#almost choked on my Frosties | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hamsterclaw · 16 days ago

Text

An 18+ crackfic ft kth x reader.

Dedicated to Kim Taehyung's massive military arms.

Warnings: Crack, unseriousness and seriousness, medical professionals AU, mentions of blood, surgery, death, organ donation, vaping, explicit sex, birth control and copious swearing. 8k words.

start

‘Uh, guys,’ says the new intern, peering around the makeshift barrier you’ve draped between you and the surgeons. ‘There’s a lot of blood.’

‘Pretty, isn’t he?’ says the anaesthetic nurse, almost cooing.

Min Yoongi, your anaesthetic attending, looks unimpressed. ‘Who said he could look around the barrier? Threw me off my game.’

He waves his Switch dismissively. ‘Go check it out, Dr L/N. Also, Mr Kim, mind your minion.’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ snaps Mr Kim, otherwise known as Professor Kim Seokjin, head of cardiothoracics at your hospital and editor of Cardiac Surgery, the main journal for cardiothoracics in the world. (Impact factor 10.3)

You scramble round to see and realise the intern’s not lying.

‘Probably a litre of blood loss, maybe two,’ you call over the barrier.

‘I’m on it,’ calls Jung Hoseok, the perfusionist. He doesn’t quite beam his trademark sunny smile, he’s too busy running blood into the bypass circuit, but his pleasant, polite tones are a nice change from Kim Seokjin’s frosty comments and Yoongi’s grunts of disinterest.

‘You checking out my ass?’ asks Kim Taehyung, cardiothoracics fellow, deep voice lowered, a smirk you sense rather than see behind his face mask.

‘Dunno, is your ass making the patient bleed like a stuck pig?’ you retort. ‘Also, Jimin’s ass is better.’

Kim Taehyung’s brows draw together and he throws you a look that tells you that you’ll pay for that later, and it sends a delicious thrill up your spine, because Taehyung’s been looking good lately.

He always had a face to make one look twice, and now that he’s been hitting the gym and running in the mornings, he’s got a golden tan and arms that strain even through his baggy scrubs tops.

‘We have VF,’ says Yoongi, cool as a cucumber, throwing you a look. ‘Just as well we’re on bypass, but did you idiots get air in the coronaries again?’

You realise that whilst you were fantasising about Kim Taehyung choking you with his big arms and then his dick, all the alarms in your monitoring have been activated.

‘I can’t help if I make everyone’s hearts flutter,’ says Professor Kim Seokjin, Assistant Dean of the top medical school in South Korea.

‘Ah, stop,’ titters Hoyeon, the scrub nurse who’s been working with him for the last ten years but manfully pretending like it’s the first time she’s heard the joke.

The intern’s still staring, mouth agape, and you realise he’s staring at you.

‘Having a stroke?’ you ask, glaring at him.

‘Sorry noona,’ he stutters.

Beside him, Taehyung snickers. ‘Noona?’

‘Jesus fuck,’ scowls Yoongi. ‘Charge up the damn paddles and get me the fuck out of here.’

Yoongi tugs off his mask in a clear violation of operating theatre policy. ‘I’m getting coffee. If the patient dies, it’s on you.’

He tosses you a capped syringe of fentanyl and then he’s out.

Professor Kim Seokjin eyes you over the draped barrier from the lofty heights of the step he insists on using even though he’s the tallest person in the room. ‘Don’t worry about Dr Jeon, it’s his first time at everything, apparently.’

‘Apparently,’ you echo, firing up the internal defib paddles that Taehyung’s already wielding.

There’s a thin alarm that stops as the shock is delivered, restarting the heart.

Your monitoring resumes regular, steady beeping, Jung Hoseok cheers, and Dr Jeon hits the floor, twitching.

‘Fuck,’ says Professor Kim Seokjin, clinical lead for the cardiac services directorate. ‘Was he clear?’

‘Apparently not,’ sighs Hoyeon. ‘You told him to hold the retractors, didn’t you?’

You wonder if, as the last remaining anaesthetist in operating theatre 1b, you should be checking on him.

You step back round the barrier and lean over his supine form.

Dr Jeon does have pretty eyes, you note, as he blinks.

‘You’ve been defibrillated, stay still,’ you explain, reaching to check the pulse in his throat.

‘Whatever you say, noona,’ he says, his voice clear and high.

Above you, you can hear Taehyung chuckling to himself.

Yoongi reaches down and plucks the fentanyl out of your hand.

‘The patient’s BP’s up, why the hell haven’t you given this yet,’ he complains.

You stare at him, including at the smear of powdered sugar on his cheek from the doughnut he scoffed that he hasn’t bothered to wipe off. ‘Sorry, boss.’

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘The intern is fine. One shock never hurt anyone.’

‘Don’t worry, noona,’ echoes Dr Jeon, a little dreamily still. ‘I’m fine.’

You get up. ‘I’m not your noona, Dr Jeon, we’ve just met,’ you say sternly. ‘Now get up.’

***

You take a furtive look around and when the coast is clear slap the side of the vending machine with the flat of your hand.

The bag of candy you paid for dangles tantalisingly from the shelf instead of falling into the metal collection bin for you to fish out.

‘Shit fuck damnit,’ you swear, preparing to slap again.

Your wrist is caught in mid-air, and a male voice says, smoothly, ‘Allow me.’

You watch, mildly awestruck, as Kim Taehyung grips both sides of the vending machine and shakes it, jostling your candy free.

Shit. When did he get so strong?

He retrieves the bag of candy but instead of holding it out to you, he pockets it instead.

‘Tell me more about how Park Jimin’s ass is better than mine,’ he says, looking down at you.

The arrogant, gorgeous asshole.

You shove your whole hand into his pocket before he can stop you and curl your fingers around the plastic package.

‘Let me have it,’ you warn.

He smirks. ‘Whatever you want, baby.’

He leans back against the vending machine, all hooded eyes and thick muscles, and your hand stills in his pocket.

‘Tell you what,’ he says, voice all smoke and sex, tendrils of seduction curling around your ears. ‘Let’s go to the on-call room and I’ll unwrap it for you too.’

***

It’s been a while since you and Taehyung last fucked, but there’s never been anything tentative about him, not when he has you in his sights.

He curls a hand around the back of your head, widens his stance so you can reach to kiss him better, and relearns the shape of your mouth so quickly it’s like there was never a gap.

You gasp as he backs you up against the door, lifts his hips up against yours like he means to fuck you into it.

‘Taehyung ah,’ you mumble.

‘Hmm?’ he murmurs, warm breath on your cheek near your ear, his dark wavy hair tickling your ear as he kisses down your neck.

‘I was checking out your ass,’ you confess, yelping a little as he nips where your neck curves into your shoulders.

‘I know, baby,’ he croons, approving and patronising in a way that would infuriate you if he weren’t so goddamned hot.

He tugs at the hem of your scrubs top, divesting you of it so smoothly you’re awed despite yourself.

‘So pretty,’ he tells you, eyes dark, voice dropped low.

‘S-s-s-sorry –’

Both of you jump at the unexpected voice.

A face pops up from the bed, and you scream and jump into Taehyung’s (big) arms.

You’ve never seen his entire face, but you definitely recognise those huge eyes.

Taehyung’s still got his arms around you. ‘Fucking hell, Jungkook. Get the fuck out. We’re not at the Vegas artificial heart conference now.’

‘What happened at the Vegas artificial heart conference?’ you mutter, pulling your scrubs top back on.

‘Don’t get dressed, baby, we can still?’ Taehyung lets his voice trail off suggestively.

‘Nope,’ you say, shaking your head. ‘Next time, defibrillate him harder.’

‘Don’t worry, I will,’ Taehyung promises, throwing Jungkook a dark look. ‘Dinner tonight?’

You sigh. ‘Don’t forget to bring my candy.’

***

You’re sitting behind him so you can’t see his face, but you suspect that Kim Namjoon, your colleague and fellow anaesthetist, is asleep.

There’s something about the slant of his shoulders that gives him away. That and the soft snores and myclonic jerks.

You kick his chair to wake him up before Yoongi notices.

‘Fuck,’ utters Namjoon as he jerks awake and knocks his coffee cup off the table.

You raise your eyebrow at the clear liquid now puddling on the floor.

Min Yoongi turns away from the screen where you’re dialled into a multidisciplinary meeting with a hospital in Busan and you both freeze guiltily.

‘It was kind of you to wake Dr Kim up but you do realise I could see both of you in the camera view,’ he points out. ‘In fact, that was my only entertainment whilst we were waiting for this idiot to get the point.’

‘We’re not on mute!’ you say, quickly, trying to salvage the situation.

‘Don’t worry,’ comes the dry voice of Dr Choi from the Busan team. ‘I know how Dr Min feels about me.’

‘Why don’t you do something about it then,’ mutters Yoongi. ‘Like die.’

‘How bout I fuck your minion?’ asks Dr Choi.

You and Namjoon look at each other uneasily.

‘Relax,’ snaps Yoongi. ‘He can’t fuck a damn thing with his pencil dick. Even if he could, you wouldn’t feel it anyway.’

‘Will you motherfuckers shut the fuck up and just accept this patient for surgery?’

‘Certainly,’ comes the smooth velvety tones of Professor Kim Seokjin, lead author of the 2019 seminal paper on kidney injury following cardiopulmonary bypass. (Cited 29 times)

The squares on the screen reshuffle, and you’re treated to a close-up of Professor Kim Seokjin’s very handsome face, backlit to perfection with two surgical lights from theatre 1b.

He looks straight into the camera with his trademark head tilted half smile. ‘Your place or ours?’

***

‘Your place or ours, like a fucking nightcap,’ complains Namjoon bitterly as he follows you onto the train to Busan.

You don’t know why he’s complaining, he’s not the one carrying Yoongi’s beloved Hario V60 Switch immersion dripper and mini mill. Yoongi had insisted that you bring his coffee paraphernalia to Busan in your backpack because - ‘the coffee at St Mary’s is shit’ and ‘I don’t trust him to carry it’.

You grimace as the him in question, Namjoon, throws himself haphazardly into a seat and there’s the audible snap of breaking plastic from his backpack.

‘Was that something important?’ you ask, out of obligation.

‘Just my work tablet,’ Namjoon says, shrugging. ‘I have two, anyway.’

‘Now you have one,’ you mutter, looking for a place to stow Yoongi’s stuff.

‘Let me,’ offers a husky voice you know well.

You turn your head to confirm that it’s Park Jimin’s hands lifting Yoongi’s stuff and placing it carefully in the overhead compartment.

‘Thanks, Jimin,’ you say.

Jimin smiles and waves you into your seat, then sits next to you.

‘Heard you were singing praises about my ass,’ he says, a flirtatious twinkle in his eye, a lilt to his voice that lends a soupcon of filth to his words.

‘She took it back,’ corrects Kim Taehyung as he slides into the seat next to Namjoon.

Jimin doesn’t even raise an eyebrow.

‘Want to go to the beach after the surgery?’ he asks you.

‘Dunno, did you bring swim trunks?’ you ask, feigning innocence.

He laughs, delighted. ‘Nope.’

‘Then yes.’

Taehyung says, ‘I’ll share my suncreen’ at the same time as Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘You can probably buy swimming trunks —’

Your phone rings. It’s Yoongi.

‘Where are you and Namjoon,’ he asks, forgoing a greeting entirely.

‘On the train. We’ll be there in two hours,’ you tell him.

‘Two hours? Are you walking from Seoul? Backwards?’ Yoongi asks, exasperated. ‘I’m already here and I need a coffee.’

‘You’re already there? How?’

‘Never mind. Are you with the cardiothoracics fellows? Kim Seokjin and I are waiting to start.’

‘They’re on the same train,’ you say.

‘Jesus fuck,’ Yoongi snaps. ‘What part of urgent surgery didn’t you guys get? Even the intern made it before you, and he doesn’t even know what operation we’re doing.’

‘We can get a taxi straight from the station,’ you offer tentatively.

‘You weren’t going to do that anyway?’

‘Just tell me what you want,’ you beg.

Yoongi sighs, his eyeroll so obvious you can hear it through the phone. ‘We’re in theatre 4. Come as soon as you arrive.’

‘Well fuck,’ you say, as he hangs up on you unceremoniously.

***

Taehyung nudges you.

‘Want me to carry you?’ he asks, sympathetically.

In your mad dash to the hospital once your train got into Busan earlier, you’d stacked it coming down the

station steps and twisted your ankle. Thankfully Yoongi’s coffee kit was intact, you’d have never heard the end of it otherwise.

You’d managed to make it just in time to recover the patient post-op and even to make Yoongi a coffee so he couldn’t be too mad at your and Namjoon’s tardiness.

Jimin and Taehyung had managed to smooth down the ruffled feathers of Professor Kim Seokjin, pioneer of the Toro sutureless repair technique used by cardiothoracic surgeons around the world. (First presented at the World Cardiothoracic Congress 2015 in Philadelphia)

The day hadn’t been a total wash, and now you’re heading to the beach for a beer before taking the train back home.

You look up at Taehyung to see him smiling at you affectionately.

‘I can walk,’ you tell him.

‘I didn’t build these muscles for nothing,’ he coaxes. ‘At least lean on my arm.’

You can’t help your smile as you slip your hand into the crook of his arm.

‘I’m tired,’ you tell him.

He tugs you closer gently. ‘I know, baby.’

You don’t think you’ve ever been out with him before like this. You’ve gone out in a group plenty of times, but you’ve never really touched him in public.

Which is not to say you haven’t touched every inch of his skin in private.

You are friends who fuck after all.

By the time you catch up with Jimin and Namjoon, they’ve cracked open the beer and made a space on the beach far enough back that the tide doesn’t reach.

‘Cheers,’ Jimin says, passing you a drink, barely reacting to the fact that Taehyung’s got his arm around you.

‘Cheers,’ you say. ‘Where’s —-‘

You stop dead mid sentence as the intern, Dr Jeon Jungkook, emerges from the water and approaches you, shirtless, and wet.

You blink, twice, then turn and bury your face in Taehyung’s chest.

‘Why is the intern so naked?’ you mumble.

You can feel the rumble of Taehyung’s laughter in his chest before you hear it.

‘Do you want me to ask him for you?’ he asks.

‘No. I don’t want to talk to him.’

He laughs again. ‘Shut up and drink, you’re going to make me jealous.’

Now you’re laughing. ‘I’ve never seen you jealous, Tae.’

It’s true.

In the two years that you’ve been fucking Taehyung on and off, you’ve never seen him be possessive about anything.

Now that you think of it, he’s the most self-assured person you know.

You’re still laughing to yourself as you turn back to the group, only to realise that the intern is sitting right next to you.

‘Am I embarrassing you, noona?’ he asks.

There’s more than a hint of cockiness in his tone.

The little shit knows his body is fucking hot.

You haven’t survived the last three years under the tutelage of Dr Min Yoongi for nothing.

‘I’m not embarrassed,’ you say, looking him dead in the eyes. ‘I guess since you’ve seen me without a shirt on it’s only fair that I get to see you shirtless too.’

Jimin’s eyebrows rise.

Namjoon rolls his eyes.

Jeon Jungkook blushes so hard his ears turn red.

Beside you, Taehyung snorts and cracks open another beer.

***

You’re trying to finish up your chart from the patient you just recovered but the recovery nurses are discussing hot theatre staff again.

‘Scary, but hot.’

You stifle a smile as Yoongi walks out of theatres and heads straight for you.

‘The bed on ICU is ready,’ he says, not bothering to give you any context.

‘Of course,’ you say, bowing.

He gives you a suspicious look. ‘We’ll start at 7 tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir,’ you say, saluting.

‘I have more beans,’ he says, a final parting shot before he walks off.

You make a mental note to collect the fresh coffee beans from Yoongi’s locker at 6am tomorrow because a 7am start for him means a 6.30am start for you.

Beside you, the recovery nurses sigh collectively, and you know without looking up that it’s Professor Kim Seokjin, winner of the De Leval prize for outstanding contributions to cardiothoracic surgery on three separate occasions - 2017, 2018 and 2020.

‘Waaah I don’t have to worry now that I know my patients are in your hands,’ Professor Kim Seokjin says to the nurses, jovial and charming as always.

To you, he smiles and nods politely. ‘Wake and extubate my patient please, they can be discharged tomorrow.’

Now Yoongi’s words make sense.

‘Ah, I’ll try my best, but Dr Min wants the patient on ICU overnight,’ you say.

Professor Kim Seokjin may have a wing of the medical school named after him but it’s Min Yoongi who’ll have your head on a platter if you don’t follow his instructions.

You wince slightly as you catch sight of the patient’s vitals. Yeah. Yoongi called it. He’s not the most highly paid anaesthetist this side of the Hangang for nothing.

You’re prepping to transfer to the ICU when you hear Nurse Choi giggle.

‘He’s so handsome!’

Next to her, Nurse Kim says, in a voice that’s higher than usual, ‘He’s so nice, too. Ara said he was a total gentleman on their date.’

You look up, expecting to see Park Jimin or even the intern, but instead you see Kim Taehyung.

The punch you feel in your chest surprises you.

Why would you care if Kim Taehyung’s taking other women on dates?

It’s not like he’s dating you.

You’re concentrating so hard on trying not to be upset that you don’t notice that Taehyung’s standing beside you until he picks up an infusion pump.

‘Seems like a lot of adrenaline,’ he comments.

‘I think Professor Kim was, uh, optimistic about his heart function,’ you reply.

You take the pump from him and snap it onto the trolley pole. ‘We’re going up to the ICU.’

Before you can stop him, Taehyung’s taken up position at the head of the bed. ‘I’ll help you wheel him up.’

‘There are porters for that sort of thing,’ you protest.

He just looks at you patiently.

In the end you acquiesce and let him help. He waits by the nursing station whilst you hand over.

‘Dinner at the Kitchen?’ Taehyung suggests when you’re done.

‘Sure,’ you agree, falling into step beside him.

Then you remember. ‘But you can’t come over after, I’m on my period.’

‘Why can’t I come over when you’re on your period?’ asks Taehyung, swiping his ID to let you both into the changing rooms.

‘You can come over but no sex,’ you tell him, as the intern emerges from behind the scrubs dispenser.

He flushes immediately and drops his gaze.

‘Noona,’ he says, bowing in greeting.

‘You seem more shy with your clothes on, Jeon Jungkook,’ you observe.

‘Not always, noona,’ Jeon Jungkook murmurs. He flicks his eyes to yours briefly.

You laughs, surprised, and his whole face flushes prettily.

As soon as he leaves, Taehyung frowns.

‘I’d probably be worried if I thought there was a chance he wouldn’t pass out if you flirted back,’ he says casually.

‘I don’t date jailbait,’ you say. ‘What are you doing?’

Taehyung’s hoisted your backpack onto his shoulder.

He raises a brow, matter of fact. ‘You’re on your period, let me carry your stuff.’

‘Please, you’ll make me fall in love with you,’ you tease.

He laughs. ‘That’s the plan. Come on, I’m buying dinner.’

***

‘That dinner was worth a blow job,’ you announce, licking the last of the sauce on the wings off your fingers.

Taehyung pushes your water glass closer to you.

‘I didn’t buy you dinner so we could fuck,’ he says.

There’s an edge to his voice that makes you look at him carefully.

‘I’m sorry. I’m just — it’s just that, that’s what we do, isn’t it?’

Taehyung looks irritated. ‘It doesn’t have to be just fucking all the time does it?’

His tone is shorter than he’s ever been with you.

You sense you’re in dangerous waters here, but you have no idea what the right thing to do or say is.

‘You’re right,’ you end up saying, but it took you so long to say it that it comes out flat, like you don’t really mean it.

Taehyung gets up. ‘Anyway.’

