone of his voice told you he wasn’t pleased.

Jason chuckled bitterly, turning on stumbling feet to look up at Steve, towering above him with a scowl on his face. His expression sent a cold shiver down your spine. You had never seen him this angry before.

“Why don’t you back off and let a brother get some,” Jason answered, seemingly stupidly unaware of the deathly aura emitting from Steve’s looming form.

“I’m only going to say this once: Get lost or you’re out,” Steve said, stare cold as ice, tone dead serious.

Jason seemed to get it then, and with a pathetic huff, he scurried away.

“Whatever,” you heard him mutter as he entered the party again. A few eyes from inside were on you, paying attention to the perceived standoff happening between a simple recruit and THE Captain America. Over you.

You released the breath you were holding as soon as the door slid closed behind Jason, and Steve’s expression softened to one of mild concern.

“You okay?” he asked, and you could barely look in his eyes as you collected yourself.

“Yeah. Thanks, Steve. I could have taken him though,” you tried to lie. Steve let you keep the lie.

“I don’t doubt it, but somehow it didn’t feel right that you should,” he said gravely.

“Maybe, but that’s life,” you stated.

“Well, not when I’m around,” he answered after a moment, and you lifted your eyes to his. They shone with something akin to protection, and you felt warm again under his gaze.

“You wanna get back to the party?” he asked, breaking the building tension. The air seemed so intense between you two tonight, sizzling with something new.

“No, actually, I think I wanna turn in. Kinda tired,” you excused, but really you were burning inside from a new found hunger for Steve you knew you couldn’t keep in check much longer.

He nodded, biting his lip slightly.

“Walk you back to your room? I don't like the way Jason looked at you,” he said, voice heavy with suspicion, and before you could think, you nodded.

You were sort of panicking as you trekked the empty hallways together. Everyone had seen you leave together, and you were sweating bullets as you walked in silence, Steve’s broad figure a sizzling presence to your left.

He kept the smalltalk sweet and light, and you knew you were being irrationally nervous.

Outside your new dormroom, the tension grew thick again.

You bit your lip, looking up at Steve as he bid you goodnight with a charming smile.

“Eh, Steve,” you called out as he turned to walk away.

He turned back with a quizzical look.

You stepped up to him, and he seemed acutely aware of your presence as you came close, your hands landing tentatively on his forearms as they hung at his side.

“What’re you…?” he started, but trailed off when he looked into your eyes.

You inclined your head slightly, not even knowing what you were doing anymore.

He inclined his head just the tiniest bit in response, and then you were both leaning in.

Your lips met in a gentle, tiny kiss, your eyes falling shut as the breath was stolen from your lungs.

He was actually kissing you.

Slowly, so slowly, his hands reached up to cup your face, and then we was deepening the kiss, pulling you flush against him.

A small sound escaped you as his tongue swept into your mouth, mingling eagerly with your own. He pulled his lips away suddenly, but kept your face in his hands as his eyes scanned yours.

“Is this alright?” he asked intently, but he was panting, and his eyes were blown so far there was only a small rim of light blue around the pools of black.

“Yes. God, Steve, yes,” you panted, hands coming up to clutch the shirt on either side of his torso, twisting the fabric with desperate hands. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” you added despite embarrassment burning on your face at the confession.

“Glad I’m not the only one,” he chuckled against your lips.

He was back on you in a split second, and you stumbled into your room in a fierce liplock. You suddenly remembered what a mess you’d left your room in earlier as you’d tried on everything you owned before the party. Plus, you still lived with four other girls, but they were thankfully still at the party, and judging by your knowledge of them, they probably would be for hours still.

You straddled Steve’s lap hurriedly when you’d led him to your bed, and he kissed his way down your neck as you fumbled to undo his shirt, longing for his bare skin. The last time you’d felt it, a building had fallen on your ass, so you hadn’t really taken the time to relish it, though it had been at the back of your mind ever since.

He fucked you sweetly that night, and then roughly, and then sweetly again as you took a shower, going down on you as he knelt between your legs.

You’d never felt such pleasure before, Steve plucking orgasm after orgasm from your body with deft fingers and a wicked tongue, before his honest to god thick as fuck cock fucked you raw. He sounded like a god when he groaned his release. You were sprawled out limp on the bed by the time he pulled his clothes back on with a quirk in his step, looking at his watch a bit nervously.

“Should probably get out of your hair before your girlfriends return,” he said, bending over your spent form, giving you a sweet peck on the lips. You gripped his hand as he straightened, and pulled him down again to devour his lips with your own possessively. He hummed appreciatively in response.

“What if I told you I never want you to leave?” you asked against his lips, knowing you were pushing your luck.

“Then your poor friends would never get any sleep, and neither would you, missy,” he said matter-of-factly, booping your nose with his finger as he tore himself from your grip. Your core clenched at the notion.

Then he looked at you, and you could see the wheels turning in his brain.

“What?” you asked.

He glanced at the door before he sat on the edge of the bed, a hand coming up to lovingly stroke your cheek. You hummed at the touch.

“Are you sure about this? It isn’t forbidden, so we won’t get in trouble. But I’m afraid the rumours can be pretty bad around here. It won’t exactly be easy,” he said mournfully, and you knew he expected a rejection.

You sat up and grabbed his hand in yours.

“Fuck what anybody else says. I’m sure, Steve. I adore you, and I want you by my side from this day on,” you said. The shining, relieved devotion in Steve’s eyes was all you needed to be sure of your choice. Not that there ever was a choice.

You’d go to the ends of the earth for the man.

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, and you peeked over at it.

“Coming back now. You better get loverboy outta there ;)” the text message from Helena read. The girls were gonna have a field day with this.

“Except for now. The girls are coming back, you better go,” you said as you pecked him once on the lips before pushing him off the bed.

He huffed an amused laughter, looking back over his shoulder one last time as he slipped from the room.

Part 4

“Hey, what did you just say?” you called out at him as he sauntered away.

“Y/N, don’t, it’s not worth it,” Steve said tiredly, trying with a gentle arm to turn you away.

You swatted softly at his hand and looked in his eyes. You were fuming, and his grave expression only fueled your fury. You could see Jason’s words had gotten to him, and that made you see red.

“Steve, I won’t let him talk to you that way,” you said lowly before taking a few steps forward.

“Why don’t you repeat yourself, Jason. We all know how much you like to hear yourself talk,” you called at him. He paused. Of course he would, you knew which buttons to push.

There had gathered a crowd around you now, mostly recruits from your own year, but also some from the year below, plus an odd officer here and there. In the far distance you spotted Natasha Romanoff sipping on a coffee mug as she leaned on a pillar.

He turned around with that ugly smirk. “I’m not sure you can handle it, Y/N,” he called back.

“No, come on, I wanna hear you say it again.“

He started sauntering back, arrogant ass fuming with cockiness.

“I said; the old man goes for the recruit. That’s what happens when the only pussy he could get is a hundred years old and dead,” he repeated, puncturing every word with a tone he would use for a child, seething with his arrogance.

“I’d rather have an old man than a boy, Jason. Funny how you come down on Captain Rogers when you haven’t gotten laid one, single time since we started. How many of us are there? 3000? Well, it does make sense, I mean, look at you,” you said, hearing the crowd around you gasp and “oooh” quietly.

Oh, you were just getting started.

A flicker of self-doubt flashed behind his eyes and you revelled, adrenaline flooding your system. In truth, Jason was a pretty easy target. Just tackle his weak masculinity and give him a taste of his own medicine, and he would crumble easily.

“But that’s not why no one likes you, Jason. It’s because you act like a child. A child who hasn’t gotten his candy, and is throwing a tantrum in the grocery store for everyone to see. And it’s not that we don’t feel bad for you either, Jason. We pity you in fact, as we witness you embarrassing yourself and your mother,” you stated calm and slow, walking up to him, standing a few inches away now.

He tried to speak up, but you easily interrupted him.

“And I get it, it must feel kinda bad to realise no one respects you. Not your peers, not your superiors, not even those inferior to you. Because we all see through this display for failing masculinity,” you continued, gesturing to him vaguely.

He was about a foot taller than you, but had steadily shrunk in on himself as a mortified panic settled in his eyes, fists clenching at his side.

You stepped to the side and stretched out an arm towards Steve, who stood where you’d left him, brows furrowed, arms crossed over his chest, a neutral expression of his face.

