#I saw someone complaining the other day that there are less new stories in the fandom than ever 1. That's simply not true. 2. Even if it wa | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ratridingaskateboard · 7 months

Text

Tear You Apart

Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader!

TW: 18+, wet dream, p in v, cursing, bdsm, sexual acts, sexual fantasies, etc.

A/N: The trigger warnings would be too long if I mentioned every sexual act ever done in this story. We would be here all day!!

Synopsis: Eddie has had a crush on Y/n since the day she stepped foot into Hawkins High School. After constantly fantasizing about her, will fantasy finally become a reality?

The second Y/n waltzed her way into the main hall of Hawkins High, Eddie was awe-struck. She was clad in a bleached jean jacket capped in patches and pins of metal and rock bands. Many of them Eddie hadn’t even heard of. The Black Sabbath t-shirt she wore had been ripped to shreds, showing only a tanktop underneath. Her plaid red skirt swayed as she walked and had boys and girls anticipating for a gush of wind to reveal what was hidden under that scanty piece of clothing. To no one’s surprise, within minutes of walking in she was quickly pulled into the principal’s office for dress code violations.

The hall had erupted into gossip over who this mystery girl was. No one at Hawkins had a single clue who she was or why she chose their school to be graced with her presence. Eddie had never seen anyone like her in Hawkins, if he had he would’ve known. Just seeing what she was wearing made the blood rush to his cheeks but the second he saw her patched covered jacket he was practically on his knees.

This was his chance to finally get with a girl who he shared similar interests with. Don’t get him wrong, Eddie loved getting laid no matter what type of girl it was. But most girls had little to no interest in Eddie, they just wanted to see what it was like to fuck the school freak. They didn’t complain but they didn’t speak about it either. He was, to put it simply, a conquest. Now he had the ability to be around someone who, he hoped, wouldn’t shun him away like the others.

Eddie’s friends gathered around him at his locker, passing comments about the new girl and her clothing.

“God- I hope they don’t give her a pair of pants to wear.” Gareth hissed under his breath.

“I think I saw her bra underneath her shirt” Jeff added.

“The second you guys see a girl you are like dogs! I am surrounded by barbarians!” Dustin was quick to be the voice of reason. It was hard for teenage boys to view any girl as a person much less a girl who showed a little skin.

“You’re right Dustin. Did you see her jacket? It was covered in Metal patches. She seems cool.” Eddie finally added.

“Sorry Eddie- I was a little busy looking at other pieces of clothing she was wearing.” Gareth said.

Eddie rolled his eyes. One of the things Wayne had taught Eddie once he had reached puberty was to be a gentleman. Apparently, Gareth was not given this pep talk. Obviously, Eddie was attracted to her but he had to push down the want to tear her clothes off in order to form a relationship with her.

Hours had passed and she was still no where to be seen. Eddie assumed the principal must have sent her home with the list of violations she had achieved on the first 15 minutes she was inside the school.

Lunch was no different than usual except for the extra chatter of the mysterious new girl and her fondness for revealing clothing. Eddie pushed the food around on his lunch tray, disgusted by the unknown meat with the rancid smell.

“Hey-“ A gentle hand pressed against Eddie’s shoulder. The smell of cigarettes and vanilla filled his nostrils. Eddie looked up to see his friends wide eyed, staring at this unknown figure behind him.

“I like your Dio patch. That’s my favorite album by them.”

Eddie moved his neck to look at her but he found himself too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. Instead, his eyes focused on the jacket she wore, naming each band in his head- trying to get his mind off the absolute fool he was making of himself.

Shit, her hand was still on his shoulder. His face turned to a shade of red he didn’t believe was possible to achieve unless in scorching hot weather.

“Don’t mean to be an asshole but your sewing isn’t the best.” She traced a line with her finger against the trim of the patch. Eddie could still feel the softness of her fingertips even through the denim of jacket and cotton of his shift. Suddenly, Eddie felt the warmth of her breath against his ear.

“If you ever need someone to teach you, I would love to.”

Her hand moved back to his shoulder and lightly squeezed it, sending spikes of electricity through his spine. Then, she was gone.

Eddie’s face remained just as red as before. His fellow Hellfire members tried to help him regain consciousness but Eddie remained silent. He was stunned. He had never felt so weak. She toyed with him and he didn’t even fight back. He had never felt so powerless. In most situations he had had with girls, he was the one who approached and the one who lead. But, she… she was different.

“Eddie, dude, you should probably go to the bathroom.” Jeff patted Eddie’s shoulder, finally getting his attention.

Eddie looked down to find his dick as stiff as a board in his pants. Jesus Christ, he needed to get his shit together. This girl was messing with his fucking head.

After a moment in the bathroom, Eddie was able to go about his day as normally as he could. He still stumbled whenever he thought of the softness of her hand or the smell of her perfume. But as long as he didn’t see her he was fine. Right?

After Hellfire, Eddie returned to the trailer he shared with his Uncle and plopped himself on his bed. God- was he exhausted. Didn’t know being teased by a girl would make him so tired. His eyes fluttered closed and he gave in.

“E-Eddie please,” Y/n wimpered, looking up at him with big doe eyes, her hands restrained behind her back.

“Please what?” Eddie persisted, his leg pushing in between her thighs, feeling the warmth of her.

“P-Please fuck me!” She huffed, grinding her hips against his thigh. She seemed so helpless now. Her dominance was subdued by him and she had become a mess of herself.

“How much do you want it?” Eddie whispered in her ear, her perfume smelled even stronger when he was this close to her neck.

“I-I want it so bad, Eddie! Please I’m begging you!” She wailed.

He loved seeing her like this. Fuck, it made him feel like he was gonna cum in his pants. He couldn’t make her wait any longer and neither could he.

He started to reach his hand under her shirt when-

He woke up. It was a dream. It was a fucking dream. And one thing he knew about dreams like these, they always end the same.

Eddie lifted his comforter to find his boxers covered with jizz as well as the sheets underneath him. Eddie’s face crumpled into a frown. He had to get her back for this.

A/N: Dont worry there will be a part two coming soon!!! Hope u enjoyed

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #Spotify

294 notes · View notes

cacti-are-like-flamingos · 1 year

Text

Wasted Oxygen...

Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

The Cursed Trio | Mr. Sandman

...

Despite being the ever energetic guy he was, Haibara loved to sit down and people-watch. Silently observing others go about their daily business, unaware of their audience as they freely express themselves through large and small mannerisms.

He'd always make sure to find a nice cozy spot, somewhere a bit hidden so no one could see his lingering eyes. If Kento was here, he'd been stating how inappropriately creepy he was being. He could already hear him hehe

Regardless of what his partner would think, the raven-haired boy could easily spend hours observing the world interact with itself. If he was lucky enough, he'd see an entire movie unfold right before his eyes.

Most of the time, though, he tried to call upon his inner Sherlock. Using the art of deduction to figure out the possible stories from every passer-goer.

Usually, it'd be more fun with you considering your extraordinary ability to deduce people to downright filth.

The two of you hanging out, making up stories for every person that caught either of your eyes had become a little routine of yours, one that started from his days of teaching you Japanese. He'd tell you certain words while discreetly pointing to people who embodied said words --- he hadn't expected for you to suddenly start rambling about the possible nuisances of each and every person you saw

And the fact that you had no filter made it worse! The amount of times he had to cover for you after you'd accidentally said something rather insulting about a person who stood close enough to hear --- double digits!

Regardless, it's the same reason as to why you're the most attuned person in terms of others emotions --- once you notice the patterns, you'll see them everywhere is what you'd often say to him

Although, it did leave him wondering. Just how were you so good at people-reading? Is that how you got along with those two so well? Because you knew instantly what they were about the moment you met them?

No, that can't be. On numerous occasions, you've complained about how Gojo and Suguru confused you. You claimed that they were like a whole new different breed of soul that you've never come across before.

Haibara blinked

Souls. The first time he heard about your Cursed Technique, he had to admit --- he'd never heard of a technique like yours.

Cursed Sight: Chains, a cursed technique that bestows its user with the ability to perceive the spiritual and see the souls of living beings as well as curses. The way it works is rather simple, or so, that's how you mentioned it to be.

As one knows, everything is made up of energy. So by simply channeling your own cursed energy, you can manipulate the strands into forming objects. By focusing well enough, you could bring said objects into the physical world: however, there was a catch.

You could never break eye contact.

The technique had great potential. Just visualize the item you need and Wala! It's there. (You had a preference for chains ghost rider type beat. You'd chain curses down to limit its movements prior to going for the kill. In times where the Curse proved too strong, you'd hold it down while continuously attacking it with an already cursed energy-imbued weapon)

To be honest, your fights were quite the spectacle. The way you expertly used your chains to capture curses, the way you used the ends of the chains to destroy them with such force --- ooh la la (aizawa x ghost rider's love child)

We're getting side tracked --- point is, your ability allowed you to see people's essence. You knew when they lied, you knew what they felt, their soul usually said everything you needed to know (you confessed that the soul only shows the most general of feelings so that's why you depended on deducting to truly understand people's intentions)

One major down side, you could never turn it off. I don't think you've ever really seen someone's face much less your own. Bodies are shaped around the soul, and the soul is always so blinding with its different hues. At least, the silhouettes had somewhat of expressions. (Further clarification, it's like cutting out human shape out of colored paper. Just three-dimensional. AH, THINK GOD FROM FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST but include the shape of hair and outfits) You could see the shapes of their eyes, the slope of their nose, and the curve of their lips.

(and now, you're probably asking -- but OP, what about clothes? How do we have a sense of style if we can't see the look when we look in the mirror? That is true. Wearing outfits will just accentuate your soul's shape. But the moment it's off and on a hangar, you can see it plain as day since it's soulless on its own. Also Ieiri helps you, sometimes even Yaga if you're that desperate)

"You're going to hurt yourself from thinking so hard, Haibara." There you are! You even brought, "Hiya!" "Senpai!" Gojo glared at you, "Meh, why aren't you ever this respectful? Hm? You have to respect our customs, foreigner!"

You scoff, "I do respect your customs, just not you."

"Bitch."

"Masochist."

"Masochist?! The hell is that for?"

"You like me insulting you, your soul lives for it. Got a degradation kink, old man?" "Who the fuck you calling old man for?! I'm just a year old-" "Haibara~! Let's go get something to eat!" "O-Oi! Don't run away, pussy!" You stick your tongue out at him as you pull Haibara by the arm, dragging him to some nearby tall selling takoyaki

You spent the entire day ignoring Gojo, who sulked behind you and Haibara as you dragged said male all around Roppongi where you were supposed to meet up with one other. Yep, you guessed it!

Mei Mei!