He still sounds annoyed.

You follow him out of the Kitchen in silence.

‘I’ll walk you home, it’s late. Don’t worry, I won’t invite myself in.’

He sets off without really waiting for you to answer.

It’s a short walk to your apartment, not really long enough for you to gather your thoughts, but you know you can’t let him leave like this.

‘Tae?’ you ask, tentative, touching his arm.

It’s too dark to really see his face, but you can feel the tension in his muscles draining away under your fingers.

‘I’m sorry I snapped at you,’ he says.

‘It’s ok,’ you tell him. ‘I don’t think of you as just a fuck buddy, you know?’

‘I know we said no strings, at the beginning,’ he says. ‘But we’ve been doing this for so long —‘

He’s right.

It’s been nearly two years since you first slept together.

You’re thinking back to the first time and the rush you’d felt when he’d leaned over casually on a group night out and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

He still makes you feel that way, if you’re being honest.

You guess since you’ve never really dated that you’ve never seen anything that would take the shine off how you feel.

You’ve never seen him in holey sweatpants or with a shiny face or greasy hair or stuffing his face with yesterday’s takeout.

Well actually maybe you have seen that.

You’ve reached your door.

You figure it’s now or never.

‘Come in, if you want,’ you say.

He looks at you. ‘I don’t want to force anything because I was being an ass.’

‘Well, we’ve been fucking for two years,’ you remind him.

You smile. ‘You can be an ass. You don’t have to be on your best behaviour all the time.’

Taehyung’s smile makes your heart skip a beat.

You take your time unlocking your door, regaining your composure.

‘I’m taking a shower, there’s ice cream in the freezer,’ you tell Taehyung.

He’s hanging his coat up in your entryway. You don’t think you’ve ever told him how much his fastidiousness about his clothes tickles you.

By the time you’re out of the shower, he’s on your couch, feet up, a steaming cup of tea and a tub of ice cream on the coffee table.

‘Here,’ he says. ‘I made you tea.’

You smile at him gratefully.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asks.

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him. You slide onto the couch next to him. ‘Want to watch a movie?’

‘If I get to pick,’ he says.

‘Choose whatever you want.’

You sink back into the cushions as he picks the show, some feel good baseball movie. He grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over the both of you, and when he slides his hand under the fleecy fabric to hold yours, you don’t pull away.

It feels good to hold him.

***

You’re checking your anaesthetic machine, drawing up drugs for your first case when the intern Jeon Jungkook bursts into your anaesthetic room like he’s just escaped the jaws of certain death.

‘Noona,’ he begs.

‘I’m not your —‘

You cut yourself off and sigh. ‘What do you want, Jeon Jungkook?’

‘I fucked up,’ he says, panicked.

‘Is that the medical term for it?’ you ask, cracking open a vial of antibiotics so he’ll get to the point.

‘I forgot to order the blood for the first patient.’

You roll your eyes. ‘So call blood bank, there’s time.’

‘I called them!’ he cries. ‘The patient has antibodies! They can’t have blood ready for another four hours!’

‘Oh shit,’ you say.

Professor Kim Seokjin, chair of the hospital patient safety committee (awarded the national Clinical Excellence Award in 2022), is notorious for sticking to protocol. You know that he would never start a case if there wasn’t blood available.

You know just as well as Jeon Jungkook does, that he’s doomed. A cancelled case would tarnish Professor Kim Seokjin’s sterling reputation.

The little shit with the hot body is fucked.

You both look up as the theatre doors open and Professor Kim Seokjin and Min Yoongi stroll in for the pre-op briefing.

Beside you, Jeon Jungkook whimpers.

‘Pull yourself together,’ you hiss.

Before he passes out with all his hyperventilating, you step forward.

‘Dr Jeon and I were just discussing the order of today’s cases,’ you say, smoothly. ‘We think the first patient should go last, at the end of the day. They live quite far away and we should discharge them tomorrow anyway.’

Professor Kim Seokjin smiles. ‘Always thinking about the patients,’ he says, approving.

Min Yoongi eyes you and Jungkook suspiciously then visibly decides he doesn’t give enough of a fuck to question it.

As soon as they’ve left you grab Jungkook by the neck of his scrubs top.

‘Go and beg blood bank to guarantee you the blood will be available by the end of the day,’ you say. ‘I don’t care if you have to sleep with someone, just take care of it. Also, use protection.’

Jungkook’s throat works visibly with emotion.

‘Noona, thank you for saving my ass,’ he says, bowing so low he nearly tips your drugs tray off the counter.

You sigh. ‘Just get it done, ok?’

‘I will,’ he promises.

***

The annual staff party takes place in December, you go every year when you’re not working.

It’s not what you would call a classy affair, but there’s an unlimited free bar and a buffet table.

You’re trying not to get pulled onto the dancefloor by the overexcited Jung Hoseok when you see him.

Tall, dressed in a crisp shirt that makes his skin tone pop, wavy hair styled half over his forehead, he looks so good your mouth goes dry.

He’s already looking at you.

You send him a pleading look as last summer’s dance anthem comes on and you finally acquiesce.

Hoseok’s a great dancer, you’ll give him that, with an energy that’s infectious. You’re starting to enjoy it when Taehyung slides in smoothly behind you.

His body presses against yours, you get the sense he’s leaning closer, then his voice sounds in your ear.

Intimate like a caress.

‘You look really pretty,’ he says.

You turn your head and he’s right there, lips curled in a smirk, head tilted to yours like it’s just the two of you.

You turn into his arms and his hand lands on the small of your back, an inch too low for polite company.

He dips his head low to whisper in your ear again, and you let him lead you off the dancefloor, into a darkened part of the room.

‘My place?’ he murmurs, eyes intent on yours, his tall frame leaning over you.

You curl a hand over his forearm, and he wraps a possessive arm around your waist to take you home.

***

Shit, Taehyung is hotter than you remember.

He’s splayed over his couch, tugging you down so you’re draped over his thick thighs, your skirt rucked up, his thick length throbbing against your core.

He lays a kiss right next to the corner of your mouth, teasing when you turn your head to try to kiss him.

He’s got a hand on your waist, another one curved over your breast, and he grunts when you rock your hips against his.

‘Fuck, when’s the last time we did this,’ he murmurs into your ear, voice thick, syllables running together in a honeyed drawl that makes you close your eyes.

‘Dunno, don’t make me wait,’ you complain, tugging at his shirt.

He doesn’t answer, kissing you again with an eagerness that let you know he wants this as much as you do.

He tastes like the chocolate mint he was sucking all the way to his apartment and he licks into your mouth in a way that makes your crave the feel of his cock plunging into you.

‘Tae,’ you moan.

His hand runs down your spine, tugs the zipper of your dress down, making your dress fall in a pool at your hips. He gazes at your breasts in the bra you picked out because you know he likes white lingerie.

He chews on his lower lip as he traces a finger over the upper curve of your breasts, then he lowers his mouth to you.

He unclasps your bra, helps you pull it off.

The way he admires your half naked body makes you feel like you’re burning up from the inside.

He pulls your hips closer, grinds a little against you, showing you he’s still hard as a rock, but he’s always been a patient man.

He kisses the soft curves of your tits until you’re whining his name the way he likes. By the time he sucks a nipple into the wet warmth of his mouth you’re barely aware of anything but him.

He lays you down, gets on top of you, mouth still on your tits, hard cock jutting into the space between your legs, teasing.

You curl an arm around his neck, hanging on as he aligns the blunt head of his cock to your entrance and pushes in.

‘Fuck,’ you gasp. He fills you so well your eyes close with the pleasure of it.

He circles his hips on the next thrust, and you whine his name.

‘Gonna come on my cock?’ he asks, voice low, words coming out staccato as he keeps fucking you.

‘Yeah, fuck, don’t stop,’ you moan.

‘I won’t,’ he promises, curling a hand under your knee to keep you from scooting up the bed with every thrust.

Fuck, he’s strong.

He rolls his hips tight against yours, and you can feel your orgasm tingling through your toes, your pleasure centres lighting up each time he groans and moves deep inside you.

‘Tae,’ you pant.

‘Yeah,’ he grunts. ‘Hold on.’

He takes a moment to push your hair away from your face and give you a cocky smirk as though you couldn’t feel exactly how hard he is.

‘Gonna cum?’

‘Uh huh, don’t stop,’ you plead..

‘I won’t,’ he promises again. ‘Wanna feel you —‘

You cry his name as he grips your ass and you come.

‘Good girl,’ he praises, voice low, the tendons in his neck straining as he fucks you through it.

‘Shit, I can feel you,’ he groans. ‘Fu—-uck.’

He’s coming himself, you realise, his movements slowing, his grip tightening on your ass almost to the point of pain.

He dips his head for another kiss, open mouthed and sloppy, tongues mingling as the tension drains from his body and he collapses on the bed next to you.

‘Are you squished?’ he asks, slurred, trying to disentangle your thighs from his.

You shake your head.

‘Don’t go far —‘

He laughs, affectionate. ‘Forgot how clingy you get. Gimme a sec, just get this —-‘

He breaks off. ‘Shit.’

‘What?’ you ask, trying to see.

‘Condom split,’ he tells you.

‘Oh.’

You sit up, and there’s a tell-tale gush between your legs.

‘Yeah.’

You roll out of his bed, your legs like jelly still, and head for his bathroom.

A moment later he sticks his head round the door.

‘You ok?’

Your eyes meet.

‘Yeah.’

‘There’s a 24 hour pharmacy down the block,’ he says. He hesitates. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone since we last fucked.’

Despite the situation, you’re surprised. ‘Really?’

‘Have you?’

You use the bathroom and wash your hands.

‘No.’

‘Shit, are we monogamous?’ Taehyung asks, sounding so incredulous about it you snicker.

‘Shit, it’s like we’re a couple or something,’ you joke.

He hands you one of his sweatshirts to get dressed.

‘Guess so,’ he agrees. ‘Do you even want to go to the pharmacy? We can have a baby. I like babies.’

You smile at him fondly. ‘You’re good with babies,’ you say. ‘But we can’t have a baby now.’

‘Honestly?’ he says, pulling his own clothes on. ‘Even talking about it is making me horny.’

You laugh as he passes you your panties. ‘Come on, let’s go, I’m hungry.’

Taehyung helps you on with your coat.

‘Is my hair a mess?’ you ask.

‘Looks like you’ve been fucked,’ he advises. ‘Keep it that way so no one hits on you.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ you scoff. ‘Who’s going to hit on me at the pharmacy?’

‘Who wouldn’t hit on you?’ he counters, sounding perfectly serious. ‘You’re hot.’

He locks his door and you head down to the main entrance of his building.

He slips his hand over yours so naturally you don’t realise what he’s doing until he’s holding your hand, and then you don’t want to let go.

***

It’s the week before Christmas and you’re in the staffroom having lunch with Namjoon as Hoyeon and Mina pass out the secret santa gifts.

‘Here’s yours,’ Hoyeon announces brightly, passing you a silver paper bag

You accept with a nod and thanks, pulling out the card.

‘Thank you for being you, love Santa,’ you read out loud.

Namjoon rolls his eyes. ‘Christmas is a soulless commercial holiday.’

‘Ok, atheist,’ you say, rolling your eyes back at him.

‘I’m agnostic,’ he mutters.

You unwrap your gift and stop, frowning, at the duck’s egg blue box.

‘Wasn’t there a cost limit?’

You lift the lid to reveal a pair of sparkly earrings.

‘That’s at least a carat each,’ Hoyeon observes.

‘This can’t be right,’ you say.

‘Do you like them, noona?’ asks the intern Jeon Jungkook, popping up from out of nowhere.

You and Namjoon stare at him open-mouthed.

‘Are you my secret santa?’ you ask.

He nods eagerly. ‘I was so happy to get you.’

‘There was a gift cost limit,’ you protest.

‘I don’t know how much they cost, I just put it on my black card,’ he admits.

You’re still staring at him.

‘Jesus fuck,’ observes Yoongi from somewhere behind you. ‘What in the name of blood diamonds—‘

‘They’re ethically sourced!’ says Jeon Jungkook, indignant.

‘No diamonds are ethically sourced,’ Yoongi says, pityingly. ‘Anyway there was a gift cost limit. She can’t accept.’

Jungkook pouts.

‘They’re beautiful, but Yoongi’s right, Jungkook,’ you say gently. ‘Besides, you can’t afford —‘

‘My family own the hospital,’ Jungkook tells you, earnestly. ‘And a few others too, and Sharpcor.’

Now Yoongi’s staring at him too. ‘Your family own the biggest pharmaceutical conglomerate in South Korea?’

Hoyeon whistles.

Namjoon splutters. ‘You left a pair of diamond earrings in a random gift pile in the staffroom?’

‘Not the point,’ you and Yoongi say in unison.

‘Who knew the intern was chaebol,’ remarks Hoyeon. She pats him reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘So handsome, too.’

Hoyeon smiles at you. ‘Almost as handsome as Kim Taehyung.’

Namjoon chokes on his lunch.

‘You and Taehyung?’ he asks, incredulous.

‘Where have you fucking been?’ Yoongi asks, scornful.

He turns to you. ‘This is why I don’t trust him to carry my coffee stuff.’

‘Anyway, I wanted to thank you for helping me out the other day,’ Jungkook says. ‘And if Taehyung ever treats you badly you should tell me.’

He narrows his eyes.

‘I’ll take care of him for you, noona,’ he vows.

‘Uh, thanks?’

‘Where’s my secret santa gift?’ Namjoon asks, looking through the pile.

‘Working with me is its own reward,’ comes the silken tones of Professor Kim Seokjin, awardee of the ‘Trainer of the Year’ award for five years running as voted for by SNU medical trainees.

Kim Seokjin smiles kindly at you. ‘Nice earrings.’

***

You’re sitting at the ICU hub validating your observations from the last case when a shadow falls over you. You look up automatically to see Kim Taehyung.

‘Hey,’ he says, that smirk on his face that you’ll never admit to him is fucking hot.

‘Hey,’ you say, casual.

He leans over the screen of your computer. ‘So I figured —‘

He’s cut off by Ara, one of the ICU nurses.

‘Thank you for my secret santa present,’ she says, smiling at him warmly.

‘How did you know it was him?’ you ask, signing the last of your prescriptions.

‘We talked about how much I love cats,’ she replies, looking up shyly.

Taehyung smiles. ‘It was me. I’m glad you liked your present.’

‘I wondered, if you’re not too busy later, if you wanted to go to the cat cafe we were talking about?’ Ara asks.

Taehyung glances at you. ‘Actually, Ara —‘

He pauses like he’s waiting for you to jump in.

You’re logged off, all done, but waiting to see where this goes.

‘I’m kind of seeing someone,’ he finishes.

You get up, and Taehyung follows you out of the ICU.

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ he complains, as soon as you’re out of Ara’s earshot.

‘Like what?’ you ask.

‘Like how we fucked three times last night?’

You both fall silent as Nurse Choi passes by pretending not to have heard.

‘Why would that stop you from going to the cat cafe with Ara?’ you ask.

You’ve spoken thoughtlessly, and as soon as the words leave your lips you realise how collossally stupid they are.

Of course you care if Taehyung goes on a date with Ara.

It’s too late to take them back.

Taehyung stares at you, brows drawn together.

‘Unbelievable,’ he says.

You’re hurt, but you don’t know what to say to salvage the awful wrong turn this conversation’s taken.

For once, your quick mind fails you, and whilst you’re clicking through how to fix this, Taehyung’s turned away.

‘You know what, I don’t want to do this,’ he tells you.

He lifts his gaze to yours. ‘I thought we were finally getting somewhere, you know? What was the point of us these two years?’

He doesn’t wait for an answer, which is fine, because you can’t give one.

As he walks away you already know you’re making the biggest mistake you’ve made lately in letting him go.

***

Yoongi sighs, exaggerated.

‘Did you start your Christmas drinking early or what?’

‘Huh?’ you ask, blankly.

‘You’re one short step from getting thrown out of my anaesthetic room,’ Yoongi says, a sharpness to his tone he doesn’t normally use with you.

You struggle to focus on the monitoring in front of you.

‘Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well,’ you apologise.

‘Next time you have a bad day, do us both a favour and call in sick,’ Yoongi says. ‘This patient is relying on us to keep him alive and under anaesthesia for his operation, and at this rate, you’re not going to achieve that.’

You take a step back at his harsh words.

‘I’m sorry, I’ll call in Namjoon,’ you say hurriedly.

‘Leave the —’

Yoongi breaks off as you pick up the glass bottle of acetaminophen. ‘I told you it was broken,’ he says.

You stare blindly at the cut on your hand from the glass shard of the broken bottle.

‘Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’ll get Namjoon,’ you say.

‘No. Sit the fuck down,’ Yoongi says sternly, tossing you a pack of swabs to mop up the bleeding. ‘Watch the monitoring until I get back, and if the patient’s tube falls out you’re damn well going to snap gloves on and reintubate him, cut hand or not.’

You daren’t disagree.

You tie a swab around your bleeding hand and force yourself back into the routine you’ve developed over the years you’ve been training with Yoongi.

Patient.

Monitoring.

Lines.

You run through all three checks in a loop until you hear the door to the anaesthetic room swing open behind you.

‘The patient’s stable,’ you call, not turning around.

‘I know they are,’ comes Yoongi’s voice. ‘Go get your hand stitched up.’

You turn and instead of Namjoon you see Taehyung.

You look at Yoongi, betrayed.

He’s staring back at you, face impassive.

‘Do you think I actually need help? I’ve been giving anaesthesia since before you could even draw a propofol molecule,’ he says, dryly. ‘Go get your hand stitched up.’

Taehyung’s looking at you, but he hasn’t moved from his spot near the door.

‘It might not need stitches,’ you protest.

‘Why don’t you let the surgeon decide,’ Yoongi suggests. ‘Get the fuck out of my anaesthetic room. I expect you back here next week at your usual level of competence.’

He turns his back on you so you have no choice but to follow Taehyung into the next room.

Taehyung runs the tap so you can hold your hand under the stream of water.

‘Just keep it under there,’ he says. ‘I’ll get some local and sutures ready.’

You watch the blood from your cut run into the sink and try to gather your composure as he gathers things behind you.

You haven’t spoken to Taehyung since your awful encounter a week ago. You’d called him, but he hadn’t answered, so you’d left it at that.

You’re wondering if you should turn around when he approaches you with a swab.

‘Here, hold your arm up,’ he says quietly.

You bend your elbow to keep your hand above your heart as you take a seat on the trolley.

Taehyung gestures for you to lower your hand onto the tray he’s set up.

He pulls up a stool across from you, and you look away.

‘There’s a shard of glass still in here,’ he tells you. ‘I’ll give you some local and take it out. You’ll probably need a couple stitches.’

‘Ok,’ you say.

You flinch at the sting of the needle, but he’s so gentle you don’t feel much more than that.

This close, the familiarity of his cologne and the warmth of his touch make you miss him so much it makes you want to cry.

You still can’t look at him.

He’s quiet as he works on your hand.

Finally, he says, ‘All done.’

You risk a look at your hand to see a line of beautiful neat stitches, just before he covers it with a dressing.

‘Thanks,’ you say. You look up to meet his gaze.

He leans forward and kisses you on your forehead, so quickly you don’t have time to react.

‘Take the stitches out in a week,’ he says.

He hesitates. ‘I can take them out for you, but if it’s easier, any of the nurses can help you.’

‘Tae,’ you say.

He’s already getting up, tidying up the tray. ‘Just a sec.’

You wait for him after he’s left the room, but soon enough it’s clear that he’s not coming back.

***

‘You didn’t even dress this smartly when you interviewed for your fellowship,’ Yoongi observes from somewhere behind you.

You jump.

‘Jesus, don’t sneak up on me like that!’