“That is a man, Jason, and quite frankly, the opposite of everything you are. Now I know you suffer from the extreme lack of balls, but I actually had no idea you lacked brains also. Because if you had the cognitive ability above a fucking cockroach, you would see that man as the ally and mentor he so gladly offers to be - not that you deserve it - and you wouldn’t be in this situation.” You patted his shoulder twice with your hand before stepping away.

Your senses tingled suddenly, and you dodged the swing of his arm as it came from the left. The crowd around you gasped.

Oh no, he didn’t. Did he really think he could take you on after having trained personally with Captain fucking America? He wouldn't catch you off guard again…

You spun around, dodged his right arm, and gave him a clear slap across the cheek with a flat hand. The smack was crisp, making the crowd around you draw in a collective breath. He grunted and swung again, keeping up the same, predictable move. You dodged easily, spun around him and gave him another slap, this time on his ass. The crowd laughed. He gave a pathetic roar before spinning and lunging on you. You bowed and flipped him easily using your back, and he landed with a hard dunk on the concrete floor of the hallway. Getting up to his knees, you gave him a closed fist punch across the face for your own enjoyment (you knew Steve would reprimand you later for being unnecessarily callous).

That’ll do it for now, you thought as you quickly immobilized him by tripping him over on his stomach on the floor, straddling his ass and pinning his arms on his back. He groaned in frustration as you kept him in the tight grip, not relenting. The crowd around you cheered, and peering over your shoulder you could see the clear amusement shining in Steve’s eyes, along with his pride. You almost giggled.

Bending down, you whispered in Jason's ear.

“Cause if you keep up this little class-act caveman thing, this is all you’re gonna see for the rest of your life. Disgust on the faces of the women in your life, and pity on the men’s. Now kindly fuck off, Jason, I’m tired of looking at your face.”

You let him go and he grunted weakly at you.

Deciding this was your mic drop, you returned to Steve and you fell into step as you resumed your walk up the hallway. Steve let you lead in your victory as the crowd kept cheering loudly behind you. It was exhilarating, but what felt best was knowing you had defended Steve for once.

As you rounded the corner at the other end, Steve abruptly and quickly pushed you up against the wall, his mouth attacking yours. You yelped into his mouth, but melted into his body as it pinned you to the wall. He pushed his thigh between yours and you felt the rock hard bulge in his pants press against your belly. He was frantic as his hands roamed your body, possessive and hungry.

You broke the kiss in amazement, seeing his lust blown eyes.

“Did you like that?” you asked, and you knew you had the most doofy smile on your face.

“That was amazing,” Steve said, panting a bit from his kiss. “I had to fight myself to not take you then and there, God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re fiesty,” he said, admiration and lust clear in his voice and you bit your lip as his words sent sharp sparks of arousal down below.

“You know I was right. He’s a man-child, and a dick, and has nothing on you,” you said, needing to know Steve wouldn’t take what he said to heart.

“I mean, there’s a reason I didn’t break it off. The guy has had it coming for a long time, I’m just glad I got to watch,” he chuckled, and you laughed with him, still pinned between his body and the wall, your hands running up his back.

“And because it was me, right?” you asked teasingly, a hand coming down to cup the prominent tent in his pants.

“Yes, but strictly for pedagogical reasons. I needed to see if you’ve mastered the tricks I’ve taught you,” he said, trying to be nonchalant and failing as the last words ended in a groan. You were moving your hand steadily over the bulge now, eliciting soft pants from the man.

“I want your feedback on some tricks in the bedroom, Captain Rogers. Could you oblige me?” you asked, giving his chin a lithe kiss.

He groaned deep in his chest, and for a split second you actually got nervous someone would find you if he kept those noises up.

“Lead the way,” he whispered against your lips.

You did, almost running.

Author’s note: God, this one cheers me up. It was exhilarating to be able to live out my childhood dream of beating up bullies through this text lmao. Sorry if your name’s Jason lol<3

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x Y/N #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you

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baeklination · 3 years

Text

🎃 Being

Date: 211001

Warnings: it starts smutty (not explicit wording) so eyes closed if you're too young!, if you're a terrible scaredy-cat (particularly of the dark) you might want to skip this.

Characters: Baekhyun, Reader

WC: 1,2k

Masterlist

¤¤

The pillows your hands crush, your head buries in; the wrinkled sheets and plush covers; the bluish light covering everything, it's all yours. You're in your own bed - it's a lucid dream. Aware enough to enjoy, but away enough to just let it happen.

The pulsing against your ass, the image of his crisp shirt hanging open at your sides, his dewy, blonde hair dangling to-and-fro, the creaking of the bed posts and his wet breathing - it's all in a delicious delirium.

"I've … been waiting to have you…", he whispers, ripping his shirt off, laying down.

His weight feels good on your back, his hungry grinding and touching are sensual euphoria. Kissing you behind the ear, a scent travels to your nostrils. Difficult to put your finger on, but off, somehow. Seeming to be released by his continuous rubbing against you, a smell - stench - overcomes the room. It's putrid. Mushed oranges green with mildew, a soiled diaper, puss from an infected wound. The atmosphere grows dark and heavy; you squirm to get away, rocking back and forth but unable to speak. You have to wake up. Have to. Screaming internally you, thankfully, feel the electric buzzing over your skin - you're going up.

"No, wait for me", he begs, acidic saliva running down your neck.

Pong…

Your skin settling down, you look out over the bedroom - you're awake. With a crushing feeling around your heart you take a few breaths "you're okay, you're okay…".

"Ugh…"

You pinch your nose and snort, trying to get the remnants of the stench out, but failing, you start to get up. Pushing your foot over the edge of the bed something...

An uneasy feeling in your gut mixes with a reasonable one in your head "just look so you can feel ridiculous". Hanging your head down you peer into the darkness...nothing. You sigh, but look some more. Two feet in, like yellow beads, eyes appear, looking straight at you. Screaming at the top of your lungs you throw yourself into the headboard, seeing a dark, not entirely solid figure dash out of the bedroom. Jumping out of bed, leg getting tangled in your covers, you crash violently into the radiator, ribs first. Doubling over, cradling yourself from the jarring pain you find the chord to your lamp, but in your panic pull it down on the floor, the bulb shattering at your feet. Keeping your eyes fixed on the doorway you feel for your phone on the nightstand and, locating it, stand up to push the window open just as you hear your door get pummeled. Crying out from the pain, you squeeze your body through the gap and topple onto the fire escape, the harsh metal digging into your body, a chilling breeze blowing through the bars. Peering over the edge into your room, dialing emergency services, the hallway lights up and a figure rushes to the doorway calling your name; Kee, your neighbour, with panic in his face and a hammer at the ready in his hand.

•

"And you say the door was locked when you tried. You're sure?", the officer asks Kee.

"Yeah, I had to bust it open. No way it was unlocked."

After refusing to set foot in the apartment Kee had gone out to the fire escape, helping you down on your wobbly legs and taken you to his place. Not at ease with the proximity to which he lived to you - the paradox being that he managed to help because of it - he carefully looked in every nook and cranny, turning on the lights in every room before you moved away from the wall to sit down.

Relaying what had happened, not leaving any part out, but also not a hundred percent positive things had really been the way you had perceived them; were the eyes really yellow? They were, but...ye-llow..? Did the dream have anything to do with it? You'd been fully clothed when you woke up, so there was no doubt about it being a dream, but the stench…

Luckily he believed you and wondered about it the same as you. Making a huge cup of chamomile tea, looking over your ribs (his unused nurses degree coming to use) and deciding they probably weren't fractured, you waited for the police to arrive.

"M-hm… Miss, did you have anything to drink before going to bed?"

Flabbergasted, yet knowing this was coming - "hey mister policeman, a shadowy figure with yellow eyes was hiding under my bed" - you wouldn't believe it either, you stick to your guns.

"No, nothing. And no drugs, prescription or otherwise."

"Nothing over-the-counter..?"

"Are you kidding me..!", Kee bursts out. "Look at her! I found her on the goddamn fire escape in her pyjamas! Broke down the door 'cus of her screaming..!"

"Sir, you need to calm down…"

"Ca-! You're acting like she-"

"Kee!", you hiss, pulling at his t-shirt.

"- had a bad dream and called the cops!"

"If you don't calm down, sir...", the officer warns him again, casually putting his hand on his cuffs. "I'll have to remove you. Now, is that what you want?"

Incensed, Kee's eyes grow large and his jaw flies open, but realising you'll be left alone if he says another word he shuts his eyes, composing himself.

"Now… Have you been getting any strange phone calls, messages from anyone..?"

"No", you shake your head.