(don't you just love mixing friend groups and praying to whatever god is out there that it all works out? 😁)

Mei Mei couldn't care less about Haibara, though she did seem to acknowledge him as somewhat worth having around in regards to his 'service potential', but honestly, her indifference was palpable

Instead, Mei Mei focused on you, whose face held a dreamy look as the pretty woman spoke to you with that lovely sing-song voice of hers (she still HELLA sus iykyk but for the sake of this, she ain't. She's just greedy here)

Gojo was irked by how close Mei Mei got to you, his face unbelievably stoic as he watched you and Mei Mei interact (cue that anime angry mark and eyebrow twitch)— Mei Mei acting like a sugar mama to you as the white-haired woman walked you around pointing at shit she knew you'd like.

Ah, I can already hear some of you confused --- specifically the ones who are really into canon.

You see, Mei Mei does nothing out of the goodness of her heart. No, no. Greed is the very foundation of her character. And so, it would make sense that she wouldn't just spend her money on anyone just for the hell of it.

And so, the truth. You and Mei Mei had this secret arrangement --- in return for a few favors and pieces of key-information that she can't quite get from her watchful crows, Mei Mei would pay for your services. Usually, she'd just send the cash over but whenever the two of you are together, she'd provide you a little shopping spree. (No-one knows about this btw)

Despite the previous, it was evident that Mei Mei liked you. She saw you as her favorite little Kouhai, mainly because of how resourceful you could be, and the way your personalities seemed to mesh well together was exquisite in her opinion.

(Side Note: Your relationship with her is incredibly on-the-surface. The reason why you get along so well is because you adapt yourself to her personality. I wouldn't say you're a people-pleaser, although you are, but more of a subtle manipulating type of thing. Idk how to put it)

You weren't at all annoying like the others. Additionally, you had a higher chance of reaching your service potential than any other (i don't even know if that's a compliment or an insult and I wrote it 🤪)

Gojo wasn't a big fan of Mei Mei spoiling you, and it led to a whole day of the two of them kind of fighting to show off who could spoil you the most (though it may or may not have been your plan from the get-go).

The situation became more obvious to Haibara when you wrapped your arm around his, a wicked smile upon your lips as you quietly inquired from Haibara what he wanted. Not fully grasping the scheme, he answered, and then you'd claimed as your current desire, which Mei Mei and Gojo would then buy immediately.

Eventually, Kento joins after receiving a SOS text message from Haibara. At the sight of the two wordlessly seething cotton swabs with you smirking in front of them, Kento dragged him away (he only greeted you, he could care less about the other two)

While Mei Mei was preoccupied with a phone call, and Gojo was off buying something sweet for you and spicy for Suguru, to eat together later — you found yourself sitting at the same spot Haibara had been sitting earlier.

There was someone next to it, but that didn't stop you as you plopped yourself down, attention focused on the people walking by. Blissfully unaware of the minor curses that plagued them.

Sometimes, if you felt merciful, you would destroy the curse. Weaker curses didn't require you to physically manifest your chains; a small, invisible chain was all it took to loop around the curse and squeeze them to death.

"Never seen a technique like yours, foreigner."

At the stranger's words, you paused. You hadn't sensed any cursed energy from the person sitting next to you, so how could they have known? Glancing to your side, you tilted your head in slight confusion as you examined the man sitting next to you

"what happened to 'hello'? 'how are you'? To introductions, in general?" There was a slight tease to your words yet your fingers subtly twitched by your side

The raven-haired man snorted in amusement, a slight smirk on his lips as he leaned back against the wall of the bench. His hands were in his pockets as he didn't once look your way.

"How long have you been here with them?" Something in his voice had put you on edge, but at the same time, you didn't feel imminently in danger.

"Long enough, give or take."

He made a face, "Like it, so far?"

You shrugged your shoulders, your eyes still on his silhouette as you answered, "Neutral, so far."

"So you haven't been here long enough," he sassed back earning a short snort from you.

"Oh? Why's that?" "You'll see, soon enough." And with that, he stood up, walking away from you without another word. You stared at his soul, watching it get tinier with every step he took.

You had met many dark blues, but the edges of his were... fuzzy. Not clearly definable. That was new.

Surprisingly, you didn't feel shook or concerned. You actually felt a rush of excitement, the sort you got from trying to solve the mystery of some crime show before the narrator could even reveal the truth.

Suddenly, Gojo appeared in the corner of your eye, his sunglasses pulled down his nose as his iridescent eyes gazed down at you.

His eyes were the only ones you had ever truly seen. You thought it was because of his Six-Eyes.

"Yo! Got the drugs," he said, to which you replied with a casual "Hm."

He narrowed his eyes, "What happened?"

So observant

You perked up, "What?"

He repeated, a small frown on his lips, "What happened?"

You shrugged, "Just an... interesting encounter, that's all."

Gojo knew better. But he also knew you.

"Alright, let's go. Mei Mei already left, and she wanted me to give you this," he said with displeasure in his voice as he threw a bag into your lap—a luxury brand bag. But not before handing you yet another bag, another luxury brand.

With a sense of curiosity, you gently untied the bag's ribbon and opened it, revealing a small box inside. Your fingers carefully lifted the lid, revealing the gift within as you opened the box

A single earring, a crescent moon hanging from it. It's metal glimmering under the setting sun (wow, time passed fast today)

"Now we can match!" Gojo said. Showing off his wrist, a silver bracelet with a sun hanging from it.

You snorted, "What about Suguru, hm?" (While you asked, you put the earring on without another moment's notice)

He rolled his eyes, revealing another bag matching your own, "His is here...ya like it, tho?"

Having stood up from where you sat, you smiled softly as you affectionately bumped your head onto his shoulder before motioning for him to walk with you. (You didn't get to see his grin, but you could feel it.)

"Let's go home, Gojo," you said, with Mei Mei's gift loosely wrapped around your wrist, knowing it could wait.

...

(A/N): Ugh, I keep having to come back to fix certain things so it can better fit my narrative. I keep writing these shits while being tired af, and when I wake up --- I forget my own canon 🙄

Anyways

Who do you think the rando guy is?

Also did you notice how you immediately checked Gojo's gift rather than Mei Mei's? In fact, you completely ignored her gift to you.

Moreover, have any of you noticed that whenever you get to know someone --- their name alters? I wonder what that implies for certain people.

And what does a fuzzy outline mean?

This was also supposed to take another turn but then the characters charactered and here we are now.

Drop a comment

Feel free to buy me a 🦩

Hope you enjoyed!

351 notes · View notes

abarbaricyalp · 1 month

Text

Too Sweet

I finally finished it AO3 Link

November

"Don't sulk. And stop chewing on your nails," Rhodey said, appearing in the chair beside Bucky with a frankly uncanny quiet.

Bucky looked away from where his gaze was drilling into Sam and the man he was dancing with. "I'm older than you," Bucky pointed out. "You can't order me around."

"I outrank you too," Rhodey pointed out with a smirk.

"You and most of the army. Tweety outranks me." He nodded off towards Joaquin, who was not watching Sam the way he normally did. Instead, he was three people deep into an animated story and an adoring crowd.

"It's not going to last," Rhodey continued. He usually had some remark about how Joaquin was a 'good kid' or something, but clearly he had a mission today.

Bucky took in a steadying breath as he dragged his eyes away from Sam again. "Have you met Winston? Even I like him. He was practically gift-wrap-made for Sam. Sam's crazy about him."

"Sam likes him," Rhodey accepted. "And they're pretty cute. But it's not going to last," he repeated.

"Why do you say that?"

Since beginning to spend more time with Sam--and following him around like a shadow when he could--he'd learned that Sam and Rhodey had become close friends, despite all of the bullshit that tried to get between them. Rhodey was the kind of noble that Bucky thought only existed in fairytales, so it made sense him and Sam found camaraderie in each other. There was some super-secret Air Force bond that Sam wouldn't tell Bucky about, too. Bucky liked Rhodey. He thought he was level-headed and no-nonsense, which Bucky was appreciating more as he realized how rare it was nowadays.

Still, Rhodey could be nosy when it came to Sam. Could be as bad as all the old folks down in Louisiana, who were the reason Sam was slow dancing and laughing with Winston now. Bucky always had a suspicious side-eye ready when Rhodey brought up Sam in a less than professional context.

Like talking about his relationship not lasting.

Bucky gnawed on his cuticle again and watched Sam get spun around in a dizzying turn combo. He watched him catch himself on Winston's chest and hide his laugh against Winston's shoulder.

"Because I saw the way Winston reacted to Sam getting home last weekend."

Bucky bit down on the side of his finger too hard and tasted copper instantly. "He came all the way to DC to see Sam?"

Rhodey shrugged. "Sure, but he was freaking out about it. We were a day late, comms were out of the question. Winston was losing it."

Bucky shot him a strangled sort of look. "You're complaining that he's a concerned partner?"

Rhodey rolled his eyes. "Sam wasn't even hurt. Imagine how he's gonna react the first time Sam winds up in a hospital or a fall is caught in HD and plays on the news for a week straight."

"I get pissed off about things like that," Bucky pointed out.

"But you stick through it. I'm just saying, a lot of soldiers lose partners who can't handle the danger of the job. Imagine dating a superhero."

Bucky couldn't imagine it. Being best friends with one was exhausting enough and he was one himself. All of the people who kept his bed warm were hardly interested in his long-term wellbeing. It's not something he thought about often.

"Sam's always alright," he said. "He's the last guy someone would have to worry about. He's smart out there."

Rhodey leveled him with a skeptical look. "Isn't there a 'Days since last self sacrifice' countdown on your fridge?"

Bucky shrugged. "That one's got a money-pool attached to it. We have to pay up when we're the one who resets it."

Bucky looked away when Rhodey didn't. He could feel his gaze heavy on the side of Bucky's face. There was always something slightly appraising about him. He was a Colonel through and through, even on his easy days. He never told Bucky what he was thinking about, which drove Bucky nuts. But he also never asked Bucky either, which was a blessing, so Bucky kept his irritation to himself.

Sam and Winston had stopped dancing--the song had moved onto something more up-tempo--and they were engaged in some inane conversation. Bucky could tell because Winston's eyes kept darting around for an out. But Sam was ever the professional. He was engaged and responsive, was making that lady feel like the center of the whole world. Bucky knew the feeling. His arm was around Winston's waist, thumb brushing over his side, just out of sight of their audience.

Bucky wanted to be sick with jealousy. He started to chew on the side of his thumb nail again. Rhodey swatted at his hand once but gave up and went to impart either wisdom or exaggerated stories on someone else.

. . .

January

Two months after the gala, Bucky was laying on the couch early one morning because he couldn't sleep. He had a marathon of sci-fi B-movies playing with the volume only on the first dial. It was enough to keep his ears distracted, but not enough to really keep him from falling asleep if he could trick his brain into it.

It had been a rough couple of days. A mission had gone sideways and Sam had ended up in the hospital. Bucky accused Rhodey of speaking it into existence, but he hadn’t fared well himself either. The parade of faces had followed, people Bucky knew and didn’t know. Mostly people he didn’t know. They had been in DC, so everyone from Delacroix had been absent. Sam had even convinced Sarah not to make the trek up. It wasn’t that bad, he lied, save your miles for something better.