Yoongi looks unperturbed, sucking on a vape that violates all of the hospital’s policies.

You remind him of that and he just snorts. ‘Technically we’re on university grounds.’

‘The real question is why you’re hanging around hiding behind a fern at the surgical appraisals,’ Yoongi remarks.

‘I’m not hiding,’ you say, sulky.

Yoongi mutters something that sounds like ‘fucking Kim Taehyung.’

You don’t bother asking him to repeat himself, because you’ve spotted him.

Before you can make yourself overthink it, you step out, right into Kim Taehyung’s path.

He steps back, startled, his hand automatically reaching to steady you.

‘Are you ok? Did I bump into you?’

‘No,’ you say, ‘I just wanted to say good luck for your appraisal.’

His smile is immediate. ‘You remembered. Thank you.’

You’re so busy drinking in how good he looks in a suit that it takes you a moment to realise he’s just asked you a question.

‘My hand?’

He holds out his hand, palm out, and you put your hand in his automatically.

He looks like he’s holding back a smile. ‘I think it was the other one,’ he says, so seriously you can’t be embarrassed.

He traces a gentle finger over your healing scar.

‘It looks like it’s healing nicely,’ he observes. His fingers curl around yours in a gentle squeeze, then he lets go.

‘Thanks for stitching me up,’ you say.

You both look up as his name is called.

‘Good luck,’ you say, quickly.

He looks like he wants to say something else, but in the end he just nods.

***

It’s 10am on Christmas day, and you’ve never been a grinch but your Christmas spirit is already running low.

So far you’ve extubated two patients on the ICU, one of whom promptly pulled out his art line, dousing you and Nurse Choi in AB positive, and the only fresh scrubs left in the dispenser were three times too large for you.

You sigh as you roll up your scrubs bottoms so they aren’t dragging on the floor as you head to theatres to answer your latest call.

You’re greeted by a rush of activity.

‘There’s an offer,’ announces Hoyeon as you enter the anaesthetic meeting room.

‘Heart or lungs?’ you ask.

‘It’s a heart, from Jeju-do.’

‘Where’s the recipient?’ you ask.

‘Arriving in an hour,’ says Yoongi, briskly. ‘Go have lunch, it’s going to be a late night.’

It’s 10 am, but you know that with the logistics of all the pre-heart transplant tests, harvesting the donor heart and prepping the recipient, you’ll be busy for hours.

You head to the staffroom to bolt your lunch only to find Taehyung already there.

He glances at your sandwich and pushes one of his bowls towards you. ‘I brought extra,’ he says.

‘Thanks,’ you say.

You eat in silence seated opposite each other.

Eventually he says, ‘Didn’t they have any scrubs in your size?’

‘I like the baggy look,’ you reply, deadpan.

You realise he’s lifting his own scrubs top off.

‘Here, let’s swap. It’s closer to your size.’

You stand and he steps between you and the staffroom door to shield you from the view of anyone walking in.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t look,’ he says. There’s a teasing note in his voice.

You pull your top off and pass it to him, then slip his top on.

It smells like him.

‘Did you look?’ you ask, looking up at him.

He reaches to help you pull your hair out from the back of the top.

‘Of course I did,’ he says, and he sounds so offended that you would even check that you can’t help giggling.

‘I miss you,’ you say, the words coming so naturally you don’t realise what you’ve said until his eyebrows lift slightly.

He doesn’t give you any time to worry. ‘I’ve missed you too,’ he tells you.

You exchange a smile, the first in a long time.

There’s exaggerated throat clearing from behind Taehyung.

‘There’s a patient waiting to get a new heart, but you guys take your time,’ says Yoongi, wielding his sarcasm like a whole other language. ‘It’s fine.’

***

You’re titrating pressors on the patient from Jeju-do as Park Jimin dissects down the major vessels and veins.

In the adjoining theatre, you can see Yoongi, Taehyung and Professor Kim Seokjin (Executive Chair of the National Blood and Transplant Committee 2021-2024) waiting with the recipient.

Jimin looks up at you.

‘About to explant,’ he says.

‘I’ve got you,’ you reply.

You watch, awed as always, as the donor heart is placed in a saline bath and rolled towards the adjoining theatre.

Namjoon, beside you, takes over the haemodynamics and Jimin goes back to operating. You know that between them they’ll treat the donor with the honour their choice deserves.

For now, you head towards the next theatre to help Yoongi.

Jung Hoseok’s running a spotless circuit, the recipient’s already on bypass, and the heart looks good to go.

As Taehyung and Professor Kim Seokjin (founder of the non-profit Healing Hearts that provides surgical expertise to low-income countries) remove the original heart and begin the long process of suturing the new graft in, there’s a quiet that’s uncharacteristic of operating theatre 1b.

You can’t help but admire how beautiful Taehyung looks when he’s like this, his face composed under his loupes, his hands moving with a grace and sureness that’s lovely to watch.

Yoongi and you swap each other out as the operation goes on, until just before midnight when the last of the graft sutures goes in.

There aren’t any barriers between you and the surgeons, not tonight at least.

‘I think we’re good,’ Kim Seokjin says, with a quiet simplicity you rarely ever hear from him.

‘Good,’ Yoongi says, absent his usual snark.

Taehyung releases the aortic cross clamp, and as you watch, the newly transplanted heart fills with blood.

Then, it starts to beat.

Your eyes meet Taehyung’s, and you can see his smile even under the mask, your brain filling in the parts of his face you know so well.

You’re smiling back.

You think everything’s going to be all right.

***

It’s a couple hours later, when you’ve dropped off the patient on the ICU, and are heading to the locker room, that you hear your name called.

It’s Taehyung, a line on his forehead from where he was wearing a scrubs hat all day, eyes a little bloodshot from fatigue, and still the most beautiful thing you’ve seen this Christmas.

He stops in front of you, there’s a moment of silence and then both of you speak at once.

You both stop, and you reach for his hand.

‘Do you want to grab some food?’ you ask.

‘Like a date?’ Taehyung asks, but he’s lit up like a Christmas tree so you think he already knows.

‘Yeah, like a date,’ you say.

The way he’s looking at you makes you wonder why the hell you waited so long.

‘There’s nothing I’d like more,’ he says.

He knits his fingers through yours, gently, and you walk down through the hospital together.

end.

Happy holidays! Take it easy. Love, Rei xx

#bts smut #bts fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader

138 notes · View notes

keys-hellscape-1020 · 6 months ago

Text

4 times you meet Red Robin, 1 time you meet Tim Drake

A/N: Sorry for disappearing these last few months. I’m not dead but I am in a serious depressive episode and you know what that means. Time to write.

Content warnings: Angst, Kidnapping, reader dissociates, they don’t get along at first, eventual fluff, this is my first time writing for Tim sorry if he’s OOC, uhhh cursing probably, let me know if I missed anything

Soulmate!Tim Drake x Soulmate!gn!Reader

————

From your seat on the frosty park bench you watch the thin red thread bob in the winter wind, lit only by the pale light that is filtering down from the streetlight above you. You watch the string dance with mild interest, jerking your pinky at random intervals to make it flutter one way or another. No matter which way it sways however, you know where it will always lead. To your soulmate.

His name is Red Robin, or in other words, Tim Drake. One of the richest men in Gotham who just so happens to also be a crime fighting vigilante. A closely guarded secret that you only know thanks to a subtle design flaw in the universe. Television.

Ever since the third Robin made his first official appearance you knew. You could see the red strand trailing off his pinky, and, upon asking your father, discovered it was only you who could see it. It was at that moment, all of 14 years old, that you unofficially met your soulmate. It was at that moment, that your life was permanently altered, for better or worse.

At first, your stomach kicked in excitement. Your soulmate was a vigilante! You simply couldn’t belive your luck. You scoured the internet for any information on him, becoming one of his biggest fans in a matter of hours.

Your obsession lasted all of a few months. It came to a screeching halt when a photo of Robin kissing Spoiler was leaked. You felt your heart break, the pieces jumping up into your throat to choke you on your own disappointment and sadness.

The worst part? You knew you had no right to feel the way you did. Robin had no clue you even existed. His soulmate could be half way across the world and it become clear to you that he wasn’t intent on finding them. On finding you.

In that moment of heartbreak and spite you made a choice that would follow you for years to come. If Robin didn’t want to find you, you didn’t want to find Robin.

It wasn’t until several years later, when you were watching a broadcast of a Wayne gala out of sheer desperation to cure your crippling boredom that you first laid eyes on Tim Drake.

You sat in bored silence, letting the stream playing on your computer become background noise as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, when suddenly an interview playing on your computer catches your attention. A man in a sleek suit with a face that you’re sure you’ve seen on tiktok before is leaning next to a man that you only recognize thanks to the name edited over the video for the sake of the viewers. Tim Drake, isn’t that guy a millionaire or something?

Pulling your attention back to the video, the interviewer is questioning him at record speed and Drake, for his credit, looks entirely unbothered. If it weren’t for the quickly concealed circles under his eyes and the way he periodically glances over his shoulder with a glazed over look, you might even say he’s enjoying the night.

As you watch Drake be interviewed, a dancing red string in the background catches your eye, stealing your breath. You watch it flitter in the background behind Drake’s head, almost as if it’s teasing you, daring you to do something with the information you now posses. You watch as Drake goes to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, the small knotted string on his pinky finger unknowingly showing you the identity of Red Robin. It crossed your mind for a half second that they may be different people, but a quick google search reinforced what you already knew. Two different soulmates produced two different strings. You very clearly only had one.

You had laid awake all night, wondering if this changed anything, questioning if you should do something with this information. You couldn’t tell anyone, you knew that for certain. That might put him in danger and despite not even knowing the man personally, despite every fraction of your heart telling you to hurt him in anyway you could for what he’d done to you, you knew that you couldn’t live with yourself if he came to harm because of you.

And so, you bit your tongue, swallowed the ever burning desire to track down your soulmate, if only to scream in his face, and continued on with your life. Whenever the urge to track him down reared its ugly head you reminded yourself of the many photos you’d seen of him kissing someone, someone much more attractive than you. Someone who can keep up with him. Someone better. Why in the world would he want you?

The months after you found out Red Robin’s identity flew by, and despite having come to terms with it months ago, tonight you couldn’t sleep. Your room seemed to suffocate you, urging you to get some fresh air, the window of your room proving insufficient even when you stuck your whole torso out of it. It was at this point that you decided to go out, nighttime in Gotham be damned. You’d lived here your entire life, you could deal with a few muggers. And so you wrapped yourself up in a thick winter jacket over your pjs, complete with a scarf and gloves, making sure to slip some pepper spray into your pocket, where it would be easily accessible should you need it.

Nighttime in Gotham can be strangely peaceful at times, large buildings cast dark shadows which are only illuminated by weak streetlights, and depending on where you are in the city it can even be something close to quiet. You walk slowly, your boots crunching through the thin layer of ice and snow, as you navigate your way to the park.

The cold air feels nice on your face as you sit on a park bench, watching your string. Your head leaning against the back on the bench, taking in the sight of unlit buildings around you. After several minutes of sitting there in silence you finally decide to stand, a strange tingle on the back of your neck seeming to urge you towards home.

It’s only when you begin to turn that you notice the man behind you.

Before you can even register what’s going on you’ve switched the safety lock of your pepper spray and are spraying it directly into the eyes of the man with a shriek of fear.

You’re to stunned to speak as you shuffle back as quickly as possible, tripping over yourself in your panic, leaving you on your back, your pepper spray the last line of defense between you and… Red Robin? You let out a pathetic whimper of shock, which at any other moment would’ve left you horribly embarrassed but right now you’re too confused to feel anything else.

He lets out a muffled “Shit!” As he wipes at his face with the back of his glove. You stand and reflexively hand him a tissue from your pocket.

“S-Sorry.” You stutter out, watching the string cautiously float between you two in shock.

He gratefully takes the tissues and wipes his face with it, “Ah, it’s okay. The mask got most of it, just startled me was all.” He says tiredly, flashing you a weary half smile that has you feeling unfortunately weak in the knees.

“I uh-“ you find yourself at an unfortunate loss for words as you stumble through what you should say, fantasies of what you would do when you finally got the chance to meet this man face to face fleeing your mind in an instant now they you were actually in the moment.

“Are you okay?” He asks, blotted out eyes staring at you in what seems to be concern.

“Y-yeah… yeah uh… sorry I thought you were gonna try and kidnap me or something…” you said awkwardly, suddenly finding the ground very interesting as a sense of painfully strong embarrassment rushes through you.

“I knew I shouldn’t have approached you from behind.” He mutters quietly, more to himself than anything else.

“You were watching me?” You ask, creasing your eyebrows at him in concern. A hot spark of fury snaps to life in your chest. First this man breaks your heart, and then he decides to stalk you?

You swear you see him flush bright red underneath his mask. “No- no! Well, uh, actually yes- but not like that!” He stumbles through his words. “I just uh, thought you might be hurt or something, and then I uh- I saw your string and well I just thought I should say something.” He trails off awkwardly.

“Well then, what did you want to say?” You ask him, the spark of anger growing, fueled by all the painful memories that you’d acquired through the years.

“O-oh.” He looks genuinely startled for a moment at your outburst, and you would’ve felt bad had all the memories of how it felt to have to watch your soulmate flourish without you, how painful it was, not flashed through your mind.

“Well I honestly didn’t think that far ahead.” He says softly, almost shyly, as he looks at his feet and you hate how his cuteness causes butterflies to churn in your stomach. You let out a low hum as you consider your options, doing your best to ignore how adorable he looks as he glances at you and fidgets with his gloves.

“I’ve known.” You say calmly, calculatedly. If you played your cards right you could cause him a lot more pain than yelling at him ever would.

He looks up at you, a hit of confusion and concern in his voice. “Known what?” He asks.

“Tim Drake and Red Robin have one very striking similarity.” You say calmly, taking a few steps down the road that would eventually lead you home. You look back to see if he’s following and sure enough he is. You wag your pinkie at him in response.

“Ah.” He says simply, his shoulders tending.

“Relax, I’ve known for months. If I was gonna tell anyone I would’ve.” You say curtly as you begin walking home once more.

“How did you find out? Why bring it up now?” He phrases his questions as just that, questions, but you know that if you fail to answer truthfully he’ll find out quicker than you could blink. You’d looked into him over the years.

“T.V.” You say simply. “String showed up on it. As for why I brought it up, as of a few months ago Tim Drake hard launched his relationship with Bernard Dowd on Instagram. I’d be willing to bet money that the relationship had been going on for a while before that. That’d put you at dating for what, about 8 months now?” You look at him for false confirmation, you know you’re right. His shoulders are tense and you’re sure you’re receiving a scalding glare from behind his mask. You can’t help but grin in satisfaction. It’s seems your research paid off.

You see your apartment complex off in the distance and turn to face him once more. “This is all to say, you’re dating someone. What’s the real reason you approached me? Troubles in paradise?” You hum, you know you’re being nothing short of cruel right now but after watching this man completely disregard you, not care, or maybe just not realize that his soulmate would have to watch him live life without a care in the world for them, well you couldn’t help but think it was deserved.

He grinds his jaw as he looks at you. “We broke up. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Ahh so you intended to have me be a rebound then?” You snort and look him up and down. In all your years of watching him live life without you you’d never seen him look so tense. “Well as lovely as this was, I have to wake up early tomorrow. Nice talkin’ to you bird boy.” You turn around and start walking into your apartment building. You glance behind you and see Red Robin standing where you left him, staring at you, his jaw locked tight and his mouth downtrodden in a frown. You can’t help but feel a spark of well earned satisfaction at the sight.

————

You really thought chewing him out would make you feel better. You truly did. Instead all it did was make you feel guilty. You can’t even pin-point the cause of the guilt churning in your stomach, making you feel all the worse. You almost wish that he’d announce another relationship so you could feel justified. On the other hand seeing article on article about his newest love might finally drive you to the brink of insanity. Assuming you could still call yourself sane at this point.

Every night after dusk when you leave to do absolutely anything, you can see a shadow of a figure following you around. You’re sure it’s Drake, it has to be. You’ve studied videos of him and other Robins, compared and contrasted, you know how every one of those vigilantes move compared to each other and there’s only one who has the minor tells you keep seeing out of the corner of your eyes.

Red Robin. The string leading right to him just confirms your theory. He must think it’s not worth the effort to hide himself, the string would give him away no matter what. So instead he’s making sure that whenever you leave the safety of your home you know he’s there. You pour over why in your mind, you even consider the idea that he’s protecting you but in the end even just thinking the idea cause a spark of humor in you. No he must have some other motivation, perhaps making sure you know he has the upper hand? Perhaps showcasing that you can’t hide from him?

Whatever the reason, you’re sure that you’ll find out soon. He’s been getting gradually closer over the last week and a half he’s been following you. Tonight he’s been less than half a block away at all times. Every moment that you’ve been walking to and from the convince store you’ve noticed the shadow.

You’ve never been more terrified in your life.

You know you have no real reason to be. You know that he can’t wound you or bring you into the police. He has no reason and you haven’t given him anything to frame you with, at least, not to your knowledge. That’ll have to be your only comfort for now.

The subject of your fears is about to be confronted as you purposefully turn into an alleyway that you commonly avoid during the night, just as you excepted, the moment you’re half way in you hear the soft sound of feet landing behind you. You’re certain it’s only a pleasantry.

You steel your nerves as much as possible as you turn to face Red Robin. He’s looking at you with a dark expression that you can’t quite place, it causes a drumming of unease in your stomach and you can feel your heartbeat picking up in your chest. You wring your hands together tightly before crossing them over your chest.

“Can I help you.” You ask coldly, keeping your voice low.

“I wanted to talk.” He says calmly, approaching you carefully, calculatedly.

For every step he takes you take two back, and he quickly gets the message and stops approaching. He holds out his hands as if approaching a scared animal. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

You can’t help a short, sour, laugh from rising in you. “We got off on the wrong foot years ago when I had to watch you pretend I didn’t exist.” You grit out from inbetween your teeth. “When I had to watch you fuck around in those relationships.” A tiny voice in the back of your mind screeches that you’re being stupid. Melodramatic. That nows your chance to get to know him. You ignore it. “We got off on the wrong foot when I told you to fuck off and you took it as an invitation to stalk me for a week and half!” You‘re getting angrier and angrier, hiding your unease and sadness behind a thick later of rage, as you had for years now.

You’re pacing, back and forth, back and forth, walking on an invisible tightrope before him, trying to calm yourself, to think rationally. It seems that Drake’s very presence however limits your ability to do so. You scratch at the nape of your neck, trying to center yourself.

His eyes widen in shock, as if he hadn’t even thought of the possibility that you’ve know he was your soulmate for years. He shakes the shock off much quicker than you’d like before he speaks. “I wasn’t stalking you-“ he begins, holding his hand out as a sign of peace. “I wanted to say something, I just didn’t know what.”

“So you decided following me around was the best course of action.” You say with a scoff.

He unconsciously copies your body language and rubs the nape of his neck. “Well, I started off on my patrol route and then I got… distracted.”

You fix him with an un-impressed stare. “You got distracted so you decided to stalk me?” You deadpan.

He tightens his fists in agitation, scoffing at you. “Well maybe if you weren’t walking around Gotham at night I wouldn’t have to keep you from getting kidnapped!”

You throw up your hands in poorly-contained anger, approaching him to jam a finger into his chest. “I’ve done fine without you up to this point! I hardly need your help.” You seethe.

He grits his teeth, holding eye contact with you from behind his mask. If you didn’t know better you would say that you saw a flash of regret on his face. “Fine then. Have fun fighting off muggers.” He practically growls as he pulls out his grappling gun and disappears into the night with a gust of cold air.