"Notice anything missing from your home? Things out of place..?"

"Ehm...no… I don't think so. I don't have a stalker, if that's what you mean."

"Just checking all the boxes, Miss. Sometimes we don't notice until we think about it closer."

•

"I don't think they'll find him…", you sigh, propping up your pillows, adrenaline giving way to drowsiness.

"Him..?"

"It. The thing, being. What ever it was."

"If it got scared off by you, then maybe he- it is gone for good..? I don't think you have to worry-"

"No, don't!", you protest, when he flicks the living room light off.

"Sorry, force of habit. But you can stay here as long as you want. I'll grab some stuff from your place tomorrow..?"

You nod, check under the bed for the gazillionth time, then get into it.

"Do you want me to stay up until you fall asleep?"

"Yes. But no. But face my way."

Searching the net for every and any story similar to yours might not be the best way to fall asleep, but you reckon you won't anyway so you stare at your phone for two hours. Eventually Kee's soft puffing works lullaby magic on you. Not enough to knock you out, but enough to make you put away your phone and pull the covers to your chin, looking at the little bits and bobs he's decorated his bedroom with. Looking at his poster you smile; it was given to him as a joke, minding his sometimes quick temper: a bright, computer animated sun with the words "remember, the sun is always shini-'' the flat goes pitch black.

"Kee!", you hiss, accidentally hitting him in the face going for his arm.

"Aoh, wha- shit", he whispers, sitting up.

Absolute darkness.

You grab onto his t-shirt, your chest a vacuum, tears burning behind your eyes...

#baekhyun scenario #baekhyun #halloween special

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han-shinsuke · 3 years

Text

k o z u m e k e n m a

🔞🔞🌹🌹🌹

•f o r n i c a t i o n•

••••

If you ask people what it means to love and be loved, the answers you will get would be different, the luckiest ones would answer with positiveness, and those who had experienced afflictions and mishaps would probably tell you how painful and cruel love could be. Let's admit it, not all of us were made for love. And worst, there were instances where some of us were just born to carpet-bomb the person we love.

Love could build possibilities but it could also be the very source of our self-destruction.

“Aah~ there ‘yah go, Y/N~” for love, I can do things I never imagined I could. I would run miles for him. Burn bridges for him. Turn ideas into possibilities.

BE THAT ‘SOMEONE’ HE WISHES TO HAVE.

Believe me. Once you finished a day full of pretensions and lies, you’d end up asking yourself, ‘how long do you plan to be someone else's puppet?’

“Ken, do you feel good?” for love, his satisfaction shall always comes first on the line. Mine is the least important.

Kenma pulls me up from the marbled floor of his bedroom, gaze stained with lust. His fingers wiping the semen off the corner of my mouth. My body is still trembling from the activities earlier. I must keep up. He's not satisfied yet. He needed more. I shall do more for him.

Those orbs leered my face for minutes. Kenma answers, “yeah, you? still sore down there?” his gaze went down to what’s between my bite-marked thighs. He caresses my reddened knees. A familiar thin smile is plastered on his lips.

My breath got caught up in my throat when he slid a finger in my dampness before putting it inside his mouth and slurped the essence in it. The memory of what we've had done earlier flashes in my mind. Kenma splayed my legs in the camp site. I was pushed down on top of a picnic table, clothes discased. The wind was cold during sunset from the lakeside. Kenma was enjoying it. Who am I to stop him? He railed me from behind. Like how he prefers it.

“Y/N, lay down for me.” still trembling, I climbed up on his bed, ready to lay on my stomach.

For love, there's nothing I wouldn't do for him.

Kenma snakes his arms around my belly, stopping me from setting down completely.

“What it is, Ken?” My breathing’s rag from all the pounding and legs flipping.

“Lay on your back, Y/N.” I was moving very slow so he helped me out. He placed me on the bed, facing him. Kenma tied his long hair. Spreading my legs wide, I put my palms on his chest, head shaking.

“You don’t have to do this, Ken.” It’s part of the set up. He would fxck me only from behind. He would fxck me but I could never get to kiss him on the lips. He would fxck me, not LOOKING at my face for I am not the woman he dreamt of doing ‘it’ with.

He can’t have her right now but soon, he will. I’m just that sick in the head college girl who have been in love with his seatmate since freshman year.

You see, I am more like of a practice ground for him.

“I want to do it this way. Allow me.” He pins my hands above my head, nodding his head as if he's telling me it’s fine.

“Kenma~” I called out his name when his thing slid inside my sore womanhood for the nth time today.

Kenma hums in my neck, rocking me in slow pace. Our fingers intertwined. My body arching up occasionally whenever that ‘thing’ stretches my rim really good.

The bed just won't stop creaking just like how my heart won't stop from beating wild inside my chest whenever he tries to kiss me on the lips.

Don't, Kenma. Don’t break your own rules. I can't let that happen. It's a complete hypocrisy if I tell that I don't wish to be kissed by those lips. I long for it.

“D–Don’t.” My head turned to the other direction, avoiding his seeking lips. It hit my neck. He wanders his warmth there. Tongue gliding the bulging veins due to his slow but heavy pumping.

Sex is tiring. It really is. But it’s Kenma Kozume. I can still go on.

“Why won’t you let me kiss your lips, Y/N?” he stops moving, burying his weight on me. Kenma grabbed my face.

“Rule number 8. Kenma won't kiss the woman he don’t love.” for him, I won't cry. I won't cry. I lied. I was crying as I reminded him of his own rule. “I’m not her, Ken. I’m not the woman you love so don't kiss me.”

“Rule number 13. Kenma is allowed to break rule number 8.”

It was sweet. It was euphoric. A kind of kiss anyone would dream to experience.

And it tasted like sin. The way his lips glides against mine. The way his tongue tastes each corners. The way he nibbles both upper and bottom lip. Those are the ways I imagine if he would kiss me.

Those aren't ideas anymore. He had let me experienced how it feels like to be kissed by him. By the man I truly love.

“Hold on baby~ Hold on~” Kenma picked where we left off. He pulled. He dig. He buried.

And he kisses me. Repeatedly. While I am crying. While I'm holding out the sob that tries escaping my lips.

•••

5:12 AM

I woke up clean and dressed with Kenma's clothes. Last night was a chaos. I was forced to my limits. He took me in every positions he’d known. My cries and pleads were all useless. He didn't listen. He had done everything he pleased.

I sighed as I climbed down from the bed. Picking my bag and my discarded uniform from last night, another sigh rolls out from my mouth. I caught a glimpse of my reflection from the mounted mirror on the wall. I look tired and ugly. What a pity.

Kenma is probably out somewhere, thinking about his princess. He has habits of leaving me right after we had sex. I’m used to it anyway. I put face powder on my face and tied my messy curls.

This will be the end of our set up. He broken his rules. Our rules. Rule number 1. Broke any rule and it's over.

I texted Kenma and said my goodbye. He did not reply. Maybe he's smoking right now. Another habit of him, throwing his iphone at the backseat when he's puffing a cigarette.

I headed out and locked his room. I passed by on the reception area of the camping site that Kenma's family is running. I left the key to the assigned employee there.

I need to walk for ten minutes to reach the jeep terminal of the mountain road. Or maybe, walk my way home. That would be long and tiring! Or maybe, try to hitch hike.

The sun is rising and I think half an hour had passed by so easily. I saw an approaching red 4x4 from the distance. I raised my thumb and put on a smile. I looked like a lost girl on the mountain road wearing a white oversized shirt and a running short partnered with white highcut chucks. The windows are tinted so it's hard for me to tell the gender of the driver.

The car stopped in front of me. The driver's seat door opens, revealing a blonde-haired but clean cut Kenma Kozume!

He cut his hair! “where do you think you're going?” he asks, frowning.

My heart hammers in my chest, drowning me. I took a step backwards when he got out of the car.

“You got a new car.” a statement instead of an answer.

“Get in.” he try to get a hold of me but I took another steps.

“No. We’re done, Ken.” I said before walking away. I love him but I can't stay anymore. I would be just a hinder for his happiness if this shxt continue.

“Y/N! You can't leave me just like that!” Kenma yelled those. I looked back at him. He's already running slow. I panicked. I ran, too, faster than his pace.

“Fxck, Y/N!” Kenma caught up to me. He snatched my small frame. Dropping me above his shoulder.

“Ah! Put me down, Kenma!” he jogs his way back to his car, panting as he slams me into the backseat. He follows, shutting the door.

“You wish to leave me? You can't, Y/N! I am forbidding you!”

