#and that line alone is what inspired this whole thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 month ago

Text

I’LL MAKE A HOUSE INSIDE OF YOU, I’LL GO IN THROUGH THE MOUTH ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; what awaits you by the entrance to the woods is not a wolf, but a man. he thinks your grandmother can wait.

word count; 14.7k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader (’girl’ is used only in allusion to the actual fairy tale), fairy tale au, hunter/wolf!suguru x little red riding hood!reader, yan!sugu, captivity, forced caretaking, infantilization, excessive use of ’little one’, hints of stockholm syndrome, slightly suggestive in one part (suguru gets a hard-on, blink and you’ll miss it), noncon kissing but that’s the worst it gets, instances of gore (ie; descriptions of a corpse, horror-inspired imagery), depiction of cannibalism (not involving reader), violent undertones, suguru never physically harms you but it’s mentioned that he could. open ended + almost entirely from reader’s pov. meta narrative.

a/n; happy halloween <3 (i’m late)(it’s 2025) this au has been haunting me since last year so i’m happy to finally have it out …. i don’t dabble in yan!sugu v often but it’s . so so sooo easy to turn him into one just by tweaking him a little bit … if nothing else i hope he ended up awful & hot 🫡 + biggest shoutout in the world to my beloved mickey (@teddybeartoji) for all your help and encouragement w this fic :’< also my belovedest dilly for doing the same and supporting me always … i love u……

[ once upon a time, there was a dear little girl... ]

the sun is stuck in vitro.

a glance up at the sky, in tune with your rapid steps. you’re threading through a meadow, red hood over your head, a basket hanging off your arm; wine and apricots and slices of cake, covered by a crocheted blanket your mother made. the sky you see when you tilt your head is painted gray, a bottomless pit, cotton clouds sticking together like the light layer of mist laying its legs across the landscape. dewdrops stick to your bare ankles as you wade through tall grass.

everything smells wet, fresh, the heavy scent of leaves and dirt — the end of autumn. everything bursting and blooming and decaying all at once.

and you’re all alone. threading through the grass and flowers, nearing the edge of the familiar woods, on your way to see your sick grandmother. it’s a force of habit; from the basket hanging off your arm to the pep in your step, a feeling like that of a page being turned. all of it familiar. this story is your home, you live within its walls. you know your lines, you always have. you know how it begins, how it ends, what it feels like to be swallowed whole — you know your steps will lead you right into the belly of the beast.

you know this story.

(you should know this story.)

only this time, it is not a wolf that awaits you by the entrance to the woods. it’s a hunter.

it’s a man, of tall stature, a shotgun slung over his broad shoulder and secured by a thin leather strap. poignant, a threat and a reassurance all at once, barrel pointing at the sky like a maw wanting to open wide. the first thing you notice. his hair is tied up into a bun, neat and tidy, charcoal strands tousled by the morning breeze, bangs swaying almost hypnotizingly under the hunter’s hat he’s wearing; your eyes drink him in, from head to toe. a dark-furred vest, engulfed by a coat that does nothing to hide the outline of his meaty biceps. his boots are stained with mud.

it’s nothing new.

(but he isn’t supposed to be here.)

before you can look around, make sure you didn’t take a wrong turn, leave your mother’s cabin on the wrong clock-tick — the hunter turns to look at you. eyes like the bark of a tree, smudged at the corners with flecks of rusted gold, their warmth beckoning you forward. the jingle of a bell chime. and only then do you spot a splotch of red in his calloused hands, cradled closely, a poppy. young crimson petals.

he’s caressing them, and he’s smiling.

like he knew you’d be here.

molten, rainy clouds stick together in the sky, allowing no flicker of sunshine to seep through the gaps. once you step inside the woods, the mist will only thicken. a ceiling made of tree-leaves to obscure the world around you. it’s straight ahead, the main road that leads into their depths — the one you’re meant to follow. from where you’re standing, you can spot bugs on the mossy rocks, shimmering beetles, hear the buzzing of a lonely little bee busying itself with a honeyed tree trunk. shadows upon shadows. you’re right at the edge of the second act, but there is no wolf to be seen. no monster to fall into.

only a man, parting his lips.

”and where are you headed, little one?”

his voice is deep. steady, sturdy, seeps into your spine. but tailored with silk all the same; a pleasantly raspy undertone. he’s speaking softly, and your heartbeat slows down, grows quiet as a mouse.

it’s only him, after all.

(the ever reliable hunter.)

”… to my grandmother,” you answer, hands gripping onto the handle of your basket, a smile gracing your features. still confused, but polite, even sweet. he’s weak to it, you’re well aware. ”she’s sick, you see…”

he nods along, smile never changing shape — hand only briefly reaching down to his waist, slipping the poppy into his pocket. you wonder why he doesn’t just throw it away, but there’s no time to ponder on the smaller things; he speaks before you can try.