You start walking back, much more content now that there’s no strange shadow following you. As you drift off to bed that following night however you can’t help but feel a dash of regret.

————

You’re regretting telling Drake to leave you alone.

You’re really really regretting it.

You watch the group of large men discuss you in hushed voices on the other side of the room, all of them dressed in black. You’d been brought into a small room of what you think is the office of a warehouse. After all, this variety of common criminal are never original with their plans.

You stretch and pull against your binds, trying to find any weakness in them, you grind your teeth in frustration when you fail to find any. One of them notices your twitching and after muttering something to the rest of the group approaches you. You watch, doing your best to conceal your fear, as the rest of the men leave the room.

The man crouches in front of you, balaclava covering everything but his eyes as he analyzes you.

“What do you want.” You spit out, attempting to kick him with your bound feet. The man easily swats them to the side, huffing at you in irritation. “Your soulmate is Red Robin.” He doesn’t phase it as a question, but an objective fact, making your stomach twist anxiously.

“Why the fuck would you think that.” You growl out, baring your teeth at him, doing your best to use your anger to mask your true feelings.

A series of bangs and shouts interrupts you from outside the room, causing the man to stand and turn quickly. He stands in front of you, staring at the door a while before he turns to face you, giving you a look that you roughly decipher as his best attempt at telling you “I told you so”. He pulls you up roughly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and shoving a gun to the side of your head, making you wince silently.

He tugs the both of you into the corner that’s immediately visible from the door way. It feels like an eternity of standing there, trying to maintain a balance of getting as far from the man as his arm wrapped around you will allow while not pissing him off enough that he decides to use the gun. In actuality only 2 or 3 minutes pass as you listen to the sounds of fighting that echo outside the door. Despite your expectation of it, you still violently flinch when the door slams open, a painfully loud crack filling the room.

Drake looks frantic, he’s covered in dust and his Bo staff is sticky with a dark substance that you can only surmise is blood. He barely glances at you, eyes finding the gun that your kidnapper presses into your skull before his eyes trail up to the man holding you.

He holds out a hand, other gripping his staff tightly, and you can’t help but remember your last meeting. “Let them go.” He says firmly, like his trying to will the man’s action with only his voice.

From where the man holds you against his chest you can feel him shake with fear, but how did he think this would go? His friends would get the drop on Red Robin? Yeah right. You silently hope that Drake finds a way to get you out of this soon.

“Let. Them. Go.” Drake says again, approaching slowly. You can see his fingers shifting on his staff, attempting to feel out the man’s next move. “There’s no way you get out of this. So let them go and you can get off easier.”

Apparently he didn’t enjoy the sound of that as he throws you to the ground, points his gun, and fires. Drake’s mind and body are both quicker than any reflex this man might have however as he ducks under the bullets with ease, knocking the gun out of hands with a practiced flow.

You don’t see what happens next, and you don’t want to. All you see as you pull yourself into a corner are the scrapes on your hands from where you caught yourself. You bury your head in your knees and try to fuse into the corner. You don’t want to be here. You want to be able to pretend this entire situation doesn’t bother you. You want your soulmate to be anyone other than the vigilante across the room from you right now who’s beating a man to a bloody pulp.

Time doesn’t seem real, you don’t seem real as you stand in the doorway, watching yourself struggle to breath in that corner. You don’t know when you reentered your body but you know that Drake is in front of you, blood on his knuckles and dotting his face as he frantically unties you.

You struggle to breath and Drake presses his palm to your cheek, you flinch at the feeling of a sticky fluid meeting your skin. “Hey, hey it’s okay. You’re okay now.”

Your soul acts ahead of your mind and you press you face into his chest with a sob, you feel him physically startle for a moment, before he slowly and tentatively wraps his arms around you. “I’m sorry.” You choke out between cries, digging your finger into the fabric on his back. “I’m so sorry.”

You’re sure that in a day or two the memory of this will embarrass you, but for now his arms wrap around you and squeeze firmly, centering you in the here and now as he mummers comforts into your ear.

And for now, that’s all you need.

————

It’s been almost a month since you were kidnapped, and then rescued by Red Robin. Your parents had begged you to come home and recover with them, but you had turned them down every time they asked. Under other circumstances you would’ve agreed in a heartbeat, but your apartment had something that their’s lacked. Red Robin. The man who saved you that night, and your soulmate.

Every night following your capture he’d come to visit. As he handed you off to the police he’d promised he’d keep an eye on you, and it seemed he intended to follow through on that promise, as for the last four weeks, like clockwork, you’d awaken to a soft tapping on your window, opening it to Red Robin.

The first few nights he’d simply crouched on your windowsill and exchanged a few short words with you, turning down your offers of bandaging his wounds or a glass of water before he was disappearing into the night as silently as he came. It took you nearly a week before you managed to convince him to come inside for the first time.

You had to practically beg him to come in, promising over and over that it wasn’t any trouble and you were sure that you didn’t mind. You’d never been so happy Gotham’s rent was cheap enough for you to live without a roommate so you didn’t have to explain to someone why Red Robin was in your apartment at 4 am. It took a while for the both of you to warm up to one another, especially after the rough start you’d had, but once you two actually had a conversation without gritting your teeth at each other you found you had more in common than you thought.

That brings you to today, nearly a month after Tim had saved you from your kidnappers. You’re currently both seated at your small dining room table, cups of cold coffee in both of your hands as you chat about everything and nothing at the same time, his mask laying on the table between you. You glance at the clock on your stove and startle slightly, it reads 3am. He had come by for a brief pick-me-up before he headed out on patrol, now it was about the time he should be done. If the things he’d told you were anything to go off of, Batman would be sure to express his dissatisfaction.

He follows your line of sight and winces when his eyes land on the clock. “I guess this means you have to go…” you say softly, trying to keep from seeming to disappointed.

He leans back in his chair and lets out a sigh before shrugging unceremoniously. “Eh, it’s okay.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Won’t Batman be mad?”

He gives you a grin that turns your muscles to jelly and makes your stomach erupt with a swarm of butterflies. “You think Batman’s never missed patrol because of a cutie distracting him?” He asks, looking you up and down in a surprisingly respectful manner that you find yourself wishing was a little less gentlemanly.

You feel heat rush to your cheeks and you rub at the nape of your neck in a futile attempt to disperse it. “I uh- I certainly find it hard to imagine.” You stutter, suddenly finding your floorboards completely fascinating.

He lets out a soft chuckle and a warm silence settles over the both of you like a blanket. You sit there and stare at the coffee sitting at the bottom of your cup as you swirl it around mindlessly. Your trance is only broken by Tim softly clearing his throat.

“So- so uh. I was wondering if you uh. Maybe wanted to go out with me sometime? Well not me.” He says softly, gesturing to his Red Robin uniform. “Tim Drake.”

Despite the warmth gathering in your own cheeks once more you place your elbows on the table and lean forward, taking pleasure in the pink you see on him. “If I didn’t know better I would say you like me birdie.” You tease.

He fixes you with a playful glare and copies your body language, similarly leaning forward. “What if I do?”

You click your tongue and pretend to be deep in thought for a moment. “Well…” you say slowly, “I guess I won’t have a choice but to take you up on your offer.”

He flashes you a smile that could rival the sun and stands up suddenly, prompting you to do the same. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 5, wear something nice.” He says with a wink before he’s opening your window, slipping his mask back on, and disappearing into the city with a short wave.

————

You hadn’t slept much last night. But who could blame you? After Tim had left all you could think about was what he had in mind. You spent several hours slipping in-between consciousness and sleep and when you finally woke up for good you found yourself thankful that you didn’t have to work today as your mind darted over all the different possibilities of where he would bring you.

His cryptic fashion advice did you no favors. What exactly qualified as “nice”? You certainly had no clue, and as a result spent entirely to long scanning your closet for something. You considered several outfits. Too formal. Too casual. A shirt he had seen you wear as pajamas. A pair of shorts that would’ve been perfect had it still not been to cold. A top that showed off a little to much. Nothing worked.

It took you an embarrassingly long amount of time to settle on an outfit that could be okay for a variety of activities, even longer for you decide what accessories to pair with it. After several hours you still had time to kill before Tim picked you up, which you spent doing small chores around your apartment, mind too preoccupied to get any real work done. As 5 pm drew you near you found yourself checking over every aspect of your appearance, nothing seemed quite right but as the sound of your doorbell rang throughout your apartment you found yourself grinding your teeth and having no choice but to deal with it.

You smooth out your outfit one last time before pulling the door open. Tim stands there with a soft, nervous smile on his face, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. He’s dressed more formally than you’d expected, in a simple white t-shirt, with a dark grey blazer and slacks, finished off with black leather loafers.

He blinks in shock as he looks you up and down once, his ears turning a bright red as he seemingly snaps out of it, offering the bouquet to you. “You look lovely.” He says softly, looking away from you and towards the floor bashfully.

You feel your cheeks warm as you roll your eyes playfully and take the bouquet from him. “You’re one to talk birdie.” You flirt as you move into the kitchen to get a vase.

He follows you into your apartment, closing the door and leaning against its frame as he watches you work with a fond look in his eyes. You finish filling a vase with water and place the roses on a windowsill. You gently mess with the blood colored petals, moving them around softly before you turn to look at Tim. “Thank you for the flowers.” You say softly.

He gives you a small smile and rocks on his heels, “Ah don’t mention it.” He says with a wave of his hand.

“So, what exactly did you plan?” You ask, unable to keep the excitement from your voice as you approach him.

He gives you a smirk and opens your front door with a flourish. “After you.”

You can’t keep yourself from letting out a short laugh as you let him escort you through the hallways of your apartment building and towards a nearby parking lot, where an entirely too expensive car is waiting. You startle for a moment, but recover as he approaches it and opens the passenger door for you.

“Do you even have a license to drive this?” You tease as you slide into your seat.

He balks and stares at you in open mouthed shock for a few moments, causing you to let out a full bodied laugh.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He splutters, ears turning red as he looks at you in confusion.

“D-don’t take this the wrong way,” you say breathlessly “but you don’t look like someone who knows how to drive.”

He stares at you for a few more moments before wordlessly rounding the car and getting into the drivers seat.

“You’re sure you can sit there?” You snark.

He gives you a half-hearted glare. “And to think I was gonna take you out to a nice dinner.” He mummers under his breath as he starts the engine.

You give him an exaggerated look of shock and lean over as best you can in a mock-bow. “I am so very sorry my lord. Please forgive me.”

He considers you out of the corner of his eye, trying and failing to hide a smile. “I suppose your apology is acceptable.” He quips.

You straighten and give him a large smile, giggling as you turn your head to look out the window at the streets you’re passing. There is no denying that the start you had was rough, but now? Now you wouldn’t change what you had for the world.

#key writing #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #tim drake x you #red robin x you #dc x reader #dcu #dc #tim drake #red robin #this is not my best work #but please enjoy all the same

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rollingsins · 2 years ago

Text

all hers, part xix

summary: Vindicated, Tara comes back home.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder. Smut: strap-sex, pussy-eating, light choking, possessiveness.

word count: 4.7k

a/n: i'm alive! and pookie is free! thanks for all the love and patience with this chapter, hope you all enjoy :))))

You ride with Sam to the police station.

What you thought would feel like a euphoric victory suddenly feels hollow.

There’s two.

Of course. Why wouldn’t there be? It was always two. And you’d just murdered someone’s partner in crime, no doubt there would be retribution.

It feels different this time.

Wes had sent you spiraling, but Richie’s death leaves you almost unperturbed.

He’d tried to kill Tara. Take her away from you.

And you’d given him exactly what he deserved. The justice he thought he was delivering to you.

It’d be scary, your nonchalance towards murder, if you didn’t have much more pressing matters. Namely, your girlfriend sitting in a five by seven jail cell.

She’s still in there when you arrive.

You can see her looking over at you through the bars.

She looks terrible. Dark circles under her eyes, messy, tufted hair. She’s very the same clothes as she’d been brought in with and she’s staring right back at you, something in her face akin to fury and relief all at once.

When they finally draw her through the doors she all but knocks you over in her flurry to get to you.

You gasp. She’s tiny, but she lifts you off the ground with no qaulms. Presses you down and kisses you, a little rough.

Then she drops you and rounds on Sam.

“What the hell were you thinking?” She snarls.

“I was thinking my baby sister is in jail and I needed to get her out.” Sam answers, smoothly. She presses a hand to Tara’s cheek, rubs at one of the circles under her eyes, “Are you okay?”

“No I’m not okay,” Tara snaps, batting her hand away, “I gave you one job and you-”

“-Killed him,” You interject. You draw her in closer, try and soothe her with a kiss, “It’s okay, baby. We got him.”

One of them, is what you should say, but Tara’s so anxious you think it might send her right off the edge.

She looks over at you, look in her eyes frosty.

“Don’t even get me started on you,” She says, voice curt, “You’re in so much trouble. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight ever again-”

“I was worried about you too, baby.” You press a kiss to her hand, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Sam drives.

Tara pulls you into the back seat with her, tugs you into her lap and pulls the belt around both of your bodies.

You would think she’d been gone six months and not six hours by the way she kisses you. Desperately. Needy. Her hands roam wildly, like her sister isn’t in the front seat.

Sam clears her throat.

“Can you two not fuck in the back seat of my car?” She asks, “I just had the leather reupholstered.”

It’s a perfectly reasonable request, but Tara glares at her like she’s just killed her puppy.

“How could you not know you were fucking Ghostface this entire time?” Tara asks, gripping your hips, “You brought him into our lives, Sam, jesus.”

You press your hands to Tara’s face, smooth her dark hair back.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Sam says, voice quiet.

“Tara,” You whisper into her ear, “Your sister has just been betrayed by someone she thought she loved. A little empathy wouldn’t hurt.”

Tara’s quiet a long moment.

Then she kisses your cheek.

“Sorry,” She says to Sam, somewhat awkwardly, “I know it must be a shock. It’s not your fault, Sam. Are you okay?”

Sam peers into the backseat, face awash with surprise at Tara’s newfound empathy.

“Don’t worry about me,” She says, “What we should be worried about is his partner. Mindy’s right, Richie wasn’t Ghostface the night he attacked you. It was someone else.”

You fiddle with Tara’s fingers, nervously. The very thought of there being someone else who wanted to hurt Tara out and about and walking around in the world made you want to cry.

Tara rubs your back, reassuringly.

“So we’ll catch whoever it is and dig them a grave next to Richie,” She says, more to you than Sam. She presses a kiss to your cheek and lowers her voice, “Are you good, baby?”

She’s referring to the murder you’d just committed, no doubt.

She has fears you’ll freak out again and jet off to a cabin with your family like last time, you can tell by the look in her eyes.

But Richie isn’t Wes.

Richie was guilty, and somehow it makes all the difference.

“I’m fine, Tara.” You assure. You press a lingering kiss to her lips for good measure, “I’m just happy you’re coming home.”

“It should have been me who did it,” She says, eyes mournful, “I’m sorry, baby.”

You can feel a pair of eyes on you. You clear your throat, tilt your head into Tara’s neck. Sam’s watching, eyes squinted from the front seat. Like she has questions she needs answered.

“Richie said you deserved to pay,” Sam says after a long moment. She’s looking at the two of you through the rearview mirror, a little confused, “He said if I knew what you did in your spare time, I wouldn’t be trying to protect you. What did he mean?”

You swallow. Tara tilts back in her seat.

“Who knows what he meant?” Says Tara, “The guy was a nutjob. Maybe I told him to fuck off out of my house one too many times.”

Sam hums.

“You were a little harsh on him.” She says, absent-mindedly.

Tara balks.

“A little harsh on him? He was Ghostface, Sam.” She all but hisses.

Sam waves her hand.

“We didn’t know that at the time.” She says,.

“You didn’t know that at the time,” Tara says, crossing her arms, “I knew it from the minute YN was attacked.”

She did, you remember all at once. So much could have been avoided if you had just believed her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you more seriously, babe.” You say, pressing your hands to her cheek. She leans up and kisses you.

You press your nose to hers.

“Was it horrible?” You ask, brushing the hair out of her face, “Jail?”

Tara brushes it off.

“It was fine,” She says, “It was fine until I heard over the radio there had been an attack at the school.”

You kiss her, soft.

“I’m sorry, babe,” You say, “It was the only way to get you free. And it worked.”

“You broke your promise to me, Sam,” Tara says, an edge to her voice, “You promised me you wouldn't lead her into danger.”

“I’m sorry, Tara,” Sam says, “I knew it was the only way you’d go without a fight.”

“You lied to me.” Tara says, and you squeeze her hand.

“I’m sorry.” Is all Sam says.

She parks the car, looks over at her sister.

Tara clicks her seatbelt off.

“Whatever,” Tara says, “But if you think I’ll trust you with her ever again-”

“I’m not a dog, Tara,” You say, frowning, “Going there was my choice too.”

“And you need to promise me you’ll never do something like that again.” Tara says, voice serious. She holds out her hand, “Please baby. Do you have any idea what I’d do if I lost you?”

“I thought I’d lost you.” You say. You press into her side, kiss her once more, “I thought the Sheriff had taken you away from me for good.”

“She’ll never keep me away from you.” Tara says, voice stern. She presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“As sweet as this is,” Sam says, tilting her head to the porch, “We’ve got a welcome party.”

Chad, Liv and Mindy are waiting by the porch when you enter.

You let them all in, watch as Sam triple locks the doors, and head to the den where Mindy sets up camp once again.

She has a fresh powerpoint with a list of suspects. It’s a little impressive - and Sam rushes off to the kitchen to fix Tara a meal as you all settle down.

“What was prison like, Tara?” Liv asks, wide-eyed, “Did you have to join a gang?”

“I was there for less than six hours, Liv.” Tara says sounding exasperated, “And they didn’t take me to prison. Not a real prison. Just the holding cell in the Sheriff’s office.”

Liv nods, seriously.

“I’ve heard in prison you have to exchange what you have for what you want,” She says, “We can bring you cigarettes, if you go back. My cousin Tammy said she exchanged sexual favors with some of the guards so she could get extra time on the phones.”

Tara looks aghast.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks Liv.” She says, nose wrinkled.

You climb into her lap, kiss her softly.

“She’s not going back there, Liv.” You say, “They have Richie now. He’s to blame for the killings.”

“But he’s not the only one,” Mindy says, voice serious, “And that brings me to my presentation.”

She clicks play.

Tara rolls her eyes.

It’s a series of floating images; faces. Yours, Tara’s, Richie’s, Sam’s.

It has everything. The exact times of the attacks. The weapons. The final slide is a picture of Richie, side by side with a giant gray question mark.

“Richie has a partner,” Mindy says, “But the question is - who?”

“Who was Richie close with?” Chad asks, sitting up.

“No-one.” Tara says, “He stayed at home all day playing video-games in his boxers. He didn’t have any friends.”

“He had at least one friend.” Mindy says, lowering her voice. She jerks her head towards the kitchen, where Sam is preparing food.

Tara groans.

“Mindy, not this again-”

“It works.” Mindy says, voice hushed, “My baby-sitter theory. She comes back into town, the attacks start happening. We catch her boyfriend red-handed-”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” You say. Mindy tilts her head, “Sam was in on the plan. To catch Ghostface. If she was in it with Richie, why would she let him get caught?”

Mindy pauses.

“Maybe she was sick of him?” She suggests, “Maybe she wanted to break up with him but didn’t know how to do it?”

“So she had him murdered?” Tara asks, eyebrow raised.

“If she is Ghostface, she’s a psycho, Tara.” Mindy insists, “If she’s Ghostface she’s trying to kill her own sister. Why not her boyfriend?”

“This is stupid,” Tara says, sounding tired, “Sam’s not Ghostface. She’s my sister. I think I know my own sister.”