“I can't stay with you anymore, Ken. We are graduating. Remember her promise that after graduation, she would give you another chance to prove yourself to her? It's happening, you could finally have her back.”

“what if I say, I don't want her now? That I want someone else now? And she's now in front of me? Pushing me away because she thinks it is the right thing to do and it's heroic.”

“heroic? Do you think I’m doing this because I feel responsible for you? That it was a hero thing? No, Ken. You got it all wrong. I am doing this because this is what a person in love shall do. To free oneself. To not be greedy. I love myself, too, Ken. I want to be happy.”

For him, I can always try to be better. For him, I am willing to surrender. For him, I can always see love as a guiding light.

Kenma grabbed me on my jaw, inching his face closer to mine.

“Be happy? With whom? I won't let you.” he breathes on my lips, I shuddered. “I don't break rules, Y/N. You know that. But last night, I just did. For you. Because I fxcking realized that I can't stand a thought of you kissing another man. I am fxckingly and undoubtedly in love with you now!”

Kenma pressed his lips on mine. A tear escaped his eye. He pulled away. He rubbed his nose against mine. A noise traveled out from my closed lips. It was a sob. Kenma kissed me again. Tears are now brimming on his eyes.

“Idiot.” I said before pulling him for a kiss.

Kenma wrapped his arms around my body and kissed me back with intense emotions,

“let’s date for real.”

“And be the only man in my life.”

///

THANK YOU FOR READING ❤️☺️❤️

#smut #haikyuu #haikyu #love #imagines #anime #kenma kozume #haikyuu kenma #kenma x you

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

“One word from you and I will jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby.” - First Love / Late Spring (Mitski)

Pairing + genre: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader. Hurt / comfort + angst.

Summary: Santi is the sorta man who keeps his promises, and he promised to be there for you always and forever. All you have to do is say the word.

Author’s note: this one hurt me. Word count: 6k (SORRY!)

Warnings: panic attack / aftermath = a major / central theme. Allusions to prior trauma (non-specific). One mention of blood. ANGST.

“This is a man who keeps his oaths, his promises. To his country, to his friends. One word is all it takes, and Pope will be there for you in a heartbeat. He isn’t the kind of man to let a team member down, and, believe me, once you’re on his squad? You’re on it for life. Forever and always.” - Frankie Morales

Years of cruel awakenings in the military had made Pope an especially light sleeper. Luckily, out here in the suburbs, he was significantly less likely to be awoken with a grenade through the window. So, when his cell phone rings, wresting him rudely from slumber, he almost allows himself to be blasé about it. To just hit the red button and turn over.

But it’s still pitch dark. Too late -or too early- for this wake-up call to be something routine. So, Pope’s arm pokes out from beneath the covers as he fumbles blindly for his phone. He brings it to his ear wordlessly, voice still grogged by sleep. If he expects anything at all, it’s for the caller to be Catfish - drunk and checking-in on his sorry ass again.

“Santi?”

Instead, it is your panicked voice -swaddled in tell-tale signs of danger- which slices through the dark like the blade of an enemy combatant, yanking Pope harshly from his haze. Flinging off the coiled ropes of sleep, he is instantly firing on all cylinders, his body responding in much the same way as he might to enemy fire; preparing to counter a threat. To eliminate whatever is hurting you, with as much speed and precision as possible.

“Shit. I’ll be right there.”

Pope throws the covers off and he’s already awake and moving, even before he can comprehend exactly what’s wrong. He knows enough. He knows that something is wrong. And he knows he’s going to be there for you, like he promised he always would be.

He tugs on his nearest sweats and tumbles through his house in the dark, adrenaline pumping through him as he barrels his way across the landing, stubbing his toe more than once on the strewn piles of unpacked boxes. Pope’s breath seethes through his teeth and he curses, momentarily wondering if he’s grown soft since he was discharged; he could swear bullet wounds never used to slow him down as much as a big toe clipped on the corner of a box.

Continuing to shake the remaining webs of sleep from his head -and actually remembering the layout of his new house- Pope presses on. He throws himself down his staircase, missing the last five stairs. He is straining to decipher your words on the other end of the line all the while, to little avail.

He speedily wrestles on a jacket and scoops his car keys out of the bowl by his front door, quickly toeing on odd shoes before he scrambles from his house and slots himself behind the wheel of his truck. Pope’s heart is hammering blood around his body as he slots his cell into the car phone holder and powers the car down his driveway, all less than a minute from waking.

He’s a mess of worry as he hears you cry blearily through the speaker, and he bridges his fingers against his forehead in frustration when he can barely interpret a single word of it.

“Cariño, listen. I’ll be right there. You at home?”

All he can make out is a “no” and “driving” and not much else, and he panics.

“Fuck.”, he curses, under his breath, as he realises he’s not going to get anything useful out of you in your current state.

Pope sucks air in through his teeth with frustration. He can’t eliminate the threat if he doesn’t know what it is, and there’s nothing Santi finds more terrifying than not knowing what he’s up against. Nothing more terrifying than being unable to execute a plan. To fix a problem with lethal precision.

“Just sit tight, okay? Just stay there. I’m coming to you, cariño.”

He pulls up a tracker app to establish where you are, and he puts pedal to the metal, driving far faster than he should. There’s no way he’s going to let a speed limit or some pesky stop lights stand between him and getting to you as quickly as possible.

Following directions to your location, Santi eventually finds your truck strewn in the middle of an intersection, door flung open. It looks reminiscent of something from out in the field, as if you’ve been strewn from your vehicle by a blast.

As Pope pulls around, his eagle eyes immediately locate your shadowed form crouching on the lip of the sidewalk, face buried to your knees. He parks abysmally, his heart throbbing, and legs it over to you, his movements tactical and efficient.

When he reaches you, Pope crouches down in front of you without a care for those bad knees of his. When he reaches you, everything ceases to be tactical or lethal. Everything about him is suddenly soft and haphazard, and he’s pawing gently at you and looking over you for any harm, examining your eyes for clues as you regard him like a sheepish animal.

You don’t appear to be physically hurt, but your skin is sheening, your face tear-stained, hands trembling and eyes glassy.

“Sweetie. Hermosa, look at me. What happened?” Pope asks, his voice both soothing and insistent as he gingerly tips your head upward with his strong hand to search your vacant eyes.

You don’t answer though, and so, recognising the aftermath of a likely panic attack -knowing how they manifest for you- Pope comes to sit behind you on the sidewalk edge, slotting his legs either side of the trunk of your body and wrapping you firmly in the circumference of him. He pulls you tightly to his chest, bundling your clammy arms and hands into his embrace.

Pope shushes and soothes and rocks you. He brushes your hair back from your sweaty face. He lets your tears fall wet on to his hands as he clasps them in front of you. And through it, Pope does his best to present a picture of calm, despite his terror at seeing you so distressed. He forces his breathing to remain slow and deep and steady, until your own stunted breaths are somewhat in sync with the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

“I got you. You’re safe,” he mumbles into your hair, into the crook of your neck, hooking his head over your shoulder, all stubble and grizzled curls nuzzling up against you. “You’re safe. You know that, cariño?” He soothes, encourages. “Tell me yes, baby. Come on.”

“Yeah,” you finally push out, voice scrubbed clean.

The inflection of your voice hurts Santi. Boy, does he know that feeling. Your voice sounds strung out; tense, and spread thin. Somehow you sound on high alert, burning and raw... but at the same time, empty and numb. Like a shocked, ravaged fruit, scooped-out.

It manifests differently for Pope -nightmares mainly- but he knows. He understands. You’d both done more than your share of dark things that insisted on following you out from the military. The resulting pain had always been a bedfellow lying under the covers between you, pushing you further and further apart as it nuzzled its way into your chests, causing hearts to crash and ribs to bruise like roll cages.

“You’re ok, sweetie. You’re doing good.”, he reminds you. “That’s it.”

You’re still tense against him, all of your muscles stacked and coiled like an angry snake, your legs bouncing agitatedly; yet at the same time there is no intention in your body. You are aimless. Firing on all cylinders but with no target - nothing in your sight. No tangible threat to eliminate.

Pope knows all too well that the most elusive enemy of all is the kind in your head. Still, your breaths become slower, more level. And now that your physical symptoms appear to be calming, body levelling, Santi tries his best to bring your mind back too. Tries to ground you in everything real and tangible.

“Focus up for me, ok? You know the drill. What can you smell?”