Okay, maybe it hadn’t been a terrible injury. Lied was a strong word. Bucky was overreacting just a little because he’d lost comms with Sam and hadn’t been the one to assess him on the field. He hated it when it shook out like that. All of the anxiety about Sam’s condition got about sixty-five times worse when he couldn’t make his own call. Bucky’s bad mood also hadn’t been helped by the way Sam had perked up every time the door opened, only for the person on the other side not to be his boyfriend. Bucky also blamed Rhodey for this.

They’d only been back in Louisiana for a week and Bucky had kept a pretty intense eye on Sam for that whole time, but he’d relented recently, gave Sam space, which he used to hang out with everyone who’d been worried about him earlier. Bucky hadn’t kept an ear out for his comings-and-goings, but he’d expected Sam was out and about because the house had been quiet since dinner.

So he was surprised when someone stepped over the back of the couch and sat down next to him.

“You should absolutely not do that with those stitches,” Bucky scolded.

Sam rolled his eyes, Bucky assumed, and nudged him in the ribs. “I won’t tell you what I was doing at the docks then.”

Bucky glared at him, which delighted Sam, as it usually did. He existed to test the serum, see if he could make a super soldier need blood pressure medication. “I thought you’d be out tonight. Date night? Just some alone time?” he eventually offered as a bridge to a more relaxed conversation.

“I saw Winston,” Sam agreed. He shifted so he was against the arm of the couch and could shove his toes under Bucky’s thigh. “We, uh… We decided to end things.”

Bucky’s brain fuzzed out for a few seconds. “What?” he asked. “Why? You like him.”

Sam breathed out a sad, frustrated little huff. “Yeah. He’s just…not ready for this kind of thing. It takes someone specific to put up with it, y’know?”

Bucky wondered if he was stuck in a timeloop. Was he having the same conversation he’d had with Rhodey? Had the timeline shifted a little to the left, so now he was having it with Sam instead?

“He’s soft, y’know. Real gentle. I didn’t wanna hurt him by making him stay in this relationship where he’d be worried all the time. He didn’t wanna be hurt.”

Bucky found himself holding Sam’s ankle, which didn’t seem to have surprised Sam the way it surprised Bucky. “You’re worth worrying over,” he said seriously.

Sam nudged his ankle against Bucky’s hand. “Yeah, that’s why I have you,” he said. “You’ve got it covered for the whole rest of the world.”

“I don’t give you half of what you deserve,” Bucky scoffed, then heard the words ringing back in his head. He prayed Sam didn’t clock how sincere he actually was.

Here’s the thing. Bucky had known he was in love with Sam for probably the better part of a decade (give or take five years that didn’t count, though he imagined even while he didn’t exist, he loved Sam). And the thing about loving Sam Wilson was that Bucky never wanted anything less than the best for Sam and Bucky Barnes was definitely not the best thing for him. Sure, in the heat of battle, there was no one better to be on Sam’s six, and Sam had chosen him as roommate for some reason that Bucky couldn’t comprehend. Bucky was great as a friend and a partner. No one was going to protect him more than Bucky. But as a life partner? Sam deserved the sun, the stars, the moon, the whole entire sky, and all the universe beyond it. He deserved someone as stable and strong as him, as giving and free, as happy and earnest. Bucky was never going to be that person. He wasn’t sweet. He wasn’t the boy next door anymore. No storybook prince.

And he’d made his peace with that before the world had ended a few times and he was finally back in America. He could be this for Sam. He could give Sam all of him from a distance and make sure Sam found only the perfect love for himself.

He could sit on a couch and get angry at a guy he had actually liked because they decided Sam wasn’t worth the hurt. Bucky would live in a world of nothing but hurt if it meant Sam was part of his life.

If Sam read any of that in Bucky’s words, he didn’t react. He just kind of screwed his mouth to the side in a deprecating half smile and picked at a snag in the upholstery. He didn’t say anything as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

“I was probably gonna be up for a while,” Bucky offered. “You want some popcorn and latte creamer?”

Sam made a face. “That sounds disgusting. But, yeah.”

Bucky snorted and squeezed Sam’s ankle again before standing and heading to the kitchen. “M&Ms in the popcorn?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Do we have any?”

“Yeah, the boys left a bunch of tubes of minis last time they were here.”

“You bought them everything they said they wanted,” Sam corrected with a laugh. “Don’t you know kids’ eyes are bigger than their stomachs?”

“Yeah, but not bigger than mine,” Bucky shot back. He threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave and grabbed the fake latte drink from the fridge, along with two mugs, which he brought back to Sam. “Anything you wanna watch? This is a replay from earlier in the week.”

“Yeah, I remember you bitching about the officiating in it,” Sam teased. “Let’s put on some horror movie. It’s been a while since I’ve had running commentary about how implausible every death and gore scene is.”

Bucky took the ribbing in stride, passing the remote over and settling next to Sam, closer this time, pulling Sam’s legs over his own lap. “It’s not my fault no one ever gets the spillage right.”

“You’re so gross,” Sam laughed, digging his heel into the outside of Bucky’s thigh and pulling him closer in the same move.

Read the rest on AO3

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing

41 notes · View notes

vasito-de-leche · 6 months

Note

Ooooh, just saw your Self Aware!6 and I love how you portrayed him! You mentioned that he can hear the player, but not see them, right?

What if 6 encounters a player who has him as their favorite character (yk putting him as the main character in the interface), hearing them gushing about how 6 looks so handsome and how they prefer him over 37 and the people at Apeiron, mumbling about how he doesn't deserve the trouble, and actually rooting for him reading his event story? Basically just talking about him, unaware that 6 could actually hear them.

Anyways, I'll let you cook <3

;R1999 6 - Self-Aware AU (2)

Compilation of headcanons about how a self-aware 6 would react to a Player who gushes over him. Related to this Self-Aware AU post.

ty for your ask, nonnie! sorry if this isnt what you were hoping for, I cant exactly see a character like 6 enjoying this sort of treatment!

Right away, I think this sort of thing would make 6 extremely uncomfortable.

We know how he feels about receiving attention or being on the spotlight, how he prefers to stay by the sidelines and only put himself out there when others need mediation or whenever his people require him to play the role of leader--so to have a voice constantly praising and gushing over him would be really tiring. 6 is the type of person who enjoys--perhaps it's better to say that he needs--time alone, with nothing but his thoughts and some peace and quiet, after all.

Is this, somehow, his unchecked ego? Are these his own deepest thoughts manifesting as a voice coming from above, muddling the truth? No, that can't be. 6 knows that his self-esteem and opinion on himself is much more humble than this.

Once he finds out about the existence of the Player, he grows even more confused. Or rather, a bit more timid now that he knows you're watching over him, scrutinizing and observing each and every gesture, every little thing he says. He's your favorite character for reasons he cannot even fathom--not due to a sense of inferiority or inadequacy, but genuine confusion. Did he mess up somewhere? He's not supposed to receive this much attention beyond his contributions to the main story.

I think 6 would be indifferent to any comments about his appearance. His entire bloodline is praised for their unique complexion, this isn't new at all. Comments about how the Player prefers him over 37 or the people of Apeiron--HIS people, HIS community--wouldn't sit well with him, since they're people he cherishes and considers important, even if he keeps his distance from them.

Overall, treating him like this and putting him on a pedestal just further enforces those themes of isolation from the previous post, so to speak!

A much younger 6 would've definitely appreciated the support, to have someone in his corner, especially after losing his aunt to the Revelation. But I like to think that 6 as he is right now is mature enough to recognize the importance of everyone else's points of views. He, more than anyone, understands that he had his faults and that his actions should have consequences, and his humble and pacifist side would also lead him to defend the actions of others, such as 210, despite the previous tension between them. There's a reason his number represents harmony!

And because he represents harmony and perfection, I think he would just tolerate this for a long time. He's spent years in isolation, he's had people talk at him about things he cannot find himself to care about--this is no trouble at all. 6 would simply sit there, or go on about his day as you ramble about him. But I can see him wishing to be turned into a painting in the main screen as often as possible, just for a moment of reprieve.

The more you praise him, the less he talks.

For 6 to truly listen what you have to say, you'll have to talk about something that isn't him. He is curious, especially when he catches you murmuring about other things, such as your next strategy to win this UTTU Special Week, or complaining about the lack of materials to level up others.

I think what 6 would like the most is catching glimpses of the life you lead when you're not focusing on the game, when you complain about responsibilities and how eager you are to unwind by playing the game, when your pet interrupts and you stop playing to shower it with attention and love... These small, fleeting flashes of who you are when no one else is around. Aside from this, he would also love to hear your opinion on the events of the game, without this obvious favoritism for him--what do you think of the allegory of the cave? Do you ever wonder about your soul number?

These are the things that would get 6 to slowly warm up to the idea of the Player watching over him, that would get him to speak back to you one day, on impulse or on purpose. And only once 6 sees you as more than a distant voice, when you finally bond with him in a more meaningful way, perhaps your praise will actually mean something to him. Perhaps he will thank you directly with a small smile, perhaps he will ask you to explain why you feel so strongly about him, genuinely curious about your point of view.

But in the mean time, silence is a virtue.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 6 #6 #self aware au #6 wouldnt like this type of stuff #but you know who would?#diggers. he would eat this shit up #he would love to have his very own disembodied voice hyping him up and agreeing with him. the guy needs a single win

68 notes · View notes

roseeyes · 2 months

Text

Hey guys so this is part two to the Logan slow burn I was really excited to keep working on this so let me know if I should make more anyways here we go

Logan grumbled to himself, a low growl resonating in his throat as he tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. The place was quiet, except for the faint sounds of movement from the other side of the apartment. He had agreed to take on a roommate—a necessity driven more by his need for privacy rather than any particular desire for companionship.

The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Logan saw her. She was in her early twenties, with an air of effortless grace and warmth. Her name was Y/N, and she had a serene presence that seemed to balance out Logan's gruff demeanor. She looked up from her book, her eyes meeting his with a curious glint.

"Morning," Logan grumbled, shuffling into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. "You sleep okay?"

Y/N nodded, her smile radiating a sense of calm. "Morning, Logan. Yeah, I slept fine. How about you?"

"Can't complain," he muttered, though his gruff exterior softened slightly. "The place is small, but it'll do."

Y/N chuckled softly, her laughter like a soothing melody in the otherwise tense environment. "It’s cozy. Besides, it’s only temporary, right?"

Logan grunted in agreement and poured himself a steaming cup of coffee. He wasn’t much for talking, preferring the solitude of his thoughts, but he had to admit—Y/N’s presence was a refreshing change from the usual. She was easy to talk to, and her calm demeanor seemed to smooth out the rough edges of his own personality.