“I thought I knew Richie,” Sam says. Your head jerks over to her. She’s leaning against the doorframe, frown on her face.

“Sam.” Mindy says, blinking, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Sam gives her a look.

She settles down against the couch, beside Liv.

“It’s fine,” She says, “I get it. I’d suspect me too.”

“No one suspects you, Sam,” You offer, “Mindy just gets over-excited. Right, Mindy?”

“I’m just considering all the options,” Mindy says, voice a little high.

“And you should,” Sam says, “Right now, we should suspect everyone. Everyone except Tara and YN.”

Silence fills the room.

Chad looks up.

“What if it’s Wes?” He suggests, a little hesitant. Mindy stares. Your heart flips at his name. Suddenly, your hands are clammy. Tara squeezes your hip, subtle as can be.

“Wes?”

Chad shrugs.

“They never found a body. They never even found evidence of a crime. What if he skipped town, faked his own disappearance to get off the radar?”

“I really doubt that, Chad.” Tara says.

“Why would Wes want to hurt Tara and YN?” Sam asks with a frown, “You guys were friends, right?”

“Right.” You say, voice a little tight.

“Wes had a crush on YN, everyone knew that,” Chad says, shrugging, “Maybe that’s why this Ghostface hates Tara so much.

At this, Tara’s head snaps around.

“What?”

Chad blinks.

“Yeah. I thought you knew?” He says, head tilted. He looks over to Mindy, “Right?”

Mindy nods, stern.

“Everyone knew.”

You wince as Tara’s hand tightens around your waist.

“Well, no-one told me.” Tara says, eyes ablaze. She looks over to you, face enraged, “Babe, did you know?”

“Of course not.” You say. You squeeze her hand, try to calm her down, “It’s Wes, babe. He never would have done anything.”

And he’s dead. You leave that bit unsaid.

It doesn’t seem to help. You recognize it immediately. It’s the Rage taking over. Tara’s chest heaves. Her eyes spark like fire.

“Asshole.” She gasps, “Fucking asshole. He was supposed to be my friend-”

“Tara, it’s not his fault,” Liv says. She reaches out to touch Tara’s arm but Tara retracts like Liv’s burned her, “Really. You can’t help who you fall for.”

“You can not have a crush on my girlfriend.” Tara says, sounding outraged. She looks around the room, to the sea of taken aback faces, “Anyone else have a crush on YN? Mindy? Chad?”

“No.” They both say flatly, in unison.

“Baby-” You touch her again, but she’s too far gone to reason with.

“Sam? You’ve all but moved in. Made best friends with her parents. Do I have to worry about you as well?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tara.” Sam says, rolling her eyes, “Can we focus? What do the police have on Wes?”

“Nothing,” Mindy says, sounding a little gloomy, “No body, no evidence. I mean, they arrested Tara for his death so I guess he’s assumed dead?”

“Put him on the slideshow.” Chad says, sitting up, “If we’re considering everyone, that is.”

The rest of the afternoon is almost unbearable.

Mindy and Chad bicker over who their top candidates are. Sam joins in, here and there.

And Tara sits, arms crossed, pouting like a storm cloud ready to spark lightning over everyone.

Chad and Mindy are halfway through an argument about what the next plan should entail when Tara stands suddenly, bringing you up with her.

“It’s been a long day, can you all please leave, now?” She says, abruptly.

Mindy looks over to her, apprehension on her face.

“Tara, is that a good idea? I mean, with Ghostface still out there and all? He could be back again tonight.”

“We’ve got enough locks to house a small prison and Sam walking about with an arsenal like she’s Lara Croft. I think we’ll be fine.” Tara says, sounding tired.

Chad looks over to Liv, touches her head.

“You want us to stay?” He suggests, “We could all camp out in the living room, like a sleepover.”

“We’re good, thanks Chad.” Tara says, voice firm. She’s still annoyed, you can tell by the tone in her voice. What had been an offhand remark about Wes for Chad she’d been toiling with for the last two hours - you can tell by the look in her eye.

“Are you sure?” Chad presses, “If Ghostface attacked you again and we could have done something about it-”

Tara cuts him off, voice curt, “I said, we’re fine, Chad. Besides, I’m about to nail my girlfriend and would rather you weren’t all down here listening.”

“Tara.” You hiss, mouth open. Sam wrinkles her nose and sees herself back off to the kitchen.

But it works.

Chad blinks back at her, and without a word, leads Liv and Mindy to the door.

And then Tara takes you by the hand and all but drags you upstairs.

There’s a dangerous look in her eye. Foreboding, almost. Her shoulders are drawn, her eyebrows knit tight in a frown.

It’s The Rage.

And you need to get rid of it, fast, before she does something she’ll regret.

“He’s dead, babe.” You say as she closes the door. You reach for her, but she withdraws from you, instead moving over to the window, watching her friends leave.

You’re exhausted. The day has been brutal - the morning worrying about Tara and the afternoon putting a bullet through Richie’s brain. You want to collapse onto the bed, take Tara into your arms and not think about the days to come.

The days to come with another Ghostface to contend with.

But Tara has other plans.

She’s pacing. Like she’s about to put on her Ghostface outfit and pry Wes’ body out of the river she threw him in.

“How did I not know?” She says, eyebrows pinched, “Babe, if I didn’t know about him, who else do I not know about?”

She chews her lip.

“Mindy, I bet it’s Mindy. Mindy has a crush on you. Chad too, why not? He’s all brawn and thinks he can get any girl in this town. Hell, I bet Liv’s thought about you too.”

“Liv’s straight.” You say, voice stern, “And you sound crazy right now.”

She looks over at you, eyes wild.

“Do you like Mindy?” She asks, moving a little closer, “Do you think she’s cute? Would you fuck her, if I wasn’t around? Would you leave me for her?”

She’s tiny, 5’1, but at the moment she looks seven feet tall. Shoulders drawn, she almost towers over you.

Menacing.

“Tara, you’re scaring me.” You say, taking a step back.

She blinks. And then drops her shoulders.

“Sorry,” She says, after a moment, “I’m sorry, babe.”

She brings her hands to her own face, and then sinks down into her mattress.

“It’s taking over me, I can feel it.” She says, sounding mournful, “I’m trying to fight it, baby, I am.”

You swallow. Move over to her and wrap your arms around her shoulders.

“It’s okay, Tara,” You say, “Look at me.”

She looks up, brown eyes wide. It’s still there, The Rage, you can see it swimming in her eyes. You lean down and press a kiss to her lips.

“I don’t want anyone else, it doesn’t matter who it is,” You say, voice firm, “So tell The Rage to fuck off. It isn’t needed. No one is going to take me from you.”

You kiss her again. Her hands grip around your waist, holding you tight.

“Promise?” She asks. She looks so vulnerable. Like a child asking for her favorite toy. Her brown eyes are wide, mournful.

“Promise.” You whisper and kiss her once more.

She sighs against your lips.

You curl your hands around her neck.

She feels so good against you. Warm and solid and there. Not in a jail cell, facing life in prison. With you, under you, where she belongs.

You push her back onto the bed and climb on top of her.

You missed her. Less than six hours and you missed her. Like someone had cut off your arm or something much worse.

Your kisses climb. You slip your knee between her thighs and press down onto her.

She squeezes your hips. You slip your tongue between her lips. You move your body against hers.

Her smell, her taste encompasses you.

You move your hands down to her waistband. Fumble with the buttons on her jeans as you hurry to slide them off her.

You manage to half pry them down her legs before she’s rising up and flipping you over onto your back.

If getting you naked was an olympic sport - she’d win gold every time.

You don’t even know how she does it so quickly.

A single tilt of her wrist and your bra is unclipped, your shirt being pulled off in one quick swipe. Then, your skirt. Down your legs with your underwear faster than you can moan her name.

She has the precision of a sniper.

She spreads your bare legs and clambors between them, helping out your fruitless attempts to get her out of her shirt in seconds.

Then she’s back on top of you, warm, naked, kissing you like she’s still in prison and you’re her last meal.

She juts her hips out, hits you in just the right spot.

You curl your hand around her neck, fingers gripping at her dark hair. Her lips don’t give you a moment to breathe. She’s kissing you desperately, hands on your hips, gently thrusting into you in that way that makes you soak.

You moan her name, once, twice, before she’s pressing a final kiss to your lips and moving down your body to curl her hands around your thighs.

It’s embarrassing the way she never needs to tease you.

You lean back into the mattress, close your eyes as you feel her lips press to your inner thighs.

“Mmm.” She murmurs as she grazes her lips over the inside of your thighs, “Looks like someone’s ready for me.”

“Shut up.” You say, touching the back of her head, trying to press her into where you need her the most.

“That’s not a very nice way to talk to your girlfriend,” She teases. She darts her tongue out, smoothes over the milky skin of your inner thigh. You let out a harsh sigh, thighs closing around her shoulders.

“Baby, please.” You beg.

She smiles. Presses one last kiss to your thigh.

“That’s better,” She says, “Missed you too, babe.”

Her tongue works against your folds, darting and licking up traces of your arousal like a hungry cat lapping at its milk.

You lean back onto the mattress and sigh, taking your own breasts in your hands.

It isn’t long before she’s trailed her way up to your clit, licking gently in the kind of way that makes you ache with desire.

You curl your hands in her hair and moan, softly.

She presses a final loving kiss to your thigh before she’s moving up and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. You make a noise of protest, but she leans down and quiets you with her lips.

Then she’s retracting, eyebrows raised.

“Fingers or strap?” She’s asking, eyes dark like she already knows the answer.

“Strap.” You all but beg, and she gives you a wicked smile before rolling over and fumbling through your top drawer.

Sam’s still downstairs, you think vaguely as you watch Tara slip into the harness. Sam’s downstairs and Tara’s looking at you like she’s about to make you scream so loudly the neighbors might complain.

Tara climbs between your legs, a dirty grin on her face.

She’s reaching over your body for the lube bottle but you touch her hand.

“We don’t need it,” You say, voice graveled. She ducks down and kisses you.

“We need it,” She promises. She bites at your bottom lip, a little playful, “I’m about to fuck you so hard and I want you nice and wet and ready to take it. I love you baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You groan.

She coats the tip of the dildo, then reaches her hands between your legs to massage it into you. You let out a sharp gasp at the cool of the liquid, but she makes it better instantly. Thumb on your clit, rubbing slightly and she sinks her fingers inside you.

“Good?” She teases as you flush red.

You’re in no mood for joking. You grab at the head of the dildo and tug her forward, pulling her on top of you and taking her lips in a desperate kiss. She slips her tongue into your mouth, distracted, only slightly, before she’s spreading your legs with her knees and reaching between her own legs to guide herself inside.

Her mouth presses against your neck.

You gasp as you feel it: the tip of her cock against your entrance, her hands around your hips keeping you from running from her. She sinks in slowly, biting her own lip as she looks down to admire her work.

The stretch feels incredible. You dig your nails into the skin of her biceps, tilting your head back onto the pillows as she fills you up to the hilt.

She’s still a moment, letting you adjust, before she’s leaning down once again to kiss you.

“Does that feel good?” She murmurs, pressing her nose to yours.

You nod. Curl your hands around her shoulders, burying your face in her neck.

“Tell me.” She insists, tilting your face back up to her.

“It feels really good, baby.” You say, voice high. She kisses you once, and then jerks her hips back.

“Fuck.” You gasp.

Her hands grip tight suddenly around your neck and your stomach flips. She thrusts her hips towards you, pulling back slightly to build a steady, hard rhythm.

You’d gasp but her fingertips are tight around your neck, eyes ablaze with lust, and want and the kind of possessiveness that makes you spread your legs a little wider.

“Nobody else will fuck you this good,” She says, jerking her hips forward once more, “Nobody. Not Mindy and her micro-strap, not Chad and his carrot dick and certainly not my sister and her-”

“Can we not talk about your sister when we’re fucking?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed.

Tara slams into you a little harder, making you cry out.

If Sam didn’t know what the two of you were doing up here, she certainly does now.

But Tara doesn’t care. She pounds into you, her slow rhythm out the window.

“Tell me you’re mine.” She growls. Her hands are back around your neck, “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Tara, only you.” You gasp.

“Good girl,” She purrs. She drops her hands from your neck and leans down to kiss you, slow, “That’s my good girl.”

She pulls back slightly, and you groan as part of her length slips out of you. She hushes you with a gentle squeeze to your thigh, before she’s taking your legs in hand and placing them over her shoulders.

She slides back into you, pressing a feverish kiss to your lips. The position means she’s so deep it almost hurts. Her belly presses flush against your own, her hips moving only slightly as she settles into place.

You reach out to touch her face, curl your hand around her cheek as you tug her down to kiss her. She shifts her hips slightly and it makes you gasp.

You moan her name again.

She kisses you fiercely, and you know that kind of kiss. It’s the kind she gives you before she’s about to let loose on you. It’s like a warning, and it makes you flood with arousal and grip the back of her neck tighter.

She pulls back from your lips, eyebrows furrowed, determined look in her eyes, and then she’s holding onto your thighs and fucking you as hard and fast as her hips will move.

The bed frame squeaks. She’s gasping, you’re moaning, the only kind of choir that could ever make you believe in God.

It builds in you quickly - her furious fucking, the sight of her red lips and messy, hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead.

You cry out, gasp her name and then stars are exploding behind your eyes as you cum. She grips your thighs, tight, not far behind. With a final messy thrust, her eyes are clamping shut as she gasps out and collapses against your body.

Your ears ring. You wrap your arms around her body, press a kiss to her sweaty forehead, rubbing her back as she comes down.

“I love you.” You murmur, “And I missed you so much.”

She kisses you.

“It was only six hours, babe.” She says, voice playful.

“Worst six hours of my life.” You say.

Her eyes sparkle. She nudges her nose against yours.

Then, sparking you out of your love-filled bliss, there’s a knock at the door.

“Tara. YN’s parents will be home any minute,” It’s Sam, sounding aggrieved, “You’re making the ceiling shake and the two of you sound like something out of a bad 80s porno. You might want to tone it down a bit.”

Tara rolls her eyes.

Embarrassment flushes through you. It stains the tips of your ears and your cheeks bright red.

“Thanks Sam, fuck off now please.” Tara asks.

You groan, and push her off you.

She sits up on her side, pout on her lips.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s just mad she’s not getting any.” Tara says. She leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

You pull her into your side, press your lips to the top of her head as she settles against your chest.

The events from the day weigh over you like a wet blanket. But you can’t bring yourself to worry about them, not tonight. Tonight, all you want to do is be with her. Love her.

Make your parents probably hate her even more.

Judging by the way her hands run up your thigh, she’s on the same page.

Ghostface is tomorrow’s problem. But tonight? Tara’s naked, and beautiful and yours and in your bed.

Ghostface can wait.

#tara carpenter #all hers #scream v #scream vi #jenna ortega #mine #fanfic #tara carpenter x yn #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #ghostface!tara #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 years ago

Text

We bleed tonight II

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a/n thank you so much to @brekkershadowsinger for beta reading this for me! Who am I without you.🤍

warnings: mentions of past trauma

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Azriel's life was falling apart as he rushed up the stairs. He couldn't stop. He had to move. He had to keep going. If he was to miss a step and tremble down, he was never going to stand up again. Move, move, go, the spymaster muttered to himself. The walls started to cave in on him. His chest suddenly felt as tight as the chains around your wrists. Your wrists. At that minute, Azriel wanted the tightness around them to hurt, but now he couldn't help the worry. Couldn't help the regret. Azriel didn't mean it. Or did he?

"Azriel", a voice rang out from behind the spymaster, but Azirel didn't turn around—he couldn't. He couldn't because he was feeling ashamed. He felt as if he had failed Rhys. Failed his court. He was the protector. He had to stop thinking like that before they grew roots and shared what they had all built throughout the years together. But he didn't. For the first time in his life, Azriel missed a threat. "I saw the tint before I… did nothing and missed it", Azriel choked out, hand coming to clap his own throat as he braced himself on the wall. His wings sagged behind him as he sank to the floor. "Azriel", the high lord repeated, kneeling before his spymaster. Before his brother. Yet not recognizing him. Azriel's distant demeanor was just as unfamiliar to him.

"What were you doing to get the towels so dirty?", you were seated in Azriel's leather chair, spinning around as you munched on an apple. "Touched up my hair", "It looks like someone had some serious diarrhea in our bathroom", you let out an offended gasp. "I'm sorry, are you saying that my hair looks like shite, spymaster?", you leaned onto his table, narrowing your eyes. Azriel stepped closer, "That is not true, but you are a messy one. So small but so messy", Azriel leaned to your level just as you let out a huff. "You're full of insults this morning, lover bug", "Not true again, however, I would love to see your natural hair". Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn't lose the smile. This conversation had occurred many times before. The first time it happened, you had gone so pale that Azriel thought you were going to faint on the spot. Then he managed to learn that you just hated your hair color. Then that you hated it because it reminded you too much of who you had been. It had stayed at that for a long time now. Whenever the conversation flowed to this, you always got defensive, so Azriel chose to drop it. And now he wishes he hadn't. If only he hadn't, he would have figured this out way sooner.

"Azriel", it had almost turned into a mantra on Rhys's lips. He had no clue how to pull Azriel out of his spiraling head. Stuffed with thoughts that were drowning him slowly. Dunkig him deeper and deeper. "I fucking missed it, Rhys. She slept in my bed", Azriel muttered, pulling at the roots of his hair. Rhys clasped his brother's shoulder, trying to meet his eyes. The sound of your laugh filled Azriel's mind; his hands clasped over his eyes instantly.

"What are you looking at", you muttered, still sleepy. White sheets the only thing covering your body. Azriel inched closer, leaving feather-like kisses on your exposed arms. "You, I'm looking at you", Azriel murmured against your skin, and you let out yet another chuckle. Azriel soaked up the warmth of your skin. You were always so warm. At nights, when he felt like he was drowning, it was your warmth that pulled him out. Warming his frosty heart. Wrapping him up from all the freezing darkness that he loved to surround himself with. His sunshine. His light. "Why are you being so sweet?", your fingers pushed through Azriel's messy hair, "Because I love you." His body had stilled when the realization of the words that had slipped through his lips hit him. Your big eyes gape at him now.

In a perfect world, Azriel would have disappeared between his shadows, but then a little smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Say it again", you ordered him quietly. Azriel watched you for a heartbeat. Your hopeful eyes had been glazed with a shine that glimmered in the morning sun. As if his words had just broken a curse. As if you had never imagined anyone saying those words to you. "I love you. All of you. Had for a while now", Azriel admitted right as your arms and legs wrapped around his strong torso, bringing him closer to you. A little sob echoed as you pressed yourself closer to your lover. "I love you, I love you so much", you had muttered. Muttered and meant it. Azriel, you knew deep down that you did. Because he felt it. He felt the love. He felt you.

"Azriel, for mother's sake, breath", Rhys's voice ripped Azriel out of the memory. The spymaster drew in a harsh breath in. Yet his lungs seemed to reject oxygen. "She could have killed us all… She", "AZRIEL", Rhys roared this time, "Brother, look at me. What the fuck is happening?", But when Azriel did look up, there was no resemblance of the worrier Rhys knew. No, right before him sat a scared and broken boy. The boy that Rhys and Cassian had dragged out of the dark basement and built up into a man.

Your tears had dried. Sitting with your head still resting on the cell wall, you gazed blankly at the rat that had come out in search of any food scraps. Oddly, it didn't seem foreign. The majority of your childhood, as it was, was spent in places worse than this. You're a disgrace. Your mother should have lost you before you even started to form within her womb. You closed your eyes. Trying to escape the voice that never stopped hunting you.