You are silent, and he gives you a gentle jostle in his arms. He wishes he could see your face properly, but you are still staring dead ahead.

“Come on, hermosa. Try for me.”, he pleads, and something must finally reach you.

When your voice finally comes, to Pope it’s like the first bloom of spring after a long winter.

“I can smell peach trees. Balmy air. Gasoline.”

He finally unclenches a little himself, as you begin talking. “Good. What can you see?”

Your hair brushes against his neck as you subtly swivel your head around the scene. “Grey. Asphalt. A badly parked car. But also... spring. Buds and blades of grass peeking through the cracks.”

Santi similarly scans his eyes around the intersection and empty lot in your view. “Shit. You’re fuckin’ poetic, baby.” He would have just said trucks. Maybe would’ve recited a few number plates he’d accidentally memorised already - old habits die hard.

Pope smiles softly to himself as he is reminded of the way you see things. Differently. More softly. You always saw him more softly. You didn’t see him as a killer. You saw the buds peeping through the cracks. You loved him like spring.

“You’re doing good, cariño. Keep it up. What can you hear?”

“Your voice. The hum of the pylons against the hot, damp air.”

Santi is calm, practically mesmerised by you as you speak. He swallows thickly, as he holds you against him. “What can you feel?”

You take a deep breath then, before speaking, your chest straining against his circling arms as your rib cage expands. Your voice is fuller when it flows from your lips, and it is only then - finally, that you sink into him, allowing relief to take you. “I can feel you.”

“You back with me, huh? Come on, keep going. Let’s finish this.”, he encourages, his breath billowing over the back of your neck.

“I can feel... my heart in my chest, the air on my face. Wet tears there. Your warm skin on mine, and your body sturdy against me. Your breath warm, your stubble rough on my neck. The hairs on your arms tickling against me. I can feel the metal bobbles of your chain digging into the flesh of my shoulder.”

Your hands start to slip over Pope’s arms and hands as you become more and more grounded, seeking out more textures. Touch always grounds you like nothing else.

The more grounded you become - the more your touch skims over him- the more Pope rises, swept away like spring blossoms on balmy air, sweet and helpless. Then, your fingers skim over his watch, running over its glassy face. Over the ridges of his knuckles. You stop abruptly when you reach the cool, smooth wedding band on his ring finger.

Pope tries not to let his heart break into pieces as you pause, rotating the ring ever so slightly between your fingertips.

Grounded, back to yourself, you swivel your head towards Pope, turning to where his face nestles at the junction of your shoulder. “I feel... safe,” you say, bringing your palm up to the side of his face, your stare no longer vacant like a house with empty windows, but lit with the soft glow of home.

You’ve come back to him, and you’re inviting him in.

“You are safe. I’ve got your six, ok?”

“I know you do. And I’ve got your zero through twelve.”

Pope smiles sentimentally, as you recite your old phrase, the feeling bittersweet like unripe peaches.

How he wishes you would really come back to him. Invite him in.

Pope narrows his eyes fondly at you. You have mascara streaking down your cheeks. Tear-plumped eyes. And you’re beautiful. He could kiss you. Wants to. But this moment is not about his comfort, so, instead, he presses his palm over yours and asks you gently:

“Can you tell me what happened?”

He feels you stiffen slightly against him.

“Take your time.”, he soothes, running his fingers up and down your arms, absent-mindedly dipping his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume. Light notes of first loves and late spring.

“It’s dumb,” you say, leaning your head back on to his chest. “I was driving home from...”, you appear to cut yourself off, snapping your lips shut, and it is only then that Santi properly clocks your attire.

Oh. Okay. Well, shit.

That’s a “date” dress if ever he saw one.

He wants to either fight or to retreat. To take some action, deploy some strategy. He wants to beg you to be with him instead. He wants to. But he tries to swallow his heartache down. This isn’t a time for his pain. So, he simply buries it right down with all the rest; shutting himself off. Eyes becoming vacant windows.

“And then what?” he prompts softly, neutrally, giving you an easy way to bridge the glaring gap in your story.

“Nothing. It was nothing.” You shake your head disbelievingly as you recall it. “A car backfired behind me. It became bullets,” you continue, voice monotone, brow troubled, eyes searching like the sweep of headlights. “Tires screeching became screams. The stop light glaring down on my hands, became red like blood.” You shrug, tugging in a long breath only to huff it out in frustration, voice hollowed-out again. “Then, I was back there, Santi. I was right back there. I’m such a fucking cliché.”

Pope smooths his hands over your shoulders as he feels your muscles recoil against him. This is one of the times he doesn’t envy your poetry, at all. When your trauma is a scribe which can translate everyday things into a metaphor for your pain. All Pope can offer is to look at you with comprehension. Understanding. It’s no use telling you it wasn’t real. He knows how real it can feel, in the moment. All he can do is gently kiss your hair. Hold you a little tighter. Be here for you, like he promised.

Pope wishes he could take all this pain from you. If there was a way, he gladly would. In a heartbeat. But a fine job he did of that; when he was with you, he had only seemed to hurt you more.

He shakes the clingy webs of pain from his own mind. The nightmares clawing at him sometimes even while waking. “Then what?” Santi probes gently.

“I guess I got out of the truck. Parked like a shithead. And that’s when I called you.”

You twist your head back towards him, nipping your lip guiltily between your teeth in realisation. “I’m so sorry. It’s so late.”

Pope’s face becomes pinched and he looks down at the asphalt. “Don’t apologise,” he says sincerely. “I promised you always and forever. I still mean that.”

Gratefully, seemingly overcome with broiling emotion, you press a chaste, sentimental kiss to Pope’s lips, even as other more broken promises linger and mingle in the air between you.

With the shock of your lips on his, Pope finally stands, helping you delicately to your feet with him. “You wanna walk it off or shall we drive straight home?” Well, shit. It’s not his home anymore. “I mean, I’ll drive you... you know what I mean,” he trails off, sheepishly.

You fold your arms over yourself, separating from him. But still you say warmly: “Can we go home, Santi?”

He looks at you, forcing his eyes to remain warm and soft. Guarding the perimeter of his heart. Refusing to let the pain creep in. Still, he knows a late frost can kill off those shoots which dare to venture out into the fickle sunlight. He won’t let happiness bloom either.

Instead, he wraps one sturdy arm around you -giving your shoulders a squeeze- and nods, insisting he’ll be right back with you as soon as he’s parked your truck up “less like a shithead”. He promises to swing by and collect if for you later but for now, you bundle into his truck and he leans across you to clip you securely into the passenger seat.

Then, Pope drives. Much more calmly than he had en route to you, keeping the movements of the car as soporific as possible as he winds through the quiet, dimly lit suburbs.

Every now and again, his eyes flick over to check on you. Your head is turned away from him, as you watch the dark scenes slip by the black hole of the window pane.

“You don’t have to watch me, Santi,” you say softly. “I’m okay.”

He swears you must have eyes in the back of your head. Or maybe you know him too well.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, dubiously.

You turn towards him then and stupidly he looks away, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road rather than looking at you directly. As if he might turn to stone if he your eyes meet his.

God, he wants to look at you. He’s missed your face far too much to waste so much time not looking.

“I’m okay.”, you insist again.

“I know,” he says softly. Not with any pity, mind; only empathy. Pope’s good with other people’s pain. It’s his own he can’t get a handle on. Too much baggage to carry.

“I really thought I had it under control.”, you say, your prior conviction wavering.

His eyes flick to you then, your gazes finally meeting and sparking like the switch to a warm, porch light. Familiar. Instantly warm.

“You did, until you didn’t,” he says plainly. “And you will again.”

You throw your hand on to Pope’s thigh to deliver a grateful squeeze, but then you’re looking out of the window again. As if you can’t have too much of him at once; can’t give too much of yourself at once. Can’t open up all your rooms lest you might invite him in to stay. Keep him distant like a guest in the parlour. Keep your head turned as if you’re walking away from him and you can’t look back, only ahead. Don’t invite him into your bed.

With a sigh, and a bridged hand rasping over the stubble at his clenched jaw, Pope pulls the truck into your driveway, engine gently humming until he slips the key out of the ignition.

He pats your thigh this time, to break your stare out of the black hole of the window. You look back at him wistfully. “Come on then, drama queen.”, he teases, boldly, his heart thrilling when the faintest ghost of a smile glints in your eyes.

Pope opens up the front door and leads you upstairs, following the familiar route to the master bedroom. He guides you to the edge of the bed, with a broad hand on the small of your back, and settles you down before flicking on the bedside lamp, a soft glow pooling in the room. Then, he gets down on his bad knees again to ease off your shoes.