Weeks passed, and Logan found himself adjusting to the new arrangement better than he’d anticipated. Y/N was a great roommate—neat, respectful, and with an uncanny ability to make small talk that somehow made him feel more at ease. They would chat over coffee, share the occasional meal, and watch TV together, though Logan was usually grumbling about the shows she picked.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Logan returned home to find Y/N sitting at the kitchen table, her face illuminated by the soft light of a lamp. She was engrossed in a novel, but she looked up as he entered, her eyes filled with concern.

“Rough day?” she asked softly.

Logan shrugged, trying to brush off the discomfort of the day’s battles. “You could say that.”

Without a word, Y/N stood up and began preparing tea, her movements graceful and soothing. Logan watched her for a moment, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, and it both comforted and unsettled him.

“Tea’s almost ready,” Y/N said, glancing back with a gentle smile. “It’s chamomile. Thought it might help you unwind.”

Logan sat at the table, feeling the weight of his weariness lift slightly. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

As they sat together, sipping tea and talking about mundane things, Logan realized how much he had come to enjoy these moments. Y/N had a way of making the world feel a little less heavy, and for someone like him, who had always carried his burdens alone, it was a rare and precious gift.

Months turned into a comfortable routine. Logan found himself looking forward to coming home, not just for the solace of his own space but for Y/N’s company. They had developed a friendship that was both grounding and exhilarating. Logan, who had always been guarded, found himself opening up more, sharing stories from his past and even some of his struggles. Y/N listened with genuine interest and empathy, never pushing but always present.

One evening, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, Logan noticed how close they had become. Y/N was nestled beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. He could feel the rise and fall of her breath, and it was strangely comforting. The movie played on, but Logan’s mind was elsewhere, lost in the realization that his feelings for Y/N had deepened into something more than just friendship.

He shifted slightly, causing Y/N to stir. She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his heart skip a beat. “Logan? Is everything okay?”

Logan hesitated, his usual confidence wavering as he tried to find the right words. “Y/N, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say…”

Before he could continue, Y/N placed a gentle hand on his arm. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready.”

The simple gesture, combined with her understanding, made Logan’s heart ache with emotions he wasn’t used to confronting. He took a deep breath, his rough exterior momentarily giving way to vulnerability. “I care about you, Y/N. More than I thought I could.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she moved closer, her hand still resting on his arm. “I care about you too, Logan. A lot.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Logan, usually so self-contained and stoic, found himself opening up to the possibility of something more. It was a new and frightening territory, but with Y/N by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope.

As the days went by, Logan and Y/N’s relationship deepened. They spent more time together, both in their apartment and out in the city. Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, and Logan found himself falling for Y/N in ways he had never imagined.

One crisp autumn evening, Logan and Y/N took a stroll through Central Park, the city lights casting a warm glow over the trees. They walked in comfortable silence, each step a testament to their growing connection. As they reached a quiet spot by a serene lake, Logan stopped and turned to face Y/N.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but earnest. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About what we have.”

Y/N looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and hope. “And what have you been thinking?”

Logan took a deep breath, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know that I want you in it. I care about you more than I ever thought possible.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with emotion, and she reached out to take his hand. “Logan, I’ve never met anyone like you. You’ve shown me a side of life I never knew existed. I want to be with you, too.”

The words were simple, but they held a depth of feeling that transcended any grand gestures. Logan pulled Y/N into a gentle embrace, his heart swelling with a love he had fought so hard to keep at bay.

As they stood there, holding each other against the backdrop of the city, Logan realized that he had finally found something worth fighting for—a love that was both unexpected and profoundly real. And in Y/N’s arms, he knew that he had finally found a place where he truly belonged.

Hey guys so idk if Wade is gonna be in it anymore but if you wan more of this let me know if I should write more

Xoxo

#logan howlett #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #fluff #slow burn #cute

48 notes · View notes

three--rings · 1 year

Text

OFMD and Rime of the Ancient Mariner

I have to shout out @nonsensicalramblings79 who wrote their own analysis of the connections. It's very worth reading. But I want to talk less about symbols and more just bits of the poem that vibe with the season so far.

The "impossible bird" that Ed references in ep 1 immediately made me think of an albatross, because there was a sailor legend that albatrosses always flew across the ocean and never stopped on land.

And because there's a strong connection between sailors and albatrosses, most famously as a result of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1834).

So because the other post linked above didn't quote the actual poem much, that's what I'd like to do to point out WHY it feels like this is an actual connection.

First of all, the poem takes place At a Wedding, in which the Ancient Mariner is a fairly unwelcome guest. We learn at the end that he is cursed for the rest of his life to forcibly spill out his story to people when he sees someone who he's Meant to tell. So he's talking to a Wedding Guest in the middle of a wedding party.

It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din.'

This is how it begins. The mariner has a "long grey beard and glittering eye." Okay, Ed-core. He's at a wedding and stops this bridegroom's next of kin, who complains why are you making a fuss, the party is going on right now, they're going to hear you. Definitely evoking Ed crashing the wedding in ep 1.

So the Mariner was on a ship, a storm came and blew them off course, then they saw an albatross in the sky and were able to get free of the ice. I find it interesting that the albatross:

It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew... And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo!

The albatross ate the food it had never eaten, it flew around and came everyday when they called it for food and play. This evokes Ed and Stede in their honeymoon days on the Revenge, Ed trying new food, them playing different roles and eating good meals...

Then more fog and ice came and so the Mariner shoots the albatross. Everyone is happy about it because they think it brought bad weather until they become becalmed. We get the most famous lines of the poem:

Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink.

That has nothing to do with OFMD it's just Good Poem. I do find the next stanza evocative:

The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

Very Kraken-y. It will come up again. The crew decides the Mariner did this to them by killing the albatross that had been their friend and good luck. They tie the bird around his neck as a mark of his crime.

It goes on to describe them all dying of thirst and how then Death comes on them and all the men on the ship, 200 of them, die EXCEPT for the Mariner. All of them die looking him directly in the eye, cursing him in death.

Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.

So I said the slimy things would be back, the Mariner is relating himself to them, again like Ed and the Kraken. Here we get to the part of the poem that is about the Mariner's inability to die. He's been cursed and so he cannot die, despite his desperate situation. This is where it really resonates with Ed in the early eps of S2. He desperately wants to die. He feels he is a curse on humanity, which he acts out in his violence, and also a curse on his crew, who he is ruining. He wants to die but cannot, despite all his attempts at getting someone to kill him.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.

He tries to pray, but his heart is "dry as dust" and he cannot. But after seven days he starts watching the snakes in the water and enjoys the beauty of the world around him, and the albatross falls off of his neck and he can pray. He prays and basically a spirit or God or Mary answers him. It rains and he drinks water and then the corpses of the crew, which have not rotted at all, stand up inhabited by spirits and begin working the ship again. Wind carries it back to his home.

Yeah zombie sailors, dead men crewing a ship, WAY before Pirates of the Carribean.

So anyway, eventually he hears two voices speaking on the air.

'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.' The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.'

I find the lines about the spirit who loved the albatross, who loved this man, who shot him. So the Mariner killed something who loved him, and that was his sin that brought the curse on him. But now he's done penance and will do more and that's why he can be saved.

Could make a connection to Ed shooting Izzy, but also it feels like Stede is also the albatross, but rather than Ed killing him, the albatross failed to love him? IDK Maybe Stede is the spirit who loved Ed the albatross and Blackbeard killed the Ed that Stede loved....that fits best. And it's the spirit who saved him ultimately. As Stede in mermaid form saves Ed.

Getting to that, the boat approaches land.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree?

Lighthouse imagery, of course. So a boat approaches this ship, with a "Good Hermit" in it. The ship however basically cracks in half and sinks right in the bay, and they fish the Mariner our of the water and think he is dead, but he wakes up and scares the crap out of them. Then he starts to row for shore.

'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row.'

They call him The Devil, which I point out because Ed calls himself that.

Basically he tells his whole story and here is where we learn he's compelled to tell his story when he meets the right people. He closes by talking about how alone alone alone he was and how he appreciates being with people and walking to church with them, going to a wedding. And also learned how important it is to cherish all creatures in the world.

And finally the Wedding Guest who heard this whole story:

He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.

IDK I just like this image of being sadder and wiser when you wake up in the morning, which again feels evocative to how Ed is going to wake up maybe?

IDK. I don't think we can say "oh clearly they had this poem in mind while writing these episodes", but they feel to me like they were written with this somewhere in the back of their minds. The reference to the impossible bird feels very much like a literary reference to an albatross, which would immediately conjure the "what happens if you kill an albatross" from this poem.

If you're still reading, hope you enjoyed this little journey into poetry. I'd encourage you to read the whole thing. It's very very weird and unique.

#ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd meta #poetry #rime of the ancient mariner #my meta

85 notes · View notes

askstevella · 2 months

Text

Steve & The Body Pillow // Stevella Fic

- Steve Rogers x Wife!OC

As of late Stella has been obsessed with her new Instagram account since she started posting pictures on there. She wasn’t much of a social media person but currently posting on her story and sharing pictures has become her favorite thing after noticing a couple of their friends do it.

Meanwhile Steve is not.

He could care less about social media platforms. However, he does use them for plenty of reasons himself such as posting pictures of events he’s at, announcements about things like getting a dog or building something for himself and videos of his friends and family members.

Of course he found it nice that his wife wanted to showcase her life on the internet and know what others are up to.

He liked it and told her if he liked a photo or not in her comment section with a remark about it.

One day he decided to have a little fun with his wife’s new tendency toward her phone.

After a long day of working, taking Astro for a walk with the family and helping their friends with dinner, Stella wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with her husband.

As her head hit the pillow, she lets out a content sigh. She smiles to herself and cozies up under the blankets.

Steve joins her a few minutes later and so does an obnoxiously large pillow. Stella has seen a couple versions of that pillow being past around the gang plenty of times before. Steve insisted it could help with his sleep and seeing how popular it was with blogs posts he saw in the group chat with the heroes.

Mia got it for Rochelle who later on gave it to Liane then it pasted onto Rick and so forth. Soon enough everyone was using it to sleep!

It got to a point where they had to buy a couple hundred more of the damn pillow.

Here Stella was staring at the thing. She didn’t think it would end up taking up half of the bed and keeping Steve away from her. She’s been so used to cuddling Steve for years, and now that damn pillow was preventing her from getting close.

Steve rolled his eyes, “I swear you’re someone else sometimes.”

“This isn’t fair. I wanted cuddles with my hunk of a man after a long day!” She complains.

“And I want to be able to sleep without my back hurting but here we are.”

“I’ll give you a back massage.”

“No thanks.”

“I’ll be the big pillow you need instead of that thing.”

“Nope.”

She huffed with her arms cross, “How am I gonna get any sleep now?”

“Close your eyes and count some sheep.” Steve curls up around his body pillow, his eyes closing and a soft smile of contentment appearing over his face.

However she was still pouting.

“What now?” Steve asks, his eyes still shut and a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

“How do you do that?” She sits up and leans in to wave her hand in front of Steve’s face. “Do you have an extra pair of eyes?”