You knew that you should have handled so many things differently. Velaris wasn't a place where you were meant to stay. You came here with a mission. A task you were meant to carry out and leave. No harm was intended. A promise to fulfill. And be gone after. Nothing but a light autumn breeze. But then Azriel came around, and selfishly, you wanted to stay. You wanted to feel. Wanted to finally have someone who saw you. Who wanted you. Who was ready to start a war for you. Who looked at you. Who listened. Who would never harm you. Until tonight… You pressed your palms over your eyes as another wave of tears came.

"Even if you showed me your darkest secrets, I would stay", Azriel had said to you as you sat under the stars, warped up in each other's arms. You should have said it back then. Should have explained. Because Azriel valued honesty. Mother, trust was key to any relationship. But you couldn't find it in you. It plagued you. As if you were marked by the devil itself. With a tag that you wished you could have ripped off. You didn't want it. It wasn't who you were. You knew what it meant in other courts. Autumn's rat. Your lover's words rang in your ears. No longer his girl. No longer his light. A rat. An ache clasps around your heart. You knew that Azriel was never going to forgive you. And could you forgive him? For tonight. Could you forgive the fact that he believed them? The people who had run you down for decades. Who had stepped on you. But he didn't know. You never told him. A cracking sound made your head quickly dart up as you grasped the cold metal bars. Let it be Azriel, you thought to yourself; let it be him; let me look at him one more time, please.

"You're not thinking straight", Rhys was still kneeling in front of his spymaster, "What happened in Autumn, Azriel?". The high lord's voice wasn't demanding, but he knew this was some sick, twisted joke that Azriel got pulled into. "Because, brother, you just shackled the woman you love in a cell. Let that thought sink in", Rhys said calmly. Cassian grunted from beside him, arms crossed over his chest. If not for Rhys's mind-to-mind request to be with them here, Cassian would be in the dungeons with you. He didn't find it in himself to believe that you had done something wrong, let alone conspired to make a move to spy on Azriel.

"They…", Azriel rasped out, but the speed at which his mind was turning made it so hard for him to pick the right words. "There are papers full of information that she had given to Beron about our moves". Rhys looked up at Cassian, who was already shaking his head, "Let me guess. It was also Beron who so kindly gave it all to you", Azriel didn't even need to nod his head for the two males to know the answer. Now that it has been put in perspective, it did feel stupid. Beron, of all the high lords, knew how to rile people up.

"He knew so much about her, Rhys. He just kept on pulling things one after another. He knew where her birthmark was", Rhys closed his eyes at Azriel's words. The spymaster caught onto the action straight away. "Rhys", "He knew because she grew up with that sadist", a cold shiver ran down Azriel's back. You weren't just from Autumn court. You didn't just work for the man. You were a Vanserra. No, that couldn't be true. I hated what I was, Azriel; I don't want to be that person anymore. You had told him so many times. Every single flinch, every time you zoned out while looking at the fire, every night you woke up drenched in sweat gripping Azriel's hand, every single scar that painted your skin now made sense. You were hunted by him. Beron was the man you looked for in the dark shadows, shivering. Everyone knew how Autumn's high lord was and how his kids were brought up and treated. The fact that you didn't exist in Autumn family's list was clear evidence of how they viewed you.

"It's his vendetta against her. Her existence is what he hates", Rhys continued, "You should have told me", Azriel whined. Scraping to get up. The only thought was now about you and how he had dragged you around the way your father had probably dragged you around for years. "I found out by accident. It was her story to tell, Az. She was going to tell you, but she was scared you were going to view her differently", Azriel cringed at his brother's words. View you differently. He had proven your fears to be true. He had done what you had feared. He had let you down. Azriel looked down at his hands. The scared palms that you had kissed so many times. The palms that you always nestled closer to when he caressed your cheeks. Now he hated them more than ever before. Those hands had hurt you. The thought of the tight grip that he had on you made him feel sick. He was meant to protect you. Keep you safe. What had he done? What was he going to do now? "Let's start by getting her out of there Rhys said, as if reading his spymaster's mind, and Azriel only nodded.

You shook your head as the figure crept closer to you. Wrapping the chains around your body. And when the strand of red hair slipped from under the hood, you couldn't help the shriek of fear that escaped your lips. No, there was no way he found a way in here. There was no way that Azriel or anyone would allow him free access to the night court. You knew that you should have pulled yourself together. Don't show it; lift your head; don't show him that he got under your skin. But the man pulled the hood from his head. A scared face glanced right at you. His eyes pierced your soul.

"Lucien", you muttered so quietly, afraid that this was a dream and if you talked too loudly, he was going to fade away. He opened his mouth to speak, but not a single word came out. He stepped closer and pressed his hands onto the bars, his eyes never leaving you. "Your scent", he muttered finally, "You always seemed so familiar. Like I knew you somehow". Your bottom lip trembled again as you crawled closer to him. "Why are you here? How did you…", if you got framed by Beron. Mother only knew what he was going to do to Lucien. Was he going to be dragged into this as well?

"Eris", the male said, "Eris heard what happened in Autumn and sent me a letter". A tear ran down your cheek at the sound of your brother's name. Spoken so bitterly in this court, but if only they all knew how much he was doing behind closed doors. He was the reason you were here. He was the one who told you to look for Lucien. He was the one who sneaked into your cell back in Autumn, warming you through the night. Who offered to beat you himself so you would escape the real blow from his father's hands. Who did everything he could to keep you safe to keep you alive. Eris was the reason you were breathing now.

"You", Lucien pushed his hand into the cell, twisting the strand of your ginger hair around his fingers. "A sister", he let out a choked chuckle. Your chained hand reached for his. "Mother was pregnant with me when Eris got out to the border". At least that was what Eris had told you. And Lucien was almost always a part of the stories told to you. "Father locked her up after that. I never got to see her again", Lucien added, and you nodded your head. "Because of me, because of us", you trailed off the last part. "What does that mean?", his face suddenly was laced with confusion. You hesitated for a moment. In the position you were in now, you had no idea what was to come next. And this and now might have been the only time that you had with him. The only time to tell him "Beron is not our father, Lucien. Helion is", his face paled, and he backed away slightly. Bracing himself on the cell bars, his brain rushed through every detail that he could think of. "I know it sounds insane…", you started, but he was quick to cut you off, "Stand back". Worry clouded your eyes. Was he going to turn away from you as well? Was he going to leave you behind? Pretend that it never happened? "I don't want to hurt you; stand back", he said once again. You obeyed, moving to the other side of the cell while still watching him.

The walk to the dungeons never felt so long to Azriel. But now he dreaded it. Dreaded seeing the consequences of his actions. Because a part of him knew you were never going to forgive him. Yet he clung to the hope, still clung to the hope that if he explained… He was ready to crawl, to beg for a chance to fix it. Losing you would crush him. Something in his chest tightened at the thought of that. No, he was going to make it all right. No matter what it took, he was going to make it all okay.

Yet, his newly found hope got crushed as quickly as it blossomed. It was empty. The door to the cell was ripped open. Patches of burned-out fabric were splattered inside. The spymaster stepped forward. "Azriel", the high lord had called out for what felt like a thousand times that night, but the spymaster only lifted his hand to silence him. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear a single word. Had you fled? Melted the chains off your hands. Ripped the cell open. There was no way. Then he caught onto the scent—someone else's scent that hadn't been here before. Lucien. Lucien had come to your aid. Or was he bringing you back to Beron? No, he wouldn't. The emissary could be brutal in a fight, but not with the people he loved. Where to? Was he going to be able to find you? To tell you what he wanted to say?

Azriel sank to the floor when the realization of what he had done hit him again. You've been running for so long, and the moment you found your safe haven, Azriel ripped it away from you. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks right as the glistening object caught the spymaster's attention. He reached out to it without a second thought. A necklace. Your necklace. A gift Azriel had given you. The shadow singer wrapped the small pendant in his fist. Mother only knew how much he wanted to roar.

"I will never take it off", you promised, looking down at the blue sapphire, "I want you to have a piece of me with you always", he had said, "Territorial and so Fea-male like, but you're lucky because I love you". Your eyes had been so full of love that night as you reached up to kiss him. You were his back then. Back then, Azriel was sure that he was never going to do anything to hurt you. He knew what this was. Your silent goodbye. Your way of letting him go. Your way of telling him that what he had done had ripped a void between you two. That he had done things you weren't willing to forgive him for. Azriel pressed the palm with the pendant to his chest. A part of him still felt your presence there. Yet there was nothing Azriel could do besides let his heart bleed tonight.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x reader

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neverchecking · 1 year ago

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Day 10: Fucking Machine- Sage

Man, ya'll went feral feral for yesterdays prompt. Anyway by the time you guys see this I'll probably be in the courtroom (Meaning this was...*gag* queued.)

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Sage is still an asshole, inappropriate use of Zonai tech.

This is Day ten of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< Day 9>>>Day 11

What a sight you were.

Sage would admit that he was not as…merciful as he felt most would’ve preferred. He liked watching your eyes shine with unshed tears, your lower lashes clumping together as low whimpers choked through your throat. He got a bit of a kick out of hearing you cry and whimper, thighs shaking uncontrollably as overstimulation rocked your entire system. Just watching you attempt to plead with him, blabbering nonsense and gibberish as you brainlessly obeyed his every command.

It gave him such a kick. Such a rush of power that thrummed in his veins. Made his skin buzz in a maddening warmth that gave him a complex most likely too big for his ego, let alone his crumbling sanity.

But there was something so devious about this recently hatched plan that he almost felt bad.

Almost.

Zonai tech was something he himself didn’t even fully understand, yet he knew enough he could bullshit his way through it. And he had become fairly good at bullshitting. It had taken a few tries and a few missteps, but he had gotten his design patented at long last and what a payout it was.

It was so erotic watching the machine move, the circular gears interlocking within one and another as the pole attached pulled back then pushed forward, drawing out another noise from you. It made it all so worth it.

Had he gotten looks from a few Zora after he commissioned the newest glass piece in his collection? Yes. But it was so worth it. Watching the milky sheen of your own fluids coat the frosty glass as the gears continued rolling. In and out, over and over. He could speed it up or slow it down if he so wished, moving it closer for a more intense hit against your sweet spot. All with the control panel on his Purah pad which he could man from the comfort of his favorite armchair.

Slowly Sage palmed his own cock, thumbing it up and down in time with the slow rolls of the gears, hearing you cry out with every thrust forward. If he had any respect for the rotten goddess’ that claimed to watch over the land of Hyrule, he’d consider thanking them.

As it stood currently, he’d remain his own god and thank himself, squeezing his shaft as he turned up the speed, hearing you sob out his name as another orgasm shook your core.

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suntoru · 2 years ago

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a/n: hello lovelies, how are u doing? im currently getting off my lazy ass and working on prompts right now <3 this fic was made for @dabis-nipple-rings, thank you for making a request!

warnings: fluff, a bit of swearing, gn! reader

back to prompt list

“doll, what’re you doin’?” dabi rasps. you’re practically choking him with the tightness of the scarf you have wrapped around his neck. it’s not very inconspicuous to be doing this in a bus stop at 11 pm, but he doesn’t mind.

“hmmm? oh, i’m keeping you warm! you cant expect to wear your slutty little costume and not freeze to death.” “my what?” he glares, his eyes piercing into you. “nothing, nevermind.” you giggle as dabi just sighs, tired of your antics.

he looks down, expecting a normal brown or black scarf, but his eyes almost pop out when he sees the bright pink hello kitty one you’ve chosen especially for him. “i’m not fucking wearing this.” he grunts, tugging the cute scarf off. “what? why?” you whine. “i got matching ones for us!” reaching into your bag, you pull out a identical pink scarf.

“please?” “no.” “pretty please?” “no.” “pretty pretty please?” you beg, putting on your best puppy eyes for him. “…no.” you continue to beg him for the next ten minutes, but he doesn’t budge. it feels like he’s taunting you, and it’s driving you insane.

“fine. sorry for wanting to actually act like a fucking couple for once.” you huff, turning away from him. you stomp out of the tiny bus station, forgetting about the snowy storm outside. the freezing snow instantly stings your cheeks, and it’s so cold outside, your flimsy jacket isn’t of any use. internally cursing at the world, you keep ignoring it until a warm hand pulls you to a muscular figure.

the frame is large, and it wraps around you. the person’s body is cozy and comfortable, and you melt right into it. your eyelashes flutter for a couple of minutes until you realize you’re cuddling with a random stranger in the middle of the night.

“oh shit, sorry sir, i have a boyfrie-” you look up, only to see a familiar head of black hair. “toya?” his eyes don’t quite meet yours, instead looking off to the side. oh. he’s wearing the scarf. you feel your heart combust as you break off into a giddy grin. “you wore it just for me?” you softly speak, but he doesn’t answer you, choosing to pull you closer into him. normally you would’ve been satisfied with that, but today, you feel like teasing him.

“hey.” you poke his cheek, pouting slightly. “look at me.” when he doesn’t respond, you pull his face out of your neck and cup his jaw. his lips are jutted out, his cheeks are dusted pink, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so soft. in that moment, it feels like time has frozen, and you can’t think of anything to say. the snow is still falling, and the air is still frosty, but your heart has never been so warm.

after a while of standing there, you break the comfortable silence in the most dabi way possible. “awww, are you blushing?” “fuck off, it’s just the cold air.”

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idesofrevolution · 2 years ago

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My Best Friend, the Ghost

It was the best feeling in the world. Picture this: a simple spread of the legs in the summer heat, sweat dripping from your forehead. You feel a cool, slick touch slide down your inner thigh. It feels almost slimy, though it leaves no residue as it inches toward your taint and ever closer to your rear. You gasp as it circles the tight hole, as if an expert were rimming you with their cold, wet tongue. Then, quickly, a gentle thrust. You feel it enter you, slithering slowly, intentionally. It begins to fill you, that frosty ooze spreading all throughout your body. Your breath is laboured, as you begin to contort and expand as it is overtaken, washed and inundated with this foreign substance bubbling beneath your skin. It pushes up your throat, choking you, taking the last of your breath away before it presses at the top palate of your mouth. It would feel almost like drowning, though your sensations only fire endorphin after endorphin of euphoria. Pressure builds as it presses harder and harder, until... pop. The hard palate gives way as it rushes and balloons into your head. Thoughts and stresses fade away, and you're left in a state of total ecstasy as your body begins to move on its own.

Fuckin' amazing, am I right? Well, guess what? I get that incomprehensible experience whenever the hell I want. Perks of living in a haunted apartment! Confused? Let me explain.

I moved to New Orleans a year ago, give or take a couple of months. I graduated college, and after testing out a couple of places that didn't really pan out for me, I landed in the cement swamp in the height of the summer. I'd just left Salt Lake City, so coming from the tepid air of Utah to the brick wall humidity of Louisiana was a lot. Yet, I was determined to make the best of this one. I'd secured a low-level office gig at a non-profit, and rented out a cheap two bedroom just outside the French Quarter. The house was one of those old shotgun-style places. It wasn't well maintained, frankly incomprehensibly so to be up to purpose for a tenant, though I was still paying an arm and a leg.

The first few nights, I didn't sleep super well. It was hot, I was sleeping on a hard air mattress, and the tall ceilings and old wooden floors made every little creak and groan of the house sound like some demonic entity moaning in the darkness just out of sight. At the time, I was resolved to believe such a rational theory. After all, ghosts aren't real. That recent college graduate sensibility: anything can be rationalized. Looking back, I scoff at what I thought I knew compared to what I know now. But that skeptic within me was what I relied on. It got me through my courses, it got me my job, it is what guided me through the insanity of life. So, as more peculiar occurrences began to happen, that is precisely the lens with which I saw the world.

When things started to go missing: my trusty running shoes, a pair of underwear, my gold chain, my laptop, even my keys, it was just me being forgetful. I took my Adderall and just ordered new things. I hunkered down and just focused on my work. When I heard scratching in the walls at night, footsteps down my hallway, quiet breaths echoing in the shadows... I was just sleep deprived, I took my Xanax and zonked myself out. Those dark shadows that crept around the corners just on the edge of my peripherals? Eye floaters, nothing more. Though, after about two weeks of just a miserable living experience, I finally experienced something I couldn't rationalize.

It was after a soul sucking day at the office, having spent all day sifting through piles of meaningless paperwork to the grating click clack of my coworkers silently typing on their keyboards like mindless drones. I'd gone into overtime that day, and after five or six cups of coffee, I can't say I was even remotely physically tired that evening. My mind, of course, was entirely devoid of functionality. Walking through my front door, tossing my keys in the little dish by the door, I collapsed onto my couch and just scrolled through Netflix, looking for nothing in particular. That's when I saw it. I'd turned to grab my vape pen from the side table, and my glance had grazed past the mirror which hung above my mantle. Floating behind me, clear as day in the mirror, was a figure. It was larger than I, big broad shoulders and pecs, tapering down to a narrow waist, flanked on either side by two muscled arms. It's face was chiseled and sharp, brows furrowed, golden eyes narrowed and full lips twisted in a mischievous smirk. It had no legs; rather, its body was condensed into a long whippy tail. Most notably, I would argue, was the... well... rather sizeable phallus which stood erect above it's navel, with two grapefruit sized balls hanging beneath it.

I sat frozen, unable to look away from it sizing me up in the mirror's reflection. All the other things I could make sense of in my head were obliterated at the sight of what was merely inches behind me, and inches above the floor. I finally found the strength to merely exhale, letting a soft billowing cloud of breath out of my mouth. It was the middle of June, and perhaps 91 Fahrenheit outside. It was impossible. Everything about what my eyes were seeing was impossible. As it began to creep toward me, I fully expected to spin around and like every haunted house movie of all time, there would be nothing there. Though as I whipped my head to look behind, no such luck. I was face to face with it. It was grinning as we were nose to nose. Bringing it's cool, ghostly hand to my cheek, it caressed it with the back of its fingers and winked at me.

"Hey there." It's voice boomed like a timpani, yet it's timbre was gravelly and suave. I couldn't help myself. In a primal state of panic, I shrieked a terrified scream. It didn't last long. The spirit seized the opportunity I was entirely unaware I had given it- quickly shoving it's head into my open mouth. The force by which it had taken me was overwhelming, though I suppose with it's sheer size, in retrospect it makes perfect sense. I was flung down into the cushions of the couch, as it pushed itself into me. I grasped at my throat, which was bulging from the thing which was now flooding down my gaping maw. I could hear it laugh from within me as it squeezed itself in, it's massive upper body condensing in on itself and slowly pushing deep into my gut. My stomach ballooned out, stretching as if it were rubber while it's tail whipped aimlessly against my face before it slipped between my lips.

This was the first time I felt the sensation. The euphoria. The cascading waterfall of endorphins as my body was contorting and stretching as the ghost slipped me on like a suit. I could feel it thrusting it's hands into my arms which expanded and stretched to accommodate the spirit's size. I could feel my chest burst through my shirt, with two jiggling pecs now engorged with it's essence. I could feel my thighs and calves swell with thick muscle, and my feet lengthen and explode through my socks. It was as if someone had taken a water hose and filled me like a balloon, and as I felt it's head rising up my throat one last time and slither into my head, I can't say I wasn't in the throws of intense and indescribable bliss. My eyes opened, I was no longer in the driver's seat.