His eyes flick around. Pope is always observing. Now he’s observing your life without him. He glances over to your tented paperback on the bedside table. He guesses you’ve started sleeping on his side of the bed since he’s been gone, then? He decides to push that hurt down with all the rest as he wonders vaguely if that was to feel closer to him. His face becomes taut.

“Santi?” you breathe, sucking his attention back as he kneels in front of you, and he deliberately softens his face. Your hands are pressed firmly down on your thighs, as if you need to weigh them down. As if your hands could so easily rise up to wind in his curls, like a spring breeze through a mess and flurry of cherry blossoms. You always saw something fresh in him. Saw poetry. Always saw what was possible, rather than the winters he had weathered.

You were always looking ahead. Oh, how he’d tried to look with you. To believe that he could still bloom. But that summer never came. He was simply glimpses of buds through cracks, never flowering.

“You wanna take a bath?”, Pope asks, throwing up the words like a shield, standing up stiffly.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. That sounds nice. My muscles hurt.”

“Ok.”, he says, as brightly as possible. “I’ll draw you a bath, Princesa. And I’ll make you some warm lemonade while the water’s running. We got lemonade?”

Shit. He said it again. “We.”

Old habits die hard.

He supposes he can forgive himself the mistake, as he’s here with his home, in his house.

Shit. Your house. It’s your house now.

So, Pope potters busily around your house and sees to what you need, seeing ghosts of his own happiness and pain as he ambles from room to room. Trauma penning dark poetry across everyday scenes.

An apparition of you dancing to Metallica in the kitchen while you cook up pancakes. An image of you splayed out across the couch as you snuggle down, smile broad, ready for a day of watching Disney movies with him, arms outstretched to tug him in to your embrace.

The kitchen floor where you’d had The Talk. Where you’d cried together for hours, backs up against the cabinets and knees drawn in to your chests until you’d finally decided. Decided that it hurt so much to be with him, that the inconceivable hurt of being apart would somehow feel like relief. Pope could never forgive himself for that. For hurting you that much. All he’d ever tried to do was keep his pain away from you, but it had still found you. It had snook around his perimeter and taken you down.

Always a killer. Always lethal. Would he ever be anything else?

Pope’s pain flares again now but he pushes it down. Pushes it down again. Pushes it down. And he pads almost serenely up the stairs, coming to your aid. Coming to your aid, like always.

He lets you have a few sips of the warm, sugary lemonade. An old custom to steady the nerves after such a draining event - without resorting to hard liquor, at least. Once you’ve had plenty, Pope bends and lifts you from your perch on the bed, unceremoniously carrying you, bridal style, to the en suite. He sets you gently down by the edge of the tub.

Still not seeming entirely like yourself -still shaken and likely completely sapped from the earlier onslaught- Pope takes matters into his own hands.

“Okay, first things first, Winter Soldier,” he grins gently, taking in your mascara-smudged eyes. “Where’s that bottle of oily shit you rub on your face?”

You smile tentatively, grasping a bottle from the bathroom counter. “I can do it,” you state.

“I know, but you don’t have to, Princesa. Just let me take care of you.” Gently, but insistently, Pope takes the bottle from your hands and grabs a handful of those cotton rounds he’s watched you use before. He asks you to sit on the edge of the tub and tip your face-up to him, and he wipes the mess away from you as best he can.

Once he’s disposed of the cotton rounds and rinsed his hands, he turns back to you, asking reverently, “Can I help you get your dress off?”

He sees mild apprehension flash across your face at the thought of him undressing you. He’d hate more than anything to make you uncomfortable. After all, just because he’s seen you naked before doesn’t mean he’s entitled to now. So, he waves his finger in the air mysteriously before receding into the bedroom.

Pope returns momentarily, with a big, loose nightshirt from your sleepwear drawer, gathering the material in his fingers until it forms a loop he can ease on over your head.

“You with me, cariño?” he asks. “Do that magic fuckin’ thing. Whip your bra out of your sleeve.”

Catching his gist, you let the shirt fall over you, shimmying yourself out of your dress and underwear whilst preserving your modesty. Pope offers an arm to hold you steady as you step one leg and then the next out of your clothing, respectfully averting his gaze all the while. Then, his arm steadies you as you step over the edge of the tub and into the warm, welcoming water.

For a moment, you don’t lie down. You just stand there. You look so vulnerable in that moment that Pope can’t help but reach out for your hand to grip in his. He watches in earnest as a question rises on your lips.

“Will you stay with me?” you ask him in the smallest of voices, clutching his hand tightly.

“What do you think I’m doing, hermosa?” he whispers, his eyes kind and smiling.

With that, your eyes brim with grateful tears. But you evidently feel free to crouch and then stretch yourself out in the tub. You submerge yourself fully for a moment in the warm bubbly depths, the stirring water wafting aromatic scents of spring around the room.

Pope watches as you dip yourself and arise from out of the water like a mermaid, your hair slicked back from your face and your soaked t-shirt clinging to your skin.

“Mi sirenita,” Pope breathes affectionately, suddenly unable to push it all down.

He loves you, and old habits die hard.

“Santi?” you suspire, water droplets beading on your eyelashes like diamonds.

“Yeah?” Pope asks with apprehension, feeling like he’s about to stray out of secure territory.

“Get in with me?”

Santi hesitates, rasping his hand over his stubble again. Wishing he had his baseball cap to pull down over his eyes to obscure his emotions. For real? You want him to climb into the tub with you?

Pope examines your eyes for any sign of danger. Of hunger. But you simply look like you’re hurting. Like you need him. And Pope will always be there when you need him. He doesn’t know another way.

“Sure,” he gives in with a nod of his head, voice soft. “Make some room behind you.”

You oblige, folding your knees so he has room to slip in. Pope kicks off his shoes and -still in his t-shirt and sweatpants- plunges into the water. His clothes quickly become clingy and heavy with wetness, but he slots himself in behind you, wrapping his arms like he had on that sidewalk, and you languish your head back on his firm yet comfortable chest.

You both recline there wordlessly, until you seem entirely calm. Until all the bubbles have burst, and the water starts to feel cold. You both lie there as long as you possibly can.

Eventually, you wrap your arms around yourself too, your hands coming to rest on top of Pope’s. Your touch traverses absent-mindedly over his fingers, his knuckles, and again, inevitably over his wedding band.

Pope can feel the questions almost writhing their way out of your body, like coiled snakes. More than likely, you’re about to ask him why he still wears it. Why his sorry ass can’t seem to think about ever taking it off. Still, as you tug in a breath to launch your words, it suspires out of you as wordlessly as it arrived. Perhaps you’d felt him tense against you and decided to spare him the humiliation. Perhaps you didn’t want to hear his answer.

A few minutes later, when you eventually find the inclination to speak again, the words launched on your breath aren’t questions at all. Your hands skim over his arms, your fingertips pruning and wet, your bathtub touch slick and kissing whelks on to his skin.

“I... I wanted to take care of you too. But you wouldn’t let me.” You pause momentarily, breath caught in your chest as if you’re awaiting retaliation. When all you get back is silence, you take that as license to continue, your voice achingly small and trembling. “I worry that you stopped fighting for us because you didn’t believe you were worth fighting for. And, Santi, mi alma, I just need you to know that you were always good enough. You were never too broken for me. I wanted to take care of you, and I just...” You pause to huff air out between your lips, like you’re about to deliver a punch, or maybe like you’re preparing to be struck by one. “...Even if it doesn’t end up being me. Please, let someone take care of you next time, okay?”

Pope stills against you as your fingers worry over his. He feels like his heart has risen into his throat and that he’s choking on it. He feels like everything he has pushed down for so long is fighting to burst out. He lifts his hands away from yours to palm the tears from his face, very suddenly realising how cold the water has gone.

But he still can’t find the words to name his pain. Now is when he envies your poetry. Pope only knows how to use his words a shield, or to attack. He doesn’t know how to make flowers out of them.

“Ok, come on, sugar. Time to get out, ok?”

You shift forward, folding in on your knees, and Pope is staring at the back of your head again, as if his love for you only exists now in a house of mirrors. You’re looking ahead, to the next time, the next love, and yet he is still lost. Still stuck. He can’t find a route out of his pain.