He chuckled, “Stop babe. I want some sleep.”

“I wanted to be your body pillow and have some cuddles. That’s all I ask..”

“Why? So you can post more about it? No thanks.”

Stella’s eyebrow furrowed a bit as she let that sink in and scoffed, “Oh! So that’s what this is all about? You brought that damn pillow out of spite.”

“I knew you would figure it out. Why are you being so annoying?” He said as he sassed her and shoot his eyes open.

“And why you being so mean?”

“What! I am not being mean.”

“Oh right, no, you’re being petty.”

“Babe.”

“…okay fine, I can be annoying.”

“Try a lot.”

“Okay, I’ve been very annoying lately with my posting phase. I’m sorry.”

“I just wish you wouldn’t document every single thing we do.”

“But you said that you found it nice and I can post stuff about our lives—”

“I know what I said! But sometimes I want you to put the phone down and focus on what’s happening in front of you instead of experiencing it all through the phone.”

Stella felt slightly uncomfortable by his words, she knew he was right, but she hated that he had to go out and say it like that. She huffed and pouted, crossing her arms.

“Don’t even give me that look.” Steve said.

“What look?” She replied.

“You know the look. Sorry, sweetheart, but it’s the truth. Let me ask you something.”

“Mhm..”

“Why are you here being obsessed with this?”

“Uh…I don’t know, I fell in love with sharing our stories instead of the press releasing stuff about our experiences..”

That caused Steve to paused and rested his head against the pillow to face her better. He knew Stella enjoy the game of social media but hated the press coverage with great passion, hell they were the ones who told the world about them and their relationship first. Not them!

She didn’t get a say in what happened or could be said. He didn’t like it either—he hated it, he wasn’t one to be the news outlets dancing monkey.

He then asked, “So your doing this, for fans, friends and whatnot could get to know us better..? Not to have pressure of the press on our backs..”

She just nodded and covered her face. She sniffled chuckling at how easy and silly it sounded, yet it looked like a whole bunch of other things.

“Babe, I get it.” Steve said after a brief silence before letting out a sigh, “But I do want you to experience things in the moment and not across a phone. Not post about every single thing, okay?”

“It’s getting kinda annoying, isn’t it?” She muttered.

“Yeah. It is. Next time tell me what you’re doing or what you’re going to post.”

“Why? So you can have a piece of all the action too?”

Steve nodded and smirked, “I mean, yeah! I want to have a say in this.”

“Fair, you should.” She replied chuckling a bit, “I will let you know what happens and you can have a say in all of it.”

“And I was always the better photographer anyway.”

“Hey!”

“Just stating the facts!”

Stella playfully glares at him meanwhile Steve just laughed and snorted.

“Can I have my husband please?” She pleaded chuckling.

“Let me think.” He stated and then smirked, “No.”

“Excuse me?! We made up, this is part where we get to kiss and cuddle.”

“You need a tiny punishment, for at least a little while longer.”

“Steve…”

“You’ll get your cuddles in the morning instead.”

“I—!”

He suddenly looped his finger underneath her chin and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. She made a soft noise at the action then smiled pressing a kiss in return.

And we’re done! ✔️ Let me know what you think 💭

Tags 🏷️ @rickb-chaos @purpleprincessonfyre @marvelsfavoriteuncle @therealdaydreamstark @ask-missparker @ask-starrk @askstevella @sci-fi-lexcon @luna-d-marsh @ethan-lensherr @wizzzardofoz z @thechoooooosenone @jackiequick @gcthvile @cherrysft @blueboirick @meiramel @elzabeth-stark @missstrawbs2001 @trulysummersprivate @yetanotherwells @gaminggirlsstuff @fluffystevefest

#steve rogers x oc #stevella #steve rogers #ask the super spouses #mcu x oc #askstevella #short ficlet #short story #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #short fanfic

11 notes · View notes

themirokai · 5 months

Text

In anticipation of posting a new part of my His Professional Capacity series for the first time in three years, I'm posting the other stories in the series here on tumblr, in hopes of enticing new people to read them and check out the new one when it's posted.

First story is up over here. Next we've got:

The Dangerous Parts

Six months after the events of What He Does, a "business trip" of Mycroft's goes horribly wrong and Greg and Mycroft must deal with the aftermath.

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Physical injuries, References to torture, Hospital visit, BAMF Mycroft Holmes, Love confessions, Alternating POV

~ 3,638 words, minor tweaks from the version on AO3.

Note: As the tags imply, this is a heavier one. I used "Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings" for this story because while it does not contain graphic descriptions of violence, it does contain descriptions of injuries caused by violence. Please take care if that's not for you.

Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

Greg picked his ringing mobile up off the desk and saw that the call was coming from an unlisted number. He felt hope surge. Maybe Mycroft’s mobile had just been damaged. Maybe Greg had spent the previous two days sick with worry over nothing.

“Lestrade.”

“Inspector.” The voice was female and crisp.

“Anthea?”

“Yes.”

“Is he back? Is everything alright?” Greg could hear how frantic his voice sounded, and made himself swallow. Take a breath. “I thought he would be back in touch two days ago.”

The PA paused and Greg’s stomach sank. She was preparing to handle him.

“He is back. He will be fine. But he’s currently in hospital. I will pick you up in ten minutes.”

Greg felt the world spin away from him. “I’ll be outside,” he managed to murmur before ringing off. He stared at the phone in his hand. “I love you,” he whispered.

It had been six months with Mycroft. Six mad, blissful months of dinner dates, and late night drinks, and truly spectacular sex, and the rare, rare morning when Mycroft was still there when he woke up which often lead to more spectacular sex. It wasn’t all perfect. Mycroft traveled a lot and worked even more. Greg didn’t see him nearly as much as he wanted to, and couldn’t help but worry every time Mycroft went dark for a few days. But it was good. It was really, really good. Early in those six months Greg had started calling Mycroft “darling” which he could tell Mycroft liked by the way his eyes crinkled just a little in the corners every time he did it. He had referred to Mycroft, sort of jokingly, as his “lover” when he mentioned him to others, since “boyfriend” felt too juvenile.

But he had never said it. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He had whispered it while alone in the shower numerous times, practicing for when he finally decided that it was The Time. The Time, however, remained elusive. He knew Mycroft liked him, cared about him, enjoyed his company. Greg was pretty sure that with all the responsibilities and machinations and decisions with enormous stakes that Mycroft dealt with every day, Greg was a respite: pleasant, uncomplicated, good for a meal and a shag, someone to complain to about Sherlock who really understood, easy on the eyes if Greg was feeling full of himself.

If Greg tried to make it more than that, if he whispered that electric phrase - much less shouted it from the rooftops like he wanted to - what would Mycroft think? How would Her Majesty’s Spymaster (or so Greg thought of him, Mycroft had never said what his title actually was, or if he even had an official title, or, for that matter, technically confirmed that he was a spy) react to some inconsequential detective saying words that would make their pleasant fling something serious. What if Mycroft pushed him away?

And now something had gone wrong on one of Mycroft’s trips to god knows where. Mycroft was hurt, badly enough to be hospitalized, and Greg had never told him. Had never said it.

But here he was in the back of a black car, being taken to see Mycroft in hospital. That had to mean something, didn’t it? You didn’t have your casual fling brought to see you convalescing, did you? Or maybe Anthea just liked him? Greg tried to calm the swirl of emotion and process what the woman was actually saying. Broken bones. Internal bleeding. Bruising. Dehydration.

It sounded not fatal. Greg rubbed his forehead and tried to force himself to feel relief. “But. How? He - he has protection. What happened?”

Anthea stared out the window for a moment, considering the version of events she could tell him. “He was in another country, conducting a negotiation. With people. It was not going well. For the people. So they decided to take him hostage and try to use him for leverage. They overwhelmed and badly injured his team.”

“His team… was it just the two blokes who are on his security detail now? The blonde and the one with the broken nose?” Greg had managed to clock them on every date so far, but hadn’t gotten their names.

“I can’t tell you that, Inspector.”

Greg sighed, and silently hoped for the security detail’s safety. They seemed like decent enough chaps, even if only seen from afar. “What else can you tell me? How long did they have him? How did he get back?”

“As soon as we found out what happened we sent an extraction team in. They were successful in recovering him and the team and getting them back. It took 33 hours to plan, deploy, and execute the operation.”

The hitch in the normally crisp voice told Greg how hard those 33 hours were for the woman sitting across from him, even though her face was hard.

“Have you phoned Sherlock?” he asked gently.

“No.” The crispness had returned to her voice.

“Would you like me to?”

“Mr. Holmes’s explicit instructions in the event of his serious injury or illness are that his brother is not to be informed unless his particular talents would be in some way useful or unless Mr. Holmes clearly and cogently requests Sherlock’s presence.”

Greg frowned. Explicit instructions? Of course Mycroft would have a plan for something like this, he certainly had the scars to prove it was necessary. But that would mean… well, he was here talking to her, wasn’t he? He pushed down his cowardice: there were already too many things he wasn’t saying. “Are there explicit instructions about me?”

Anthea’s eyes softened minutely. “You’re to be told as much of the truth as is safe and brought to him as soon as it is safe to do so. He’s been in surgery to repair the internal injuries and set his broken arm and leg. He’ll be out by the time we get there, but likely not awake yet.”

Greg took a breath. “Alright. That’s… alright.”

Anthea’s heels clicked down the wide hallway of the hospital. “You should prepare yourself, Inspector. He has extensive bruising. It looks bad.” She cleared her throat. “But the doctors are confident he will make a full recovery.”

Greg nodded, his heart in his throat. At the end of the hall was a door guarded by two burly men in suits he had never seen before. As they approached, Greg saw that the men had done nothing to conceal the guns they carried.

“Not the normal security detail, then?” he asked Anthea quietly.

“No,” she answered. “The security provided by field agents is best when Mr. Holmes is in the field, which he won’t be for some time. Until he’s back on his feet he’ll have more … traditional guards.” She paused in front of the door and addressed the guards. “This is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade of New Scotland Yard. As discussed, he is permitted full access to Mr. Holmes.”

Each of the men gave a small nod. Greg cleared his throat. “Yeah, thanks,” he mumbled.

“You can go in,” Anthea told him. “I’m going to speak to the surgeon.”

Greg stepped between the guards and opened the door, but then stopped halfway into the room with his hand on the doorknob. There was a rushing sound in his ears and his knees had gone wobbly. Mycroft, oh Mycroft.

No, no, that wouldn’t do. He couldn’t fall to pieces. That’s not what Mycroft would want. Too much sentiment. Complicated, not easy. No. Greg shut the door behind him, squeezed his eyes shut and breathed, in through his nose, out through his mouth. Alright. He had seen scores of car wreck victims, assault victims, victims of attempted murder. Corpses. Greg Lestrade had seen more broken bodies than he could remember. One more wouldn’t upend him, even if that one more belonged to… to… I love you. NO! Not that. One more wouldn’t upend him, even if that one more belonged to Mycroft Holmes, the man he was dating. Greg could do this. He opened his eyes again.