"Ahhh fuck." It's voice boomed out of my mouth as I found my body moving of it's own accord. No, rather moving of his accord. I stood up, feeling my jiggling muscles slowly firm up and tighten as I walked to the mirror. The thing which wore me as a suit was checking itself out! It had my skin, my face, but otherwise I was unrecognizable. I was indeed approaching 6' 4", my jawline was square and chiseled, my arms as large as my head, my feet probably a size 16, and my... appendage? Let's just say he was now an anaconda snaking down my thigh, his hood restored and flanked on either side by an impressive bulbous sac. "Shit, that feels nice." My voice was soft like velvet, but frayed with a coarseness which tickled the mind like sandpaper. It stretched my muscles and cracked my neck and knuckles before finally bothering to introduce itself. "Name's Antoine, nice to meet ya." My hand slinked down to my member giving it a playful tug. "Actually, tonight, your name is Antoine too, baby." He smiled with my pearly white teeth, and it would be an outright lie to deny I was not eager to see what this Antoine would be using me to do that night. We sauntered over to my bedroom, tossing shirts and pants out of my drawers before he found some shorts and a tank top that fit my new musculature whatsoever. I had but only one pair of sandals that he could force my massive feet into, but neither he nor I could care less. As walked to the front door, and stepped out into the humid New Orleans air, he took a deep breath with my borrowed lungs, sighing in satisfaction. "Aight, my man. Let's see what kind of trouble we can get in tonight."

Thus began our mutual understanding. Our partnership. Frankly, our friendship. That night was one filled with club hopping across town, hitting dancefloors right and left, drinking outrageous amounts of liquor, grinding on sexy men with our tongue down their throats... None of which I would have ever experienced on my own. It was an entire world I knew nothing about, nothing I could have ever imagined myself doing, but with Antoine it seemed like second nature. After a night of debauchery and a tryst in some leather daddy's hotel room, he returned near the crack of dawn, collapsing onto my bed in a sweaty, swampy heap. He closed my eyes and almost immediately afterward I reopened them. The sun had risen, and peering at my phone, it was then 9 AM.

For a moment, I sat there and stared at the ceiling. I waited for my body to move on his command, though when it didn't, I whipped my sheets off to see that I had returned mostly to my former stature. I did note that I had grown ever so slightly. Perhaps his presence within me had left some residual effects on my body, a pleasant fact of which I did not mind whatsoever. I sat up, stretching my arms above my head, a wet warm musk wafting from my sweaty pits and steamy feet from the night before. For the first time, I found myself rather enjoying the scent... Where it once used to make me grimace with disgust, it now made me nearly salivate at the slightest tickle on my nose. I peered to the corner of the room, where now even in broad daylight I could see Antoine's spectral self floating above the floorboards, his arms crossed and his bright smile greeting me in the morning light.

We stared at eachother for a mere moment, before I smiled back at him. It didn't take words for us to understand what was to soon come to pass. Frankly, from then on, it was an unspoken pact. An inseparable bond, bound by an awakened hedonism and carnal desire. Starting that morning, our boys night out became a regular occurrence. I'd get home from work, exhausted and tired from a thankless day of grinding in the soulless office, and we would come up with a plan for the evening. He'd take his time slipping into me, knowing full well just how much I enjoyed each breathtaking second of it. In fact, we took a Saturday to go shopping for "night clothes" which would actually fit us when he was inside me.

Antoine was a bit of a casanova, able to make any person he met swoon with a single glance. The parade of men strutting the walk of shame out of my home every morning did not go unnoticed by my neighbors, not that they particularly seemed to care. It was the spirit of New Orleans, live every day like it's your last. That sentiment was instilled in me, along with a new attitude. I began to care less and less about this dead end job which had only gotten more and more unbearable as our relationship grew. My boss began to notice this as well. He noticed that my productivity had slipped, that I'd begun to come into work with more and more tattoos (which were admittedly against company policy), that my musky scent was becoming stronger and more apparent, that I'd become more casual and laid back, that I was trying to force myself into work clothes that were increasingly more and more revealing as my body grew toned and large. This, to him at least, was unacceptable. I don't entirely recall what it was that finally set him off, though I think it may have had something to do with me having my feet up on my desk as I took calls and the delicious pheromones to which my coworkers had taken a liking to. Something to do with my cubicle mate Daniel lapping up the pungent sweat from my socks beneath my desk as I worked. Couldn't say. Either way, it was the last straw for me.

It wasn't much of a loss, as my frequent appearances at the clubs, or rather my appearance altogether, which the bar owners had taken notice of. I had a line of bartending and gogo boy offers to take up in it's stead. Though, it wouldn't be enough to cover the rent on my own. Thus, we hatched a plan. A solution to both our issues: my financial one, and a more permanent solution for Antoine.

It was an average night in the French Quarter, we were behind the bar, and there before us appeared our solution sitting on a stool near the drink well. He was a tourist, a particularly needy and rude one at that. No friends, failing every attempt to snag the attention of our regular hustlers with his more than lacklustre personality. He was perfect. It wasn't difficult to play into his inflated ego, all it took was playing into his cringeworthy advances and unwelcomed touches before he was licking our pits and nipples, ready to head to our place. A lack of a tip was the final nail in the coffin, we were ready. The 'three' of us stumbled back to our apartment, and it took merely five minutes of making out before the drunken asshole had passed out in our bed.

Walking back into the living room, Antoine regurgitated himself out of me. Feeling him exit was always a bittersweet experience, euphoric in sensation but longing in sentiment. He floated in front of me, winking as he compressed himself under the door of our bedroom, slipping in with a quiet pop. Wiping the sweat from my brow, and taking a deep whiff of my dank sneaker like degenerate scent pig I'd become, I popped open a bottle of our nicer tequila to celebrate. As the yellow liquor began to pour into the glass, I heard the delightful sounds of possession begin to loudly bellow out from behind the closed door. A shriek, followed by squeaks and rubbery creaks atop elated moaning and gasping. Taking the two glasses, I meandered over to the couch, kicking my wafting, wet feet up onto the coffee table and grabbing the bong to pack a nice bowl.

The sounds of inflation and gargling, stretching skin and growing muscle were like candy to my ears, as I wondered what Antoine would look like. The guy was less than ideal before, though as a host, the sky was the limit to how gorgeous he was going to be. I lit the bowl, taking a deep drag before blowing an adequate cloud. Antoine's moans got louder and louder, his voice all the more recognizable as it progressed. One more puff from the bong and the sound of that final pop soared through the air. The house was silent apart from the heavy panting quietly emanating from the bedroom.

I sat there for a solid moment. He always was the master of the tease, knowing full well that I awaited his reveal. I could hear his chuckling before I heard the click of the lock on the door. Slowly, I stood up and walked to the bedroom door, pressing my ear against the wood. Nothing. I grabbed ahold of the doorknob with bated breath, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. The lights were on in the bedroom, and there in front of the mirror taking a selfie with his host's phone was my Antoine.

He was better than I ever could have imagined. That lanky, sad excuse for a man was long gone and in his stead stood the dreamiest hunk I'd ever set my eyes on. Our bodies were nearly identical in stature, as over the past several months he'd completely stretched me out to his own measurements. Though, his delicious golden eyes on that gorgeous, masculine face sent me over the edge. He was stacked, he was tall, he was caramel, he was packing down there, and he wafted that buttery, salty musk that made me drool. All he needed to do was to turn to me and wink in his new body and I felt myself harden.

"What's up, baby boy?" He flexed his massive arms, seductively licking his sweaty bicep for me. Let's just say that tequila and that bowl were still there the next day. We were rather preoccupied throughout the dawn, the morning, the afternoon, the evening... Endless hours of carnal pleasures and sensual overload. Simply washing the bedsheets of our intertwined cum imbued into the very threads of the fabric took longer than expected. I imagine you get the picture, so needless to say, such days were and continue to be frequent.

I suppose that brings us to today. As I sit here and write out how we got to this very moment, waiting for an Uber to take us to our honeymoon, I'll go ahead and mention that my former boss just walked by us, feigning pleasantries as if we were old buddies. Asking if now that I had a partner, I was finally ready to knuckle down and come back to work in a 'real job.' I turned to Antoine, he turned to me, and as we found our hands sliding toward eachother's growing bulges, basking in eachother's beguiling musk while my frump of an old boss indignantly watched, I flipped him the bird.

He stomped off, I doubt I'll ever see him again. Why should I need to? I have my man, I have our future, we have all the delicious men of this raunchy city to enjoy... What else can a guy ask for?

#male possession #male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #jockification #musk #gay transformation #male tf #ghost possession #bad boy transformation #body possession #gay possession #jock possession #muscle tf #jock tf #nerd to jock

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donovanlizzie · 11 months ago

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IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR - RON SPEIRS

In the bitter cold of Bastogne, where the biting wind seemed to cut through the thin army issued uniforms, Easy Company huddled in foxholes, seeking refuge from the relentless onslaught of winter. She sat among them, bundled up in layers of gear alongside her comrades.

One particularly freezing night found herself , Don Malarkey, Christenson, and Perconte squeezed into a foxhole, desperately trying to stave off the bone-chilling cold.

Huddled close for warmth, they spoke in hushed voices about their experiences and, inevitably, about Lieutenant Ronald Speirs.

The stories surrounding him were like whispers in the frigid air – mysterious and ominous. The tale of him allegedly shooting his one of his own men for being drunk on duty sent shivers down the spines of the soldiers of Easy.

"Don't know why anyone would willingly chat with him," Perconte murmured, eyeing Speirs from a distance.

"He's got that look, you know? The one that makes you question if you'll make it through the night," Christenson added, his breath forming frosty clouds in the air.

However, She couldn't help but be intrigued. As the conversation continued, she found herself defending Speirs, "Maybe he's not as bad as the rumours make him out to be. There's something about him that's... different."

Her words were met with incredulous stares from the three men around her , but she held her ground. Little did they know, She had sensed a depth to Speirs that went beyond the hardened exterior. It was this curiosity that would set in motion a night that would challenge perceptions.

Suddenly the infamous Lieutenant appeared as if out of thin air, scaring the life out of Perconte, who almost choked on his tooth brush. All four looked up at the man gawking in silence.

Speirs, surprisingly, broke the silence. "Need a smoke?"

The others watched in frozen fear as Speirs leant down , but She met his gaze and flashed a daring smile. "Sure thing, Lieutenant."

He offered cigarettes to the frozen soldiers, and she was the only one brave enough to accept. As she lit the cigarette, she couldn't help but notice the slight quirk of Speirs' lips, an almost imperceptible acknowledgment.

Unbeknownst to her , Speir's had been watching her from his spot for a while, with an intensity that bordered on the edge of obsession. The slow setting of the sun provided a dim backdrop, casting a soft glow on her features as she engaged in conversation with the men around her. There was a magnetic quality to her presence, an enigmatic allure that drew his attention like a moth to a flame

That night, she found herself sharing a foxhole with Lieutenant Speirs.

She nestled against him, seeking warmth in the small space, he spoke in a low, measured tone,.

"You know, I didn't shoot that man in my platoon."

She turned her gaze up to meet his, her expression unwavering. "I never thought you did" she replied, pausing for a moment before continuing with a smirk on her face. "But maybe don't tell Perconte that; it's nice to see him panic every time he sees you."

A rare chuckle escaped Speirs, the sound cutting through the freezing night. "You enjoy watching him squirm, don't you?"

She grinned, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Just a bit. Keeps things interesting around here."

With the cold momentarily forgotten in the warmth they shared. Their eyes locked, the unspoken understanding between them deepening. The tension between them reached a palpable peak, and for a moment, it seemed as if the frigid air might witness an exchange far warmer.

Just as their faces drew dangerously close, the almost-kiss was shattered by the unexpected appearance of Eugene "Doc" Roe. His silhouette appeared against the backdrop of the moonlit night, and his voice cut through the charged atmosphere.

"Just checking if you have any scissors or morphine?" Roe's inquiry pierced the air, his presence jarring against the intimate backdrop.

They pulled away, the near-kiss replaced by a shared glance of surprise. Roe, seemingly oblivious to the moment he had interrupted, stood there with an innocent expression, before sliding down into the foxhole with them.

Speirs raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Scissors or morphine, Doc? Is that all you ever think about?" She asked she reluctantly pulled herself away from her human radiator and fished through her pack for the last of her medical gear, handing it to Roe quickly so she could return to Speir's side.

Roe chuckled, seemingly unfazed. "Thank you - In this place, it's all anyone thinks about. You never know when you might need one or the other."

As Roe pocketed the medical supplies and zipped away to the next foxhole to ask the same question, she couldn't help but smirk at the comedic timing of the interruption.

Speirs, too, shook his head with a small, rueful smile. The fleeting at the moment of intimacy that had been disrupted.

After the near-kiss and the disruption by Roe, she decided it was time to try and get some rest, Speirs watched her curl up, pulling the shared blanket up to her chin.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction, a silent triumph that offering her that cigarette, would lead to something even he deemed impossible.

MASTERLIST

Band of Brothers MASTERLIST

#hbo war #bandofbrothers #ron speirs imagines #Ron speirs x reader #band of brothers imagine #donovanlizzie #imagines

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sebsxphia · 1 year ago

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i think i heard you scream too 🤭

I’m just having thots about Daddy Cyclone, he comes home all huffy from work and absolutely just wrecks you against the couch. He’s shoving your face into the couch cushions for a while before grabbing you by the hair and tugging you up to rest against his chest as he absolutely pounds into you, leaving bite marks all over your neck, back, and shoulders. And he pulls you back by the hair fair enough to grab your neck and spits into your mouth and just growls “Mine”

oh my god oh my god oh my god bella bella bella please please please 😭

knowing the stress that cyclone goes through having to care for those kids, it happens a lot. the position of grabbing you by the hair and tugging you up to rest against his chest is such a delicious angle, and he knows he can throughly pound into you and you can feel every curve and vein of his cock. you’re his biggest stress reliever and you wouldn’t have it any other way when he’s spitting in your mouth like that 🥴

thank you so much for this incredible thot my love! 💌

#i almost choked on my frosty #i fear the cyclone girlies are pulling me in #<- omg i hope you’re okay 🥹#but honestly #i too was pulled in by the cyclone thots #i’ve never looked back since #jOiN uSSssss woOoOo #sunblchdfly <33 #beau cyclone simpson

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ruvastuon · 13 days ago

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A New Start

Thanks for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Coming back to a background story from one of my WIPs Bloodmage. Luis first meets Jade.

Chapter warnings: some body horror

A flurry of minute red crystals flowed from his lungs. Mixing with the frosty air, the fragile shards easily shattered, sparking an array of pinpoint explosions. Fragments ricocheted wildly, tearing up more of the ground around his still form. As he lay still as a corpse, a particularly robust fragment landed in one of his unblinking eyes, embedding itself slowly into his cornea; he hadn’t been particularly interested in the view, but it would be a shame to lose his sight before the end.

“What manner of creature are you then?”

A voice rang out to his left, pulling his focus from the cloudless expanse above him. Opening his mouth to speak, he found that his voice refused to work, his heart still too dead to manage even that. He frowned in frustration, but without the energy or will to move, he was trapped here, like he had been for many years.

“It’s rare for someone to have destroyed more humans than plants… You seem to have put most of my little ones to shame.”

What looked to be a deer skull hovered over him, finally coming into full view. Pink hair ran across the top in a messy array, reminding him of cherry blossoms in spring. He’d always enjoyed watching the delicate petals dancing through the wind.

His breath hitched suddenly as a strange surge of power coursed through his skull as one of the creature’s fingers gently rested against his cold face. Whatever this creature was, it was humming with a strange and beautiful power that was strong enough to steal his breath away.

“Don’t give up yet. There is much to this world worth living for.”

He could sense the creature’s disappointment in him and his decision. As the hand began to pull away, a piece of his fractured soul suddenly sparked at those simple words. He’d counted everything lost, felt that this world had nothing more to show him, but this feeling. He suddenly felt that he needed more of it.

“W…it”

The creature’s attention turned to him once more, filling his mind with a strange spark of excitement. He took in a deep breath and let out a choked laugh at his own pathetic efforts. The creature returned the laugh with a trill, and he could almost imagine that it was smiling at him.

“Good, warriors shouldn’t fall so easily.”

The creature’s clawed hands gently encircled him, pulling Luis free of the earth.

#my writing #sketch #flash fiction friday #blood mage #writing #origional story #flash fic friday

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libraryofneith · 1 year ago

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Out of Mind - Chapter 8 (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

@hiroikegawa @evyiione @orcasoul

If anyone else wants to be the first to know when this fic is updated let me know and I’ll add you to the taglist!

Kind of a short chapter today guys but I promise after this one the plot's gonna start to pick up! Wanna get as much out as possible before term starts again. Sorry for the wait, i'll be honest it will happen again.

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

Summary: With Tess injured and you taking her place, you and Joel are forced to settle your differences.

Warnings/tags: [whole fic is 18+ minors DNI], it puts its age in the bio or it gets the block button, no real warnings for this chapter apart from the occasional curse and massive amounts of passive-aggression.

I know thing's haven't been easy, he hasn't made things easy but I'm sick of being caught in the middle of you two.

You

"How's the ankle holding up?"

"Still hurts like hell, thank you very much." You smiled at Tess sympathetically before pouring some whisky into her tea.

"You're the best."

"I know."

"So I guess you're not heading out tomorrow then?"

"Not unless i suddenly grow wings."

"Guess that means Joel's going on his own."

"Absolutely not, not to meet these people."

"So who's going with him?" Tess gave you a look that almost made you choke on your tea.

"No."

"Look I know you've had your differences..."

"You mean like him thinking I'm totally useless?" while I'm up at night tortured by his stupid grumpy gorgeous face "or the fact that he won't even be in the same room as me let alone talk to me?" leaving me to obsess over every single conversation we ever had, every time he was even sort of nice to me, every half-assed compliment he ever threw my way that I've been gnawing over like a dog with a bone.

"I know thing's haven't been easy, he hasn't made things easy, but I'm sick of being caught in the middle of you two. You've been acting like toddlers dragging me into your stupid bitchy fights and it's about time you just learned to put up with each other."

"Fine, as soon as he stops being an ass to me."

"I'll talk to him."

"Whatever it takes but if one of us kills the other before this deal's over you have only yourself to blame."

Which is how you found yourself holding your breath while picking your way through the sewers that ran out of the QZ, Joel grimacing in front of you; though whether it was from you or the smell was anyone's guess. You try to talk for the first time once you're out of the sewers and you can breathe clean air again.

"Do you think Tess'll be alright?" Joel responded with an 'mmm'.

"Is that yes mmm or a no mmm?" All that got was a glare.

You weren't really worried about Tess but you did feel guilty about leaving her alone with a broken ankle but, as she kept telling you, she was a grown-ass woman. And you could check in with her every night via radio code. One beep meant everything was fine, two meant there was a problem, though the further you got from Boston, the less use that was. You sucked in a breath as an icy breeze surrounded you. The first signs of Winter were starting to drift in and you had the horrible feeling it would only get worse the further north you got. Still couldn't be as frosty as your travelling companion.

"It's gettin' pretty cold." Nothing. "Do you think we'll see any snow?"

There was a long pause before Joel replied: "Maybe."

You let out a huff of frustration that immediately dissolved into a cloud on the cool crisp morning air. This was going to be a long trip.

#the last of us #hbo tlou #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc

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workingdownthewordmine · 9 months ago

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Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 3 Unbidden Guest

Bucky's uninvited housemate makes themself known.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Violence, choking, threatening with a gun, bleeding, hearing voices, hearing the voice of an abuser, references to murder, torture, suicide, violence, sexual assault Prompts filled: Fandom Free Bingo Frosty Edition: Stay a while @fandom-free-bingo Fluffbruary: Day 26: Care package, Day 28: Shelter @fluffbruary Winter Wonderland: Covering the other with a blanket @seasonaldelightsbingo Any Fandom Angst: Held at gunpoint @anyfandomangstbingo LGBTQ+: Non-binary!Character @lgbtqbingo

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

“Don’t ask the name of anyone that asks you for shelter.” Victor Hugo

It had been some time since Bucky had wished so fiercely that he could just stop waking up, stop coming back to a reality that became more of a nightmare each time. Before he opened his eyes he pleaded with the darkness to tighten again, to choke him back out of the world. A little longer, even if it couldn’t be forever, even if it could only be moments more before he had to open his eyes to-

A wet cloth on his skin, stroked down his cheek. For a handful of heartbeats, misery gave way to something almost like contentment. Complacency. Deadly. The horror burst through and propelled him into a rush of movement. He couldn’t go back. They wouldn’t take him back.