He couldn’t be who you needed. Even when all you’d needed this whole time was him. He couldn’t even be that. He’d shut himself down. Shut himself off from you because he thought his pain would wreck you. And that was the thing that had wrecked you, in the end; that he was gone. Trapped in a house of mirrors. Vacant behind his eyes, which has used to glow like warm, familiar porch lights. He wouldn’t let you in. He wanted to. But he couldn’t find the door.

You heave yourself out of the tub and finally spin towards him. He sees the tears on your own cheeks too. “Yeah. Time to get out,” you intone glumly.

Pope knows you’re not only talking about the tub. It’s time. To finally look ahead.

You offer him your hand and he emerges from the water, his clothes sodden.

“¿Si soy una sirena? Tu eres Flounder.” The atmosphere is too heavy to laugh, but you tentatively chew on a fond smile. “What are you gonna wear now, idiota?” you ask.

“Shit, I didn’t think this through,” Pope admits, then looks at you quizzically when he registers your playful words. “Pero yo soy Sebastian, por supuesto. ¡No soy ese pececito feo!”

Your smile expands, just a little. “I still have some of your old stuff. Don’t be mad - I kept that Metallica t-shirt, for one.”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Pope chides, eyes shining softly.

You squeeze his hand and disappear momentarily to find him some clothes, turning away as you both towel off and dress side-by-side.

“Ok, well I better leave you to it.” Pope suggests abruptly, if only to shield himself. You seem better. Happier. He should leave before his own pain drags you down again. Or before he lets himself feel happy.

“Stay, Santi. Let’s just be broken together, for a minute.”

He looks at you, pained, as if you’re being cruel to him, his heart fluttering like a bird in his rib cage.

“Please?” you beg in a broken, resigned voice. Scooped-out, wringing your hands together. “It feels like the end...” your face scrunches up as you bite back tears “...so please just stay one more time. Just lay on your side of the bed, and fall asleep next to me? Please.”

Pope tries to remember all the bullet wounds he’s suffered, because he could swear this hurts more. He could swear he’s bleeding out as you plead with him. As you talk about this ending. Pope always called you “mi Vida”, so it’s no wonder that your words feel like death; like the cruellest kind of poetry.

As he faces you, Pope’s blood is pounding in his body like he’s getting ready to run. When did you start to feel like a threat? Weren’t you on the same team?

“Santi.”

Still, one word from you, and Pope can’t refuse.

“Okay,” he agrees. Anything for you, even if it hurts him. “Go ahead and get under the covers.”

You oblige and he flicks out the light before coming to lie next to you on top of the duvet. On “his side” of the bed.

“I’m right here,” he breathes, his words like flowers as he throws an arm over the shadowed form of you.

One word from you and Pope is there. No matter what you need.

But when it comes to his own pain? The pain that was always a shadowed bedfellow between you? Pope can’t find the words. He doesn’t have your poetry. He can’t imagine the possibility of healing. Of blooming.

Being stalked by a threat he can’t name? Can’t give form to? Nothing scares Pope more than a target he can’t fight, because if he can’t fight it, how in the hell can he protect you from it? How could he protect you from his pain? From all of his bullshit?

One word from you and Pope would jump.

He would jump off of that ledge he’s on and fall right into your love again. He would love you like he did in late spring. When the air had smelled like peaches.

Pope would do it differently this time. He would let things bloom. Or, he would at least try. He would try to find the words, like you always do.

He wishes. He wishes you would invite him back in. Wishes you would say the word. But nothing ever comes.

You’re already falling asleep by his side, maybe for the last time.

So, instead, Pope’s gone by the time morning comes. You find his ring laid out on your dresser, along with a note.

“Mi vida. I’m here for you any time of the day or night. Always and forever. Siempre te querré, mi alma. I know I fucked some things up, but I sure as hell don’t need a ring to keep that promise. Santi xxx xxx P.s. Me llevé mi camisa Metallica - I’ll have Frankie drop it back to you, cariño. Looks better on you anyway. xxx xxx.”

Maybe one day Pope would learn to accept that some things are messy. That not everything can be solved with precision. That sometimes, instead of trying to fix everything, it’s okay to be broken; together.

Pope had broken many promises to you along the way, when he became the soldier who had stopped fighting. But there was at least one he could keep.

If you need him, he’ll be there for you.

Always and forever.

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

How am I doing so far, boys? Doing okay? Yikes. I’m nervous. Okay.

That’s how I know -yeah, I’ve got this- that you two are going to make it work. Because Pope doesn’t know how to let people down, not once they’re on his team. He keeps fighting, no matter what.

He’s the kinda guy you want watching your six. Once he is, you’ll never look back, and you shouldn’t. Because you two are a team now, and everything is ahead of you. You’re a team for life.

Husband and wife.

And you know what my absolute favourite thing about all of this is? Mi hermano. You have found a woman who has your back too.

Todos, you know what she replies when Pope says “I’ve got your six”? She says “I’ve got your zero through twelve”. Isn’t that a-fucking adorable? Even if it is tactically questionable. Jejejejejeje. (I know, I know, laughing at my own jokes.) So, man. Pope. Santiago. I know you can be a stubborn ass, but let her take care of you too, okay?

You deserve it, hermano. I love you.

So, cheers, to the bride and groom. By the way... I don’t know how Pope bagged this one ‘cause she’s way out of his league... For real. But... Oh shit, where was I? Oh yeah, that’s it.... thank you, Tom. You finally came in useful. Jejejejejeje.

Yeah. Cheers, to the bride and groom.

You’re not soldiers anymore, and you don’t need to follow orders. Only your hearts. (Damn right you’re crying. I pulled out all the stops for this, you sap.) But, my dear, dear friends. You don’t technically need to fight anymore, but may you always keep fighting.

Stay with me...

Keep fighting for each other. If you do that, I know you two are destined for a lifetime of happiness. I know we tease you for being a sap and being whipped but honestly, my man, your love? The two of you, together as a team? It’s beautiful, bro.

That’s squad goals right there.

And, Princesa? Pope’s knees might give out imminently. (We have a sweepstake that they’ll give out during the first dance. Jejejejejejeje.)

But his love for you? Chiquita, that ain’t ever gonna quit.

(You ready for this?)

Just like that man’s ass!

Woo! Yes- fuckin’ killin’ this speech, right? Not a dry eye in the house. Pope’s bawling like a mother fuckin’ baby. (Sorry for the language, abuela.)

Right, what was I saying? Thanks, Tom. Getting some mileage out of you today. Makes a fuckin’ change. Jejejejejejejeje.

I was saying, chiquita, that... wow. This man’s love for you? That’s always and forever. And I know, I know he’ll keep that promise. Because Pope is the kinda man who keeps his promises.”

~ Excerpt from Frankie “Catfish” Morales’ triumphant best man speech, on the happiest day of your life. The day you married Santiago Garcia.

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

You awake, and you roll Pope’s ring in between your fingers.

“¿Santi, mi corazón? Ven a casa. Come home.”

You wish he would come home.

Most of all, you wish you could find the courage to say the word.

THE END

Want more? Here’s my first Santi one-shot, which has angst and smut: Ride or Die.

I write for Poe (my main man), Santi, Nathan, Evgeni, Finn. Masterlist here.

Feedback in an ask or comment will make my day.

Thank you for reading!

Tagging (let me know if you wanna be added / removed from Santi tag-list!)

@darksideofclarke @yougottakeeponkeepinon @damerondjarin @mandoplease @tintinwrites @mylifeliterally @shakespeareanwannabe @woakiees @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @damndamer0n @itsamedeemoney @spider-starry @starryeyedstories

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #santi #triple frontier #frankie morales #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #pedro pascal

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square-blunt · 3 years

Text

You're in my heart, in my heart, in my head.

chapter two fucking finally. take it. fucking take it.

TW- MCD (major character death), suicide, like the fic ends in suicide and it's not good. Angst. there is so much angst-

WC: 2034 Ao3: :) First chapter: :)

Jimmy didn’t tear his eyes away from Scott once.

After they got ripped apart, all the neurons in his body were screaming at him to stop struggling and to go limp- he could feel the muscle in his back ripping apart but he had to. He didn’t feel the physical pain. But his heart was hammering so hard and he was screaming much louder than he thought was possible- screaming to Scott, praying and hoping that he could hear him over Joey- and maybe he did.

Because Scott never stopped looking at him.

And then, Scott smiled at him.