The figure in the bed was as white as the sheets on which he lay, except for where he was covered by ugly purple and black bruises. ‘Extensive’ was a good word for the bruising, Greg decided. There was a cast on Mycroft’s right forearm. Thank god he’s a lefty, Greg thought. Mycroft’s left leg was encased in a large metal cage that extended up to his hip. Broken femur? Greg wondered. It’s almost impossible to break your femur. Christ, what had they done to him? Mycroft’s eyes were closed and wires and tubes connected him to several machines next to the bed. Greg forced himself to move closer. Rope … rope burns on his neck, along with bruising. Oh god. No, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Greg pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat. He reached for Mycroft’s hand. Oh, that beautiful hand, those long slender fingers… the knuckles were bruised and scraped, the normally pristine fingernails broken and torn. Oh he fought back. The bloody idiot fought back! Would … would it be this bad if he hadn’t fought back? Would his fucking femur be broken if he had just gone along?

Greg took another breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth and felt something start to boil in his stomach. Why hadn’t Mycroft been protected? How could he have been taken captive? Why had he had to fight? There had been rope around his neck, clearly he was fighting for his life. Why? Who was responsible? Who had let this happen to him?

The door opened and he heard Anthea’s heels click into the room as she came to stand beside his chair. “The surgeon said that everything went well. She was able to stop all of the internal bleeding. He’s badly bruised but no major organ damage. His arm set well and should heal with no problem. The leg also set well and will take time, but ultimately should be fine.”

“Why?” Greg’s voice was a low growl in his throat.

“Inspector?”

“Why did this happen to him? Why wasn’t he properly protected? Why did he have to fight for his fucking life with a rope around his neck?” Greg slowly stood and faced Anthea.

She was about his height in her heels and gave him an even stare. “I have told you as much as I can, Inspector.”

“This is bullshit!” Greg growled. “You people can keep him under armed guard 24/7, but you can’t prevent this? You can’t keep him from having to fight for his life with his bare fucking hands?!”

A muscle in Anthea’s jaw twitched. “He wasn’t fighting for his life,” she said quietly, looking away from Greg.

“What? He-”

“He wasn’t fighting for his life,” Anthea said more forcefully, meeting Greg’s eyes again. “He was forcing them to hurt him.”

“What are you talking about? That’s absurd!”

One of Anthea’s eyebrows quirked up in a clear gesture of ‘Do you think so?’ Out loud she said, “He fought back so that they couldn’t use him for publicity.”

“What?”

“He goaded them into beating him so that they couldn’t put his picture on the internet without looking like monsters.”

“No! No, that’s - that’s -”

“Gregory…”

___

Mycroft woke to the sound of Gregory breathing. His eyes were still too heavy to open so he couldn’t see his visitor, but no one else besides Anthea and very carefully screened hospital personnel would be permitted in his room when he was in such a state of vulnerability. And neither Anthea nor hospital personnel would be taking deep, calming breaths from three feet away. Hm, one foot away, Mycroft corrected himself as Gregory moved closer. Mycroft heard a rough, almost pained inhale and wondered what Gregory had noticed that upset him. Mycroft assumed that the rope he had been choked with had left marks on his neck. That was likely what Gregory found distressing. There was the deep breath again.

Ah, he had pulled up a chair. The fact that Gregory kept moving closer instead of fleeing was surely a good sign. Wasn’t it? Oh dear, he was taking Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft’s own breathing became slightly more rapid at Gregory’s touch, but the detective was too absorbed to notice.

Oh heavens. The number of times Mycroft had thought of this over the last several days. Through terror and pain and the harrowing fight to maintain control of himself, to maintain the smallest particle of control of a nightmare scenario, to keep those unfortunate enough to be with him alive - Mycroft had thought about Gregory’s touch. When his body wanted nothing more than to lose consciousness, he had thought about Gregory’s hand on his stomach. When he was lying broken and bleeding, alone in the dark, he had thought about Gregory nuzzling his neck. When his people had found him, fought to free him, and were moving him - mindful of his injuries and trying to be careful, but still in haste - through the excruciating pain Mycroft thought about Gregory kissing each one of his fingers, telling him he had beautiful hands, and Mycroft had allowed himself to feel hope that he would have that again.

But Gregory was not kissing his hand now. He was taking another calming breath. If Mycroft’s hands had ever been considered beautiful, they certainly were not at this point. Mycroft could feel Gregory’s tension where their hands touched. What did it mean? Was Gregory going to pull away from him? Was all this going to be too much? Mycroft had certainly not intended to put their relationship through this trial by fire, but since it was happening it would be a useful source of information, and Mycroft had spent his adult life dedicated to the gathering and use of information.

His association with Gregory Lestrade had been immensely pleasurable, unexpectedly so. When Gregory had first asked him to dinner (“You know that I mean it as a date, right? Not just as friends, or colleagues… can I take you out on a date?” those warm brown eyes shining from under the perfect lashes) Mycroft had anticipated a pleasant dalliance at most. And perhaps it was just a dalliance. But Mycroft quickly discovered Gregory to be warm and kind, a generous lover who treated Mycroft gently and tenderly in all their interactions. Mycroft Holmes had never inspired tenderness in others, not even his family. Often respect, sometimes collegiality, intimidation, defensiveness, coldness, fear, but never tenderness and warmth. Gregory felt like spring sunlight, and Mycroft had come to bask in it. He wanted more.

But his life was not conducive to more. He loved his work. Loved the challenge, the power, the information and knowledge. Loved that he was respected and trusted by the nation’s most powerful people. Mycroft’s work meant, of course, that he dealt with things every day which he would never be able to discuss with Gregory. He would be unable to reveal where he was traveling more often than not. Was that a foundation on which to build a relationship with someone as kind and good as Gregory Lestrade? Didn’t the man deserve better?

And didn’t Gregory deserve someone who would not without warning turn up physically broken as a result of his work? While the assignments that had led to several of Mycroft’s more notable scars were largely in his past, and this most recent occurrence was outside the norm, he could not completely guarantee his own safety. Gregory had accepted Mycroft’s security detail willingly enough following the initial snafu, but what would he make of Mycroft’s current state?

Mycroft felt almost ready to open his eyes when Anthea entered. A positive report on his surgery. Good. And - oh my. Gregory was… angry? Distressed, Mycroft thought. Distressed about me and expressing it as anger. Interesting. Ah, I was correct about the source of Gregory’s upset being rope marks on my neck. As well as the state of my hand. Anthea, of course, was completely unphased. She was, by far, the least flappable person he had ever had the pleasure to work with.

On the plane back to London, after the field medics had stabilized him and administered enough painkillers that he could once again think, and he had been provided with a satellite phone that connected him to Anthea, Mycroft had toyed with the idea of having her tell Gregory that he had been in a car accident. It was the cover story he would be using for his broken arm and leg - almost nothing else could explain a broken femur - and he wouldn’t be seen in public until his other bruising had dissipated. But the thought of actively lying about this to Gregory when he had so much else he had to conceal - the thought of denying himself Gregory’s warm light until after his injuries better matched his cover, was unbearable.

And now she was telling him - oh no, she was telling him the truth, as instructed. No, Anthea, the things you admire about me are things that will make him think he should not be tender and gentle with me.

He had to stop this. He forced his eyes open. “Gregory...”

___

Greg whirled around to see Mycroft’s eyes bleary but open. “Mycroft!” he gasped. Greg dropped back into the chair, Anthea all but forgotten. He took Mycroft’s hand in both of his own, holding it softly: mindful of the bruising. He forced a grin on to his face. “Welcome back, darling.” He looked at Mycroft’s hand for a moment, searching for an unbruised place, then gently kissed the back and turned it over to kiss the palm.

Oh, Gregory was kissing his hand and smiling at him. Mycroft’s heart thundered in his chest to the extent that he marveled that some medical alarm was not set off. “Gregory… I … thank you for coming.” His voice was hoarse.

“There’s nowhere else I would be, darling. Your thugs outside will have to haul me away if you want me to go.”

Mycroft’s lungs seemed to seize for a moment. “There’s nothing I want less,” he managed. Oh more, he wanted so much more. His gaze flicked to Anthea and he cleared his throat. “Anthea.”

“Sir.”

“Thank you.” He held eye contact with her. “For everything.”

“Glad to have you back, sir.” One corner of her lips edged up slightly.

“I’ll speak with you soon, but for now please give us a few minutes.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

Greg couldn’t take his eyes from Mycroft’s face. There was a bruise on the left side of his jaw and a lump on the right side of his forehead, a cut across his cheek. The circles under his eyes were so dark they might have been bruises as well. He found an unmarked part of Mycroft’s cheek and leaned forward to kiss it. Mycroft’s breath shook on the next inhale and Greg cursed himself. “I’m sorry!” he said quickly. “Did that hurt? I shouldn’t touch you anywhere without asking.”

“No!” Mycroft replied a little louder than he intended, his hoarse voice cracking. “No, it didn’t hurt. I - um - I suppose I was just surprised that you still want to kiss me.”

Greg smiled. “What, just because you got a little banged up?” That startled a laugh out of him, and the laugh produced a wince.

Mycroft grimaced. “I haven’t seen a mirror since…” he cleared his throat, “but I can easily imagine what I look like.”

Greg kissed the back of his hand again, then the palm. “You look beautiful to me. You always look beautiful, you always will.”

Mycroft knew that he was exhausted, extensively drugged, and in immense physical pain which he was experiencing as removed from himself, due to the drugs. So perhaps his reaction should be taken with a grain of salt. However, he still felt that it was notable that prior to this week, he could not remember the last time he had felt the pressure of tears in his eyes. It tended to happen when he felt powerless. Prior to a few days ago, when he knelt on a cold floor and watched people who looked up to him be hurt, Mycroft had not been powerless for decades. But now, Gregory Lestrade held his hand and kissed him and called him beautiful. And Mycroft was rendered powerless by relief and happiness. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, looking away.

There it was. The Time. Greg carefully found an unbruised part of Mycroft’s chin and gently brought it back to face him. Greg took a breath, then started. “Mycroft, there’s so much about you I don’t know. So much I expect that I’ll never know. I can’t tell you what you deserve in the great scheme of things. I can just tell you that you have me. For whatever you want that to mean. If … if you want to keep things casual between us, then I understand. But I need you to know -” he paused, breathed, “I need you to know that I love you. I want to be with you.”

Powerless. Completely, utterly, at this man’s mercy. The tears fell.

The sight of Mycroft’s tears started Greg’s and he quickly wiped a wrist across his eyes then reached out to very carefully wipe his thumb under Mycroft’s eyes. “Don’t do that,” he sniffed. “Anthea will probably give me a broken arm to match yours if she thinks I upset you.”

Mycroft laughed and winced, then became serious. “I love you too, Gregory.”

“Can I kiss you? I’ll be gentle.”