The body crouched over him was only a dark blur, hurled across the room and into a wall. It crumpled and he was upon it. His charge was clumsy but he didn’t need precision. His hand was around a throat. He’d need hardly a flick of a Vibranium wrist to snap their neck. The figure was smaller than him, pinned in his shadow, starting to tremble with the need for air. He had secured their arms beneath his knees without thinking about it, his shin across their legs to prevent them from kicking him. He was doing better. All that was left was the kill… It would be instant, almost entirely painless. He would not fail this time.

He froze. They weren’t struggling. They weren’t fighting him at all. There had been no raised alarm. No other movement in the room except the two of them. Bucky struggled to focus through blinding panic and burning eyes. He loosened his grip just enough to allow them a breath, and pushed the muzzle of his pistol beneath their chin. “Why shouldn’t I kill you right now?”

They looked up at him without terror, as though the ease with which he could end their life concerned them little. “Look at your hand.” Reluctantly, he allowed his eyes to flicker downwards – perhaps because the words had been more of a plea than a demand or a threat, or perhaps because defying the voice telling him to do what he was made for and kill was taking too much of his concentration. Even in the gloom, he could see the wet shine, and the scent of blood rose thickly from it. He’d felt no pain at all. “There’s no wound. It’ll stop in a few seconds. I – I could have put the bleed in your neck, or your brain. I didn’t. Please. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt you.” He stiffened. Their eyes widened and they spoke more quickly. “If I’d meant you any harm, I could have done something about it either of the times I’ve found you unconscious today. Right? I have no reason to hurt y-“ His hand pressed down again, choking off their words.

“Reckon I can squeeze a trigger faster than you can do your little magic trick.”

“Maybe.” They could do little more than shape the words but just enough of a hiss escaped for him to follow. “Don’t want to bet my life on it. Seen-” They shuddered, desperately sucking in a scrap of air. “Seen how fast you are.”

He growled and shook them by the throat. They pinched their eyes shut as if they expected death to follow. If they’d also started his brain bleeding, he couldn’t tell. “You’ve been spying on me. Sneaking round in my building. Now you’re fucking with me in my apartment. Why?” He shook them again. Their skull thudded heavily on the floor, long black hair escaping their ponytail. “Why? Tell me why I shouldn’t fucking kill you? You don’t want to hurt me? Then what do you want?”

They tried to reply but could only gurgle. He eased off their throat. “Help. Need help.” His hand lifted a little more, answering a deeper impulse than thought. With an effort, he overpowered the voice in his mind long enough to listen. Their eyes searched his as though watching the struggle. His hand tensed on their neck.

“Talk. Fast.”

They swallowed. He felt the fragile movement through his palm. “Shelter. Please. I don’t want to kill you. And,” Their dark eyes tracked his face again. “I may not be an expert on trained assassins but I don’t think you want to kill me either.” Had he imagined the emphasis? Had it been unintentional? Their voice was trembling. Short on breath, laden with pain. He couldn’t be sure.

“Someone wants you dead though. And personally, right? In more than the ‘all mutants are dangerous monsters’ way.”

“A lot of people. That’s why I need somewhere safe. I thought – I mean, you seemed like someone who’d be sympathetic.”

His lip pulled back in a snarl. “Because I’m a dangerous monster too?”

They didn’t flinch as they met his eyes. “Pretty much. You know what it’s like. Not to want to be someone else’s weapon. To not trust the good guys much more than the bad guys. Right?”

The adrenaline was wearing off. His head was starting to swim again. He should finish them fast, then he could sleep. Alone and safe. “So which do you think you are? A good guy or a bad guy?”

“Just a guy. I’m not much of a team player.” He felt a tremor as though they had tried to laugh. They swallowed again. He knew his face hadn’t given anything away, so they must have realised for themselves that apparent amusement was doing them no favours. “Look, there’s no one outside this room who has my back, or who I report to, or – I hope – who has any idea where I am. I just need somewhere to stay, where I can keep my head down.”

It was a terrible decision, really, not to kill them. He would be safer with them gone. He’d have his solitude back. This was his home. Perhaps he could have handled sharing it with Steve if he’d wanted to leave the compound, but not any random stranger who fancied moving in – especially not here, in his apartment.

“What were you doing in here?” The pistol pressed harder under their chin, forcing their head back a little more.

“I was worried about you. I heard you screaming earlier, and I found you in the basement all bashed up. I wanted to bring you back up here but I could only manage one flight of stairs. Vibranium’s heavy, I guess. Didn’t really know how I’d get you past the traps either – I unfastened some of trip wires but it seemed pretty obvious there’d be more inside. Didn't fancy killing either of us. I came to check on you later and you weren’t where I’d left you – figured you’d got back up here by yourself. I was going to just leave you to it but when I passed by the door there were weird noises. I knocked. You didn’t answer and the noises got weirder so I looked for another way in that you hadn’t rigged to blow up or eviscerate visitors.” Their eyes flicked towards the open closet, the one he’d been trying to block back up. “You were passed out again. You were breathing like shit and your skin and eyes were all red. I was worried.”

They tried to shrug. Their own breathing wasn’t so hot either. He eased off their throat just a little more. Their words had brought his discomfort into much clearer focus. Now he couldn’t help but notice how his breath was whistling and every inch of exposed flesh felt like it had been splashed with acid.

“You got down to the basement through there, right?” Another glance at the closet. “Not surprised you feel like shit. Insulation’s made of fibreglass. Not stuff you want to handle, much less breathe.” They frowned up at him. He could almost have believed they actually were as concerned for his welfare as for the ease with which he could end their life right now. Probably an ability to make someone bleed into their own brain with a thought was quite a confidence boost. If they could really do any such thing. What evidence did he have? His hand? Could have cut it on something and just not noticed. A quick enough thinker could take advantage of that, sure. After being thrown half way across the room and slammed into the floor. With a gun pressed to their head. Probably. And he had to concede that anyone who could do shit like that would definitely be a sought-after commodity for the worst people. Someone like that was definitely not the kind of unknown factor he wanted hanging around, right?

When was the last time anyone had sought him out to ask for help?

“Sit up. Slowly.” He released them and shifted away, gun still readied.

They waited until he’d made some space between them before awkwardly levering themselves upright and raising both hands level with their shoulders in surrender. “I, uh, I’m not armed. I mean, not in any way you can confiscate without decapitating me, which I’d really rather you didn’t. But I guess, if searching me makes you feel any better about letting me stick around, you can…”

Bucky looked them over. The baggy hoodie, the same that had been used for a pillow earlier, and cargoes could have hidden any number of weapons, but they’d made a decent point – if they’d been planning to kill him it was a risk and a waste of time waiting until now. He shook his head. “Just don’t make me regret my trusting and forgiving nature.” They offered a casual salute and even a small grin. “What time is it?”

A shrug. “Don’t know, but probably after ten. Here. Drink. Pretty sure your throat’s still full of glass fibres.” They reached into a cardboard box beside them surrounded by a few scraps of rope and tossed a bottle over to him, then rolled their eyes dramatically when he didn’t reach for it. “Not that convinced I’m not trying to kill you, then? Here.” They grabbed another bottle, cracked the top, and took a long swig. He watched their throat working and found himself recalling that movement under his hand. They recapped the bottle and offered it to him. “Monkey see, monkey do.”

The smirk was infuriating but he found his lip curling in return as he took the bottle. “Don’t push it.” He drank, and kept drinking. The cool water was unbelievably soothing to his sore throat. He drained the bottle and grabbed the first one, downing half of it before freezing with it still at his lips.

“Relax, okay?” His eyes darted to their face, startled to find a sympathetic frown. “I promise, it’s as wholesome as water stolen from struggling communities by billionaires can be.” His narrowed eyes received a shrug. “What? Wouldn’t be fair to lie to you.” He grunted and finished the bottle.

“You’re really weird, you know that?”

“Mutants tend to be.”

Bucky sat and watched, rolling the empty bottle between his palms, while his… intruder? Visitor? Neighbour? Pulled over the box and rummaged inside it, ignoring or not seeing the way he tensed.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?” They glanced up, blinking. Was it possible that they’d actually forgotten he was there in the last twenty seconds? It sure seemed like it. He nodded at the box. “Oh, just kind of a care package I put together. Meant to leave it outside your door but then you sounded like you were dying so I figured a get well card and a blanket might not do the trick. ‘S not much. Food, meds such as I could find, blanket – but you’ve got that already. Getting it down that climb with my face covered to keep the fibres out was hard enough without packing it any heavier, but there’s some more stuff over in the other apartment.”

He looked over at where he’d been lying, and stared in surprise. They were still in his hallway where he had passed out. He remembered dimly the pounding at the door, amplified by fear and disorientation, which must have been their knocking. His sleeping bag hadn’t been here then. Nor had his pillow or the unfamiliar sleeping bag stacked underneath his own. And there was the blanket, lying where he must have thrown it off when he woke up… and attacked them, he reminded himself with an internal wince.

“You did all that?”

“Yeah. Would have put you in your bedroom, but ran into that whole ‘Vibranium is heavy’ issue again so I made you a bed out here instead. Won’t be offended if you want to move back. You can borrow my sleeping bag. Oh, and I redid the bandage on your arm but the bleeding had stopped already, even where you scratched it up. You knocked a few chunks out of yourself. I cleaned the wounds and tied them up. Some of them looked like they could use stitches but I’m thinking you don’t really bother with those and I don’t know how to do them. I could probably figure it out with a video tutorial though if, y’know, you want me to try.” They kept talking as they looked through the box, peering at things as though it had been so long since they’d seen them that they were almost unrecognisable. It was a curious sight. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be able to cook in here so most of this is about as edible cold…” They were chattering away as if he hadn’t been holding a gun to their head a minute earlier. The effect was almost soothing. Where was that accent from? Not pure American as far as he could tell. Maybe British with some American or Canadian layered on top? There was something else too – something that spoke to his memories of warmth and spiced air. He was only half taking in the words and it was his turn to realise late that he’d been spoken to.

“Uh… huh?”

They grinned. “Sandwiches. Just cheese. Nothing fancy. I don’t do cooking. Probably a good idea to eat something. Might cushion the little spiky glass bits.” They shrugged. “My mother always freaked out about me going anywhere near our fibreglass insulation. I always figured she was overreacting but you look like shit so maybe not.”

“You go all out with the compliments, don’t you?” He bit into a cheese sandwich. They were right – it was nothing fancy, but it was food and it started to help with his painful, feverish exhaustion at once.

“Pretty much,” they admitted with a shrug.

Bucky was about to reply when a fresh storm of coughs overtook him, filling the air with crumbs. They leant back out of the way, lowering their own sandwich, apparently no longer so keen on it.

“That’ll probably happen for a while. You got a pretty good lungful, I guess.”

“’M not supposed to get sick,” he growled.

“You’re not technically-”

“Or injured.”

“Unless whatever they did to you gave you lungs that can dissolve glass, I doubt being a super soldier’s gonna help much with this. Might even be worse. If you can’t get sick, I’m thinking it’s because your body attacks anything that invades it particularly quickly and effectively, so it’s probably throwing a fit about a billion little fibres getting where they shouldn’t and I’m probably not really helping, am I?”

“Your bedside manner really sucks,” he grumbled. The complaint was half-hearted, though. Something had happened to their expression while they were spinning their theory. The gentle coffee-dark eyes had sharpened. The detached enthusiasm had become… uncomfortable. He’d seen too many expressions like that before, usually smiling above him while he was strapped to a table, full of glee over their latest pages of results. His fist curled and he touched his pistol. The movement attracted no attention at all. They’d found a scrap of ancient wallpaper –but still not ancient enough for him to remember it – and started picking at it as though its presence offended them, nails digging fretfully under its edges.

“Planning on building a nest with that?”

They froze and looked vacant for a second. He got the impression they were replaying the last few seconds to work out what he was talking about. In spite of the way his previous observation had jacked up his heart rate, it was a challenge to be afraid of someone who seemed to have so much difficulty just keeping track of existence from one minute to the next. And they’d brought him food and a blanket, he reminded himself. His lips softened into a small smile.

“Uh, sorry, hope that wasn’t sentimental.” They licked a fingertip and attempted to damp the paper back down. “There was a texture.” The explanation ended there.

“A… texture?”

Their eyebrows rose as though his puzzlement was incomprehensible. “Things that should be smooth shouldn’t have textures.” They said it the way someone else might say “tumours”. They gave a little shrug and didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s harder to ignore – tolerate – them when I’m nervous. Really weird, like you said.” He thought he saw a tiny wince. “Sorry, I’ll go back to the other apartment. You should be resting, not suffering through a lecture on the ways my brain is wrong.”

They started to dust themself off and get up. This time the wince was unmistakable. They tried to disguise the awkward movement with a stretch but his eyes tracked the tenderness in their shoulder with ease. He recalled the sound of them colliding with the wall when he’d thrown them off and his stomach churned with a momentary surge of guilt.

“There are painkillers in the box. Oh, and antihistamine cream. If your skin’s too uncomfortable to sleep, it might… And try to rinse your skin again in the morning. Just keep washing the fibres off. Not sure what to do for the lungs but hopefully that’ll be better tomorrow too. If you need anything, I’ll be across the hall.” They offered an awkward smile and took a step towards the door.

“Wait.” He was surprised to hear the word come from his mouth. “Not sure I want you getting up to fuck knows what out of sight over there.” His grin turned out as awkward as their exit. “You can stay. Here.” He cut off their attempted protest. “I’d like you to stay. Y’know, tonight, at least.”

He started to set his gun down, then went to the window to scan the street. The streetlights were on now. The only passers-by seemed natural and uninterested enough. “Just how sure are you that no one’s going to come looking for you here?” He put his back to the window and tried to resist the urge to look again.

“Well, I guess I can’t be a hundred percent certain but I think if they had any idea where I am they’d have come for me before now.” They curled tighter into the corner and Bucky almost laughed when he saw them shoot the window a glance almost identical to his own.

In the moment of strange kinship, he was moved to voice something he’d been wondering about. “You know who I am. You didn’t just stumble onto a guy with a potential safe house.”

They paused, and shrugged. “Well, no, I was looking for you. Got pretty lucky finding you though. Not a lot of guys with metal arms around but there are a lot of people in this city. Then I found you and had to watch for a while to make sure my instincts were right about you. That you’d understand why I needed somewhere to go. That makes me sound like a total stalker… It’s not a weird creepy obsession or anything. I just… heard about you, y’know, and-”

“So you know who I am, the things I’ve done, and you still decided to throw yourself on my mercy?”

He’d expected them to fidget uncomfortably, maybe refuse to meet his eyes. In fact, their gaze locked onto his like a magnet.

“Someone who looked a lot like you did those things. Not you.”

He stiffened. “It was me. A… part of me.” He’d never admitted that, even to Stevie. Why was he doing it now? He wished he could bite the words back, but they seemed unfazed by his confession or his regret.

“Was that part of you given a choice?”

The words stuck on his tongue, tangled in themselves. “We… I could have died myself. Rather than hurt anyone else. Most people would say I should have done.”

Their snort chilled him and he narrowed his eyes. They were just as unmoved by the increased hostility. “Most people don’t choose to die. Not when they’re actually confronted with the choice. So “most people” can take a running jump with their opinions about what any of you should have done. They don’t know what they’re fucking talking about.” He spotted that their hand was knotted into their hoodie so tight that their knuckles showed up pale in the dim light. “And for my part, I doubt it was even an option. Unless you can honestly tell me Hydra didn’t make really damn sure they fucked up your head before they gave you the kind of freedom it takes to kill yourself.”

Bucky could only stare as the words went through him like a laser, leaving a searing path behind them. Something was ready to take advantage of the quiet. It crawled into the ringing silence in his head.

You’d just love to believe that, wouldn’t you, little boy? “Boohoo, poor me. The mean nasty men hurt my feelings and that’s why I tortured and raped and murdered all those people.” It’s a fairy tale, little boy. A pretty lie to manipulate you into letting them stay. We chose you for a reason, asset. We saw the monster in you and leashed it. We didn’t make the monster.

“James?” The name came as such a surprise that it momentarily shocked him out of the guilty hell he’d been descending into. “James… you okay?”

“Don’t.” He gradually got his words back under control and the hysterical note out of his voice. “I – don’t. Don’t call me that.” He forced something like a smile. “I only get ‘James’ when I’m in trouble. I guess you can call me Bucky.”

They nodded, their own smile much more genuine than he had managed. “Bucky, then.” He was fascinated by their ability to look at him so calmly, with no detectable fear or contempt, yet he found himself still wanting to escape their gaze. He felt too seen by those eyes. Like they understood even more than they’d described with such stark and cutting accuracy. He backed up and turned away from them, crouching to straighten his bedding.

“Guess we do have some stuff in common, after all… You know, don’t you?”

“I don’t. Not what they did to you. But I know something about the lengths people like that will go to, to design the sort of operatives they need. And after they put in all that time and effort, they don’t get careless enough to let valuable assets kill themselves.”

The word caused bile to rise in his throat and he whipped around. Could they know? Could they hear? But they’d turned back to their corner, rearranging their blanket and trying to make themself comfortable.

“You can take your sleeping bag back. I’ll be fine with my own.” They waved him off.

“Hang onto it tonight. It’ll help with my guilt. It’s my fault you got all paranoid and trap-happy.” He watched them lean their head on the wall.

He wanted to tell them to at least take the pillow or something, but he had a premonition of how much good that would do. He stood, thinking, for a moment. Then he scooped up the blanket and threw it over them. He crouched to tuck it in, meeting their look of protest with immovable steadiness. And somehow he found himself looking into soft brown eyes a little too long.

“Night,” he muttered, retreating.

No, the voice growled as he contemplated the stacked sleeping bags. Soft. Weak. He glanced back into the corner. Their eyes were closed but they had no talent for faking the rhythmic breath of true sleep. He toed off his boots and climbed into his bag. It was difficult to see them through the shadows but he heard their breathing resume a more natural tempo. When had he last shared his sleeping space voluntarily? He was tempted to think it had been more than eighty years ago, before he’d shipped out. Back when he’d imagined he’d have some control over the course of his life.

And what would you have made of your life on your own? Another groupie for the star-spangled government lapdog? I made you so much more. And this is how you show your gratitude.

The yawning darkness at Bucky’s back reached out for him. Its fingers caressed his spine. He felt himself shaking, his throat closing…

“Hey, Bucky?” The invisible fingers retracted a little way into the dark.

“What?”

“Thanks. For letting me stay.”

How sweet that your new little friend thinks they’re any safer in a room with you than literally anywhere else. Even after your opening pleasantries featured you practically crushing their throat. You must have seen the bruises. I can hear them struggling to breathe from here.

“Y’welcome.” It wasn’t much but for just a moment it interrupted the voice; he searched for more words, desperate to keep it at bay, and to stop himself straining at the quiet to measure their breathing. His eyes locked onto the vague shape on the other side of the hall. “I never asked your name.”

A moment’s thoughtful quiet then a shuffling of blanket. He caught a glint of streetlight reflected in their eyes as they turned their face towards him. “Hive. Call me Hive.”

Note: Our Hive has nothing to do with the Hive who appears in Agents of SHIELD, just a coincidence that they ended up with the same name.

Thanks for reading! Every like and reblog is appreciated and treasured. Feed my need for external validation!

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