It was sweet, and weak, and it was tired. It should have been full of life, but instead- Scott used all his energy to give Jimmy that smile. It was sickeningly comforting- Scott, who was about to be sacrificed, about to have a knife through his heart- was comforting him, and Jimmy couldn’t sob any louder. He knows his screams and sobs and pleas won’t do anything to stop the inevitable. But with a sound that Jimmy will never be able to get out of his head, the inevitable comes to fruition. As the knife falls, Jimmy does too. The hooks that held onto his back retract and Jimmy crashes to the ground, rocks cutting into his hands. Part of him is grateful that he fell when he did. Whatever higher power was looking out for him must not have wanted him to see the knife going into Scott’s chest.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t imagine it.

As soon as he hits the ground he looks back up, just in time for Joey and Xornoth to disappear into smoke, and for the obsidian altar to crumble into dust- and Scott's body to roll off. Jimmy catches sight of Scott's limp hand and he turns away, holding his side, trying not to throw up.

He focuses on that.

Trying to keep the contents of his stomach down, swallowing thickly, he focuses on the burn of his head, his throat, and his heart.

His heart hurts.

It hurts more than any weapon could ever come close to inflicting.

After looking at Scott for so long, promising himself that he'd never look away, it's funny that now he physically can't bear to look up.

It's because Scott was alive then.

And now he, and possibly everyone else, is dead.

But he can't stop himself from crawling, very painfully, over to Scott. Only then does he notice how much blood there is. His, Scott's, it doesn’t matter- or it did.

Because Scott's blood should have stayed in his body.

Why didn't Jimmy speak up?

Xornoth had told Jimmy everything.

Their plan, why they were doing it- how they knew it was going to work.

They told Jimmy about a past life- a past three lives to be exact. And Jimmy remembered. It was like Xornoth had a key that finally gave Jimmy what he knew he was missing. And of course, he had fallen in love with Scott.

Of course, it was Scott.

Of course, it was Scott who came to his rescue. Everything else was a blur, of pain and hurt, but the kiss. Jimmy knew he had to. He had to let Scott know that he knew- that he remembered.

It was worth every second.

And even now he can feel the phantom of Scott's lips on his own, Scott's hair between his fingers, he can feel it more than the dull throbbing of his heart and his back. Physical pain couldn't reach him, his mind was already too busy imploding on itself to register anything else.

He feels the phantom of Scott's warm hand in his own.

He reaches out and takes his cold, real hand again.

Jimmy brushes away the dust and the blood, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles, and he stops at the ring finger. There's a simple silver band.

Jimmy spawned into Empires with a matching gold ring.

Only now does he know why.

He gently slips the ring off Scott's finger. He knows he shouldn't, but if it's all he can have of Scott- he's gonna take whatever he can get.

He moves up, noticing the detail on the sleeve of Scott's shirt. He wasn't wearing anything fancy, but he was still the most beautiful living thing Jimmy had ever seen. Scott had been wearing a sky blue t-shirt and brown pants- one could die in a more regal manner, but Scott still looked more amazing than any star in the night, any bird in the air… any flower in the field.

"It felt right," Jimmy says, voice unrecognizable even to himself. It only makes him cry more. Scott was his everything- Scott completed him. And Jimmy doesn't know who he is without Scott. He knew he was one half of a whole but didn’t know whose half, and now he has to live as a half without his other.

His communicator buzzes.

He doesn't care.

It's probably a death message.

He hopes Xornoth won't torture his family the way they did his lover.

He knows they probably did.

It buzzes again.

He grips Scott's hand tighter, maybe if he squeezes hard enough, it'll squeeze back.

Please, please, squeeze back.

Jimmy takes a deep breath.

At least Scott's eyes are closed.

His communicator buzzes again.

He still doesn't care.

He thought he'd be more distraught.

Looking down at Scott, his perfect, sleeping face, he thought he’d be screaming at the skies, clawing at his heart- trying to scratch the pain away, but he’s not. He should be mad, he should be trying to find Joey, at least, and hurt him as much as he had been hurt, but he’s not. He should have tried to swap back, but he knew his life wasn’t the end goal. He should be crying, letting the tears wash away all of the dust and dirt and blood but he’s not. He’s not doing any of it.

His communicator buzzes.

He’s holding Scott’s hand.

He’s holding Scott’s face.

He’s kissing his forehead.

He’s smoothing out his hair.

His communicator buzzes.

He notices Scott’s necklace, and that’s when he cries.

It’s a gold poppy flower- crudely made, rushed, unpolished, it was something Jimmy made. Jimmy himself was crudely made, rushed, and unpolished, so it makes sense that anything he made would be too.

His communicator buzzes.

He had given it to Scott a few hours before they arrived on the battlefield and Scott spent the next minutes staring at it while Jimmy got some things together.

Jimmy spent those minutes staring at him.

And then he died and lost everything.

Scott’s his everything.

And he’s lost it again.

His communicator buzzes.

He cradles Scott's head in his lap, staring down into his face.

He closes his eyes.

The ground under him changes. Rocks stop digging into his knees, and instead, there's soft wool. The smell of dirt and blood is replaced with clean linen and firewood.

What's worse, he can't feel Scott in his hands anymore.

Jimmy's eyes snap open.

His communicator buzzes one last time.

He's kneeling on cyan and yellow carpet, this must be somewhere in Rivendell. But it feels suffocating. It feels wrong.

Jimmy looks up and sees why.

Outside the windows the sky is red- this really is the end of the world. But the elephant in the room is that Xornoth is standing right in front of him. One of the last living things on this planet. Jimmy doesn't give them the victory of meeting their gaze.

"Codfather, Solidarity, sweet swamp boy- you hold many titles, don't you, Jimmy?" Xornoth says, manic glee in their voice. It makes Jimmy want to throw up.

"Just kill me. Please." Jimmy whispers, pain raw in his voice.

"No. I won't kill you, and you can blame your beloved Scott. The whole "can’t hurt you" condition in his heroic sacrifice doesn't feel heroic now, does it?" Xornoth looms over him, a shit-eating sneer of terrifying joy on their face. “Besides, why would I kill you? You were the key to the lock, the final piece to the puzzle, the gear that made this entire plan work- I should be thanking you. None of this could have happened if you weren’t there. He would still be alive if it weren’t for you- they all are dead because of you. Thank you, Jimmy. You seem to be often thanked for causing things that you stand against in the end. But that’s the way of life, is it not? People taking advantage of you for one reason or another, and then rubbing it in your face when they use you to get what they want. But don’t worry, no one will ever be able to use you again. Isn’t that what you wanted? You were pushed around by everyone, and now both you and I are free.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Jimmy says, maybe if he pisses them off enough they’ll just kill him anyway.

“No, you’re not. I am powerful, you are pitiful. I am armageddon, you are a disappointment. If death is theater, then I am Shakespeare, and you are a prop, a pawn. You were meant as something to be used. I was trying to offer a hand because as much as you hate yourself for it, you were the only reason why this plan worked. But if you insist on continuing to pretend that you have even a sliver of honor left then I will leave you to rot. But I promised not to lay a hand on you. In hindsight, not being able to kill you might have actually been a bad thing. See my plan was, Jimmy, I was going to kill you after all this, but your death would be instant and painless, but it seems that Scott has fucked something else over for everyone else. I was going to show you mercy, I wouldn’t torture you with a long and painful death or make you watch as- well, I guess I already did that, huh.” And they laughed . They laughed and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the crumbling world. They laughed at Jimmy, at his pain, it echoed off the walls of the dying church, sucking the last good out of the air to fuel the hysteric voice of insane victory.

Jimmy’s hope was flooding out with it.

Xornoth snaps their fingers, still laughing, and the world around Jimmy changes again, soft carpet to hardwood floors, still air to blistering wind- he's in his alliance tower.

He takes the heads down without looking at them, he can't bear to look.

He goes straight down the tower without looking.

It's a good thing he didn't.

He would have seen the bodies of everyone- ally and enemy- swinging from the rafters.

At the bottom of the ladder, he finds a rope of his own.

He doesn't even question it.

He silently finds a nearby tree and gets to work.

The Empire is deathly quiet- even the wind has died out.

He feels eyes. They're watching him. It feels familiar- watching a final soul end it all after everyone he knows is long gone.

He finishes the knot, throws the other end up and over the tree to tie it off.

He decides to build his own gallows as well.

Three blocks should be tall enough.

He puts the noose over his head like a medal- a winner's medal. That's what he was.

He won.

He takes the step.

And he's back in Scott's arms.

Finally.

#gremfics #empires #empires smp #flower husbands #flower husbands angst #suicide tw #scott smajor #he's fucking dead everybody dead #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #solidarity gaming #sweet swamp boy #i hate writing

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