“Yes, I know you will be.”

~*~

Thank you for reading!

The next story in the series is now up on tumblr.

#mystrade #his professional capacity #mirokai writes #greg lestrade #mycroft holmes #bbc sherlock

11 notes · View notes

kpopimagi · 5 months

Text

A Flower Under The Rain [Part 13]

Characters: Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and Kang Gyuri (OC) Genre: Angst, Romance Au: Hanahaki!Au Type: Series Word count: 4,208

It all began with a cough and then, a subtle sting in her chest. Kang Gyuri cried, knowing that in a matter of months, she would be another figure in the death toll of the most dangerous and cruelest outbreak in human history.

Baekhyun had been crying for so long that he felt dry and exhausted. When the doctors came into the room and practically snatched her body out of his arms, he couldn’t do anything else but watch them work on her. He had begged them to do something. He tried to let them know. They had to do something.

Someone pushed him out of the room as people in blue surgical gowns carried Gyuri back to the bed. He couldn’t see much after that. Someone hugged him as he cried, and he held on to those comforting arms until he couldn’t cry anymore. After that, time just flew by as he stayed in the same corner for God knows how long, too tired to move.

Slowly, the blaring machines went silent, and minute after minute, the voices from the doctors also quieted down until the hallway was in a sinking silence that was oddly foreboding. Eventually, they came out of the room, and one of them, the impossibly handsome one, approached the parents.

“She’s alright for now.” The doctor said with a grave look on his face, “We all know that she should’ve died. We have seen it, and you have heard the stories, but despite all that, her heart did not give out, which is something unheard of.”

Baekhyun and Gyuri’s parents perked up at that. They wanted to hold onto the smallest sliver of hope; however, the doctor delivered more bad news than good, making them all slouch back in their places in despair as he explained the assortment of tests they had to run and samples they had to harvest from her already mangled body.

Baekhyun had been silently tearing up in the corner, mewling things over and over in his head. He tried to understand why he screwed everything up. When did he do it? Then he heard a male nurse walk down the hallway, pushing a cart full of medical equipment that almost looked like torture tools. The handsome doctor was following, and they looked at him with curiosity.

“What’s all that for?” Baekhyun asked.

“We’re taking some samples.” The doctor said.

Baekhyun simply stared at them in disbelief, and the way they just kept going as if it were any other day, when he could still listen to her painful screams inside his head.

“You can not do that.” He interjected, “She’s in pain right now.”

The nurse looked over his shoulder at the handsome doctor, and the knowing look in his eyes was more than revealing. As if in a queue, they heard Gyuri complain on the other side of the door, and Baekhyun was on his feet in an instant.

“You won’t run any more tests,” he said, finally making them hesitate.

“She insisted.” The doctor explained.

“Of course she did.” Baekhyun said, rolling his eyes, which made the nurse and the doctor give him a weirded-out look. “She can be very stubborn, you know.”

“I’d say strong-willed,” the doctor added.

The knowing, sad smile on the doctor’s face calmed Baekhyun in a way he couldn’t understand at all. It seemed to him that the man had had his fair share of dealing with his best friend and knew that Gyuri could be a handful if she set her mind to it. He had dealt with it himself for years, and he saw it in the doctor’s face as well.

“Can I come in?” Baekhyun said, letting out a sigh.

As if the doctor were expecting nothing less from him, he agreed and ordered the nurse to give him the instructions to follow during the procedure. Once again, Baekhyun found himself stepping into the room, dressed up in surgical gear from head to toe.

Gyuri was lying on her side with her back to the door, making it the very first thing he saw. The open wound was bleeding with the smallest tremors of her body and with every labored breath that came from her small figure.

The doctor and the nurse greeted her so loudly and so carefreely that Baekhyun halted for a split second, unsure of what to do. It was the moment they let her know that he was there that Gyuri seemed to come alive. She moved, as if trying to sit in the search for him, making the skin around whatever was growing from her back tear the flesh open more. Instinctively flinching at how painful it looked, he was by her bedside before she could hurt herself more.

“Am I dead?” She asked, smiling softly at him.

“Nope,” Baekhyun replied, exaggerating the sound so his voice wouldn’t break as he gently nudged her back in the bed. "It turns out you’re quite tough.”

Gyuri chuckled, the innocuous movement making her instantly wince in pain, and Baekhyun fussed over her in response. He grabbed her hand and, as softly as he could, brushed his fingers through her hair, wishing he could take her pain away.

“Does it hurt?” Baekhyun asked, still trying to pacify her while mentally face-palming himself with the level of stupidity in his question.

And yet, she nodded as tears streamed down the side of her face, twisted in pain. The little whimper that came out of her broke his heart.

“I’m here now,” Baekhyun said, leaning closer so she could only hear him, “and I won’t leave.”

As if on cue, the doctor announced that they would begin with the procedure, and Baekhyun watched the gigantic needles the nurse prompted to the doctor, and in an urge of panic, he just diverted his attention to her hand and her knuckles covered in scabs.

“You’ll feel pressure on your back and then a crack,” the doctor warned. “I’ll try to be as fast as possible, so hang in there, alright?”

Gyuri nodded, and the crack of bones was immediate. She flinched, squeezing his hand, and Baekhyun found himself flinching just as much. He whispered whatever came to his mind to keep hers out of the procedure when he noticed something he had never seen before.

"Uhm, doctor?" He said, unsure of how to even explain it, “Something is happening.”

"We're almost done." The doctor replied, his attention entirely focused on her back.

"I bet, but she's crying."

"You're doing great, Gyuri." The doctor assured her, his entire body completely still, "We're about to finish."

"They're white," Baekhyun said, making the doctor and the nurse look at him. "Her tears are white."

It was fast, but he saw the glint of surprise in the doctor’s eyes behind his face shield, but a flash of unweavering determination instantly replaced it. The doctor and the nurse resumed their work, and when they were done with the pipes, as if nothing unexpected had happened, the doctor went around the bed and focused on her face. Without any exchange of words, Baekhyun scrambled up to his feet and stepped aside to give the doctor some room, but Gyuri's fingers were constricted around his hand, not letting him go.

"Don't worry, I'm still here," he whispered, squeezing her fingers back.

Once the nurse labeled all the previous samples, Baekhyun observed the doctor scooping the white tears off her face, flashing a light into her eyes, and asking Gyuri things about the sensation behind her eyeballs as he gently dipped his fingers across her features as if looking for something while the nurse recorded everything with a cellphone.

When they were done, the doctor gave some instructions that only the nurse understood, and he went into full operational mode. He prepared a new bag of fluids and changed it, as well as injecting something else into her IV. Baekhyun watched every movement like a hawk, as if he knew a thing about what was going on.

"I'll give you a nice cocktail of sugary fluids to rehydrate you and painkillers so you can rest for a few hours. What does that sound like?" The nurse said with a tender smile.

His tone was so amicable that Gyuri found it reassuring but too exhausted to reciprocate the tone; she only nodded, closing her eyes and holding Baekhyun’s hand even tighter. However, the peaceful moment was broken in an instant when she hissed. The sound was so foreign for Baekhyun that he just stared at her body, seemingly coming back to life. She cried out, almost sitting up while rubbing a hand over her forearm. Unfazed, the nurse returned to the IV and adjusted the nubs. The quick fix seemed to work because Gyuri calmed down quite instantly, relaxing again on the bed.

"Jongdae," the doctor said with a hard tone no one had heard before. "Be careful. No more mistakes."

The doctor expected an apology, but the nurse didn't even move. He called him once again, his tone harsher, and Baekhyun simply looked to one and the other, not knowing what to expect.

"But it wasn't a mistake." Nurse Jongdae finally mumbled, with a deep frown on his face. "I used the same drip count as usual."

As if knowing the nurse was onto something, the handsome doctor grabbed the chart from the cart and read through it with a frown. Then they started an exchange of questions and answers that neither Gyuri nor Baekhyun understood.

"Are you sure about it?" He asked, his face twisting just like the nurse.

"Positive." The nurse said.

"What's wrong?" Gyuri asked, opening her eyes, and they could see the fright in them.

"We'll have to take another blood sample." The doctor said while still reading the chart.

"She asked what was wrong," Baekhyun said, getting closer without letting her hand go.

"It felt like something burned inside your arm, didn't it?" Nurse Jongdae asked with a light-hearted tone, preparing for the new sample.

Gyuri nodded, and the nurse gently asked her to let Baekhyun's hand go. Just like he did before, he assured her that he wasn't going anywhere, and finally, she let him go.

"The IV was dropping into your system, but your veins couldn't handle it." The nurse explained as he prepared her arm to take the sample, "It felt like they were about to pop, right?"

"Is that something you can feel?" Baekhyun wondered out loud, scandalized, "Veins can burst open?"

"Vein shrinking isn't in itself bad," the doctor added, observing the nurse fill the tube with her blood. "There are many reasons why it could happen, but never on such short notice. That's why we need the sample to see what is causing it."

Baekhyun had a million questions, but as if that uncertain answer was enough, Gyuri closed her eyes and nodded. Suddenly, she looked way too frail, too pale, and too defeated, and Baekhyun understood, just with a glimpse of her small body sinking into the bed, that she didn't need all the answers or good news about her condition. She let out a soft sigh and let the painkillers take her away for a while. Feeling the back of his eyes burning, Baekhyun swallowed back the powerlessness and went back to his place next to her. He grabbed her hand again, whispered to her to have a good sleep, and stayed there until she drifted away.

It wasn’t that long before Baekhyun couldn’t handle the sound of the beeping machines and the nauseous smell anymore. The shock and adrenaline wore off, and the exhaustion finally started to kick in while his cellphone kept buzzing in his pocket. All of that and the heaviness in his limbs made him want to leave the room, lay down, and sleep for days.

Once he made sure Gyuri was completely under the medication, he stepped out of the room and found the nurse restocking the supply cart by the door. Without asking, the nurse helped him out of the surgical gear, and once free of it, he felt lost and clueless.

“Hey, what’s happening to her?” Baekhyun asked, unable to move.

“Didn’t Kyungsoo tell you?” The nurse asked instead as he resumed his restocking duties.

The silence that followed was deafening. Baekhyun stayed rooted in his spot, and he wanted to reply, but he was even more lost than before. He didn’t know what was happening other than that Gyuri was dying. When the nurse noticed the lack of response, he dropped what he was doing to consider him, making Baekhyun feel exposed under his scrutiny.

“I can’t really disclose that type of information.” The nurse said.

However, Baekhyun did not react. He just waited for the guy to give him at least some sort of answer. Realizing the guy wouldn’t drop the subject until he got an explanation, the nurse let out a tired sigh.

“Just wait here.”

The nurse left him without a word, and still kind of dazed by the rapidity of everything, Baekhyun waited in the same spot, afraid of moving, until the doctor, who in his opinion was way too handsome to be a doctor, came out of the office and greeted him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He led Baekhyun to another tiny room where a bunch of beeping monitors were set up, and it took him a minute to realize that all those monitors were cameras recording Gyuri from every angle and keeping up with her vitals.

“I’m Doctor Kim,” the doctor introduced himself as he moved a couple of chairs for them to sit in, “and I’ll be in charge of taking care of Gyuri.”

Baekhyun bowed his head and looked at the monitors; some showed a fast-sleeping Gyuri, and others focused on the damned thing sticking out of her back.

“This looks like a lab experiment taken out of a sci-fi movie.” Baekhyun pointed it out, but the doctor didn’t seem to get offended.

“She signed up for the research program on the disease.” Dr. Kim said with a serious expression, and Baekhyun lowered his head, feeling his eyes burning.

“And you brought me here to watch her die?” Baekhyun finally snapped, rubbing the tears from his eyes. “Is that it?”

“We brought you here because we believe you might have some answers to her pain.” The doctor said.

“I thought the curse was incurable.” Baekhyun gasped, another tiny speck of hope lighting up in his chest once again.

“It still is,” the doctor said with a sigh as he looked at the monitors, “but her body is reacting to the disease in a way no one has ever seen before.”

“And you need me to know why,” Baekhyun added.

Dr. Kim nodded, expecting to find more resistance from the guy, but there was nothing else to discuss. Baekhyun didn’t need any convincing. He was ready.

“Let’s do it.” He said, feeling braver than he had ever felt in his entire life. “I’m in, or whatever it is for you to take samples of my blood and all that stuff. I want to do it.”

What had happened to Kyungsoo in the last few hours was a complete blur to him. His memories all blended together, from Minseok carrying him to blurry faces coming in and out of his vision. Then alarms were blaring. People argued. His heart was sinking. His world kept falling apart. The walls crashed down on him. Jolting himself awake, Kyungsoo opened his eyes and looked around. He recognized his bearings, as in one of the guest rooms on the second floor of the house. He placed a hand on his chest, making sure there were no roots moving underneath his skin, but nothing felt out of place. His body felt just as heavy, and his heart thumped just as hard, just as steady. Everything was alright.

It wasn’t dark outside anymore. The sky was bright, and sunlight was seeping into the room, welcoming a new day. It was a bright new day, and Kyungsoo wondered if he was dead. His head pounded when he sat up straight, feeling sick to his stomach. The discomfort made him groan, and his throat burned, coarse for some reason.

“Good morning.” A known voice said.

Kyungsoo looked up to find Junmyeon there, reading something from a folder in one hand and holding a cup of coffee in the other. His voice was stern, and putting the folder down on his lap, the doctor rubbed a hand over his eyes and furrowed brows. He looked exhausted.

“What happened?” Kyungsoo asked, clearing his throat.

“You had a good old panic attack.” He said, observing him.

“What?” Kyungsoo couldn’t hide his surprise. “No, I felt it grow, hyung. It was growing again.”

“You’re clean.” Junmyeon said, with a smile, albeit small and disappointed, “Other than the normal traces of chlorophyll in your blood levels like everyone else with the disease has, there are no roots, no dormant anomalous cells, nothing out of the ordinary as far as we can see. I would even dare to say that you’re as healthy as you could possibly be.”

Kyungsoo felt his body getting instantly lighter and pressed both hands against his chest in disbelief that there was nothing foreign in there. He had spent years in the dark about the curse, fearing it would come back to claim his life when he least expected it, only to discover that he was okay. He was safe.

Junmyeon wouldn’t lie about something like that. If he said he was cured, he knew he should believe it. But he couldn’t believe it. He rubbed his hands across his chest, expecting to feel the roots slowly spreading beneath his skin like he did years before, but there was nothing. All he felt was his flesh, sensitive and alive, and his heart was unweavering despite his worst fears and nightmares. His eyes blurred with all the years of unshed tears and contained hopes, and everything finally seemed to burst in a sudden wave of joy.

A bliss that did not last.

His happiness wouldn't be complete if she wasn’t there. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he relished in the relief she couldn’t get, and as fast as all of his emotions exploded, everything in him sank in worry. If he could beat it, so would she, and he would not be at ease until she was safe as well.

“How’s Gyuri?” He asked, and all of his senses suddenly became clear and sharp.

“Out of danger,” Junmyeon said, his entire posture changing, “for now.”

When Baekhyun accepted to be part of the research on the disease, he never imagined that said involvement meant being in an empty office, signing NDAs, reading contracts, and answering questionnaires. Once done with all the paperwork and rubbing the tiredness off his eyes, he was taken to a room on the second floor where he could clean himself and rest for a moment until the new shift would officially admit him into the program and finally begin with the research.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, Baekhyun noticed the two beds. He halted, observing the perfectly done bed and then the second one, which had clearly been used quite recently. He was too tired to care and dragged his feet to the washroom to take a shower. He hadn’t realized just how exhausted he was until he laid down on the freshly made bed and fell asleep almost immediately. Sometime later, a nurse knocked at his door and guided him back through the main hallway. They were about to reach the small office where he had spent several hours already when the suspicious penguin-faced accountant came out, dressed in a hospital gown and dragging an IV stand along.

“Wow, is he part of the research as well?” Baekhyun asked the nurse.

However, he got no answer as the guy walked past without even giving them a glance, and he was long gone before the nurse could even begin to explain.

“Wait a second, is he sick as well?” Baekhyun whispered loudly, his mind fully working after a good nap. “Was it Gyuri?”

“I can’t disclose that information.” The nurse replied as they reached the door to Gyuri’s room.

Baekhyun would’ve tried to pry the information out of her, most likely using his charms to get any juicy details on his best friend’s new, shady boyfriend, but getting back to the place where she was made him forget about it in a second. Those details lost all their value when the nurse handed him a brand new face mask and opened the door to let him into the room that looked nothing like the place he remembered from hours before.

Gyuri was still under the medication, but the bed and all of her beeping machines were moved further left to make some room for another bed. His bed, and just like hers, there were cameras and machines around it, as if on a grand stage, ready to record every little one of his movements.

Hesitant, Baekhyun went into the room, looking over at Gyuri and her small figure, barely giving any signs of life. He was about to walk over when the nurse pulled a curtain in his way, creating a divide between him and her.

“Let’s get you settled first, and once she's out of it, you’ll have time to talk to her.” The nurse said with forced politeness.

Leading him toward the second bed, Baekhyun followed the instructions, and in no time, he was wearing a hospital gown, laying down on a hospital bed, with an IV on his arm and another half a dozen monitors connected to his body. The smell wasn’t nearly as strong as before, but it was now mixed with what he guessed were cleaning chemicals that made it revolt in a different kind of way.

Suddenly, he wanted to call his parents. He felt the urge to talk to them, to tell them how much he loved them, to say his goodbyes, but then reminded himself that he couldn’t say a word about this. With the nurse gone and left with the only company of the sounding machinery around him, his mind started to reel with theories. Granted, he had never been part of something of the sort, but he knew all the NDAs were not normal. He also knew the shady accountant had something to do with it all, but his train of thought was cut off. The door opened, and then an unusual silence followed, which made Baekhyun close his eyes and pretend to be asleep. There was no need for that, but the soft sound of the footsteps of whoever came into the room made him do it. The nurses he had seen so far were loud and lively, as if their noise could cheer their only patient up to wellness. However, this person was too cautious and too quiet. He wanted to open an eye to see who it was when he heard the sound of the curtain between him and Gyuri being pushed aside.

There was no greeting and no questions, just a heavy silence that was almost unbearable, and when his patience almost ran out, the curtain fell back in place and the person walked away. Relieved and holding his breath, Baekhyun opened his eyes. He was alone on his sterile side of the room and stayed still, trying his hardest to listen to what was happening on the other side of the curtain, but his curiosity eventually got the best of him. Baekhyun stretched an arm as far as all the wires stuck to his skin allowed him to and gently nudged the curtain aside just enough to peek out.

The accountant was there, propped on Gyuri’s bed, gently brushing her hair out of her face. She didn’t react, of course, but the guy didn’t seem to mind as he held her hand between his with the utmost care before leaning closer to press his forehead against her temple.

“I brought him here for you.” The guy said.

His words were a mere whisper that rang so loudly in the otherwise silent room that Baekhyun was afraid everything could be heard, even his heartbeat. He could even feel it ringing in his ears.

“You can’t leave now.” The accountant continued. “Please.”

Baekhyun saw the guy kiss the side of her head, and in a burst of shyness, he slowly put the curtain back in place, feeling his cheeks burning. As if he had intruded in one of the most intimate moments of the couple, Baekhyun wished he hadn’t seen or heard what happened, but the gentleness in the guy’s actions was quite impossible to forget.

Finding himself frustrated once again by the penguin-faced accountant, Baekhyun rolled to his side in a huff and pushed every nice thought he had about the guy. Because no matter how nice he could be to Gyuri, he was convinced there was something shady about him. Something so big, even Gyuri tried her best to hide, and Baekhyun had to close his eyes to stop his mind from derailing even further. Because it didn’t matter what great mistery the guy could hide. All that mattered to him was to do his best for Gyuri. And if that meant he had to get along with him, he would.

He would do anything.

For Gyuri, he would.

So... Why do I keep making Baekhyun more and more flawed? Ayyyy....Don't hate him too much please, he doesn't know any better 😅 Anyway, we're in the last stretch of the story. Just a couple of chapters left and this will be over. If you're still here, reading this story and reading through this ending note, please leave a comment with what you think will happen next. I have a few loose ends that I still don't know how to settle so I would like to hear your thoughts on this. So just as I say every time, Thank you!

#EXO #Kyungsoo #Baekhyun #Hanahaki #EXO Fanfic #EXO Fanfiction #Angst #Romance #Hanahaki Disease

8 notes · View notes

abarbaricyalp · 3 months

Note

hey!! <3 Too Sweet for the wip game if you’re still doing it because i still remember you mentioning you were working on it (haven’t stopped thinking about it since)

I can't remember what I said when I first started talking about it, so apologies if this a repeat! WIP Game

Too Sweet is based on the Hozier song, obvi! It's told from Bucky's point of view as he watches Sam date, and recover, from a variety of partners who should be ideal for him, but just don't work out for one reason or another--usually related to what Sam was attracted to about them in the first place. Someone kind and gentle can't handle the Captain America danger. Someone in his running group is too focused growing better for themselves. Someone who knows/works with him as Cap only treats him as Cap, etc etc. And Bucky silently pines and aches (and hates all of these people for leaving Sam) because he thinks Sam is too good for him/he's too bad for Sam. It's supposed to be a 5+1 but I dunno how many more fake partners I have in me lmao

"Don't sulk. And stop chewing on your nails," Rhodey said, appearing in the chair beside Bucky with a frankly uncanny quiet.

Bucky looked away from where his gaze was drilling into Sam and the man he was dancing with. "I'm older than you," Bucky pointed out. "You can't order me around."

"I outrank you too," Rhodey pointed out with a small smirk.