”i see,” he hums, a low buzzing in the back of his throat. ”and on such a lovely morning…”

the irony in his tone is evident, ripe like a peach. smiling along, you let out what could almost be considered a chuckle — it’s a little out of breath, your lungs constricting in wake of the mist-ridden air.

”mm… it’s alright. i don’t mind.”

that makes him pause, for a moment. ”how kind of you.” it’s praise, sweetened by a roll of his tongue — the hunter tilts his head, honeyed eyes ripe for plucking. ”i’m sure your grandmother will be thrilled.”

”… i hope so,” you hum, blinking through the dew. ”it’s the least i could do, really…”

golden eyes seep through the gaps between his lower lashes, gazing down at you. a piercing stare. you wonder if he can tell you’re lying. a moment passes, and then he’s speaking again, with a click of his tongue— that same pleasing lull to his voice.

”and where does your grandmother live, hm? not too far off, i’d hope…”

”it’s… still a bit to walk,” you chuckle, adjusting your hood, picking at a piece of lint dangling off the fabric. ”her house is just under the three large oak-trees, with the nut-trees below… you surely must know it?”

”… that i do.” for a moment, his smiles laces itself with sticky nostalgia; something warm.

then, suddenly, he’s taking a step forward. boots crunching against the ground, clicking against the gravel underneath his feet. like he’s walking on a frosted lake. aside from the low buzzing of tired bugs, and solemn whooshing of the morning breeze, it’s all you can hear. when he gets close enough for you to see the mole just below his jaw, he’s towering above you — shielding you from the wind, broad shoulders obscuring your view of anything but him. his eyes, his smile, the shotgun over his shoulder.

and he parts his pretty lips.

”would you do me a favour, little dear?”

a tug at your heartstrings. your eyes gaze up at his, wide with curiosity, rising up like bubbling foam in the sea of your iris. a request, something to do; it’s hard for you to ignore its call. always has been.

so you speak before you think.

”sure.”

a pleased hum. ”… i’m on the hunt for wolves, you see.” his eyelids flutter, but you don’t think he misses the way your smile evens out, your grip on the basket growing tighter. ”i know your grandmother needs you… but would you let me treat you to a cup of tea?”

”… tea?”

your baffled inquiry pulls a soft bout of laughter from the depths of his throat.

”tea,” he nods. ”any kind you’d like. i couldn’t sleep at night, knowing i’d left you all alone here with those beasts roaming around… and my home is close by.”

a pause. you inhale the earthy air, taste it on your tongue. a sense of delirious foreboding settles into your veins, a call from deep within your gut.

your mother told you not to let anything distract you.

(… then again, when have you ever been the type to do as you’re told?)

”i don’t know… i’m not really supposed to,” you try to convince yourself, fidgeting with the strings of your cape. you can feel the hunter’s gaze, heavy in a comforting sense; like a mother wolf gazing at her cub, making sure no harm befalls it. intimidating in the sense that you don’t know what he’s thinking.

”… how very well-behaved,” is all he says, adjusting the strap of his shotgun. he sounds like he wants to say something else, but he takes a moment too long to speak. then; ”you seem a little out of breath.”

and you are. your breathing is all out of sorts, your throat shivering under the force of your chilly inhales. it’s cold, and your legs feel sore. the fabric of your cape is too thin to shield you from the chilly autumn breeze, and your bones yearn for some respite.

your mind, however, yearns for something different. something new. a different story, another chapter.

(… you shouldn’t, but…)

”it was awfully reckless of your mother to send you off alone,” he mutters, a low click of his tongue, voice slipping down an octave— something rough gnawing at his vocal chords. ”a little thing like you…”

(… he shouldn’t be here at all.)

”i’d like to rectify that.”

there’s a stability to his words, something self-assured. he personifies a security you’ve never had, an absent smile that warms your numbed-out hands; there’s a warmth to it you couldn’t find in the woods, in the dark and gritty path carved out before you. it makes you think a cup of tea wouldn’t be so bad.

(maybe two wrongs do make a right.)

you stop to think, for a moment.

you could walk into the woods, down the main road, like you supposed to. one step after the other, right until you reach your grandmother — or a hungry wolf. you could wait by the flower meadow, and pick poppies until your hands grow weary, until you have enough to bring home to your mother. alternatively, just until the beast remembers his curtain call.

… or, you could follow the hunter. follow him, like a pliant lamb, until you reach his cabin.

(ultimately, only one of the choices entices you.)

”… alright, then,” your breath turns into white smoke. ”i’d be glad to. sorry for the trouble, though…”

his eyes gleam, suddenly; a honeyed whisper on his tongue. a sense of contentment in the sigh that slips past his lips, the sway of his bangs when he shakes his head. ”believe me — it’s no trouble at all.”

two sparrows take off from a branch ahead of you.

a breeze brushes past your cheek. he holds his arm out, ever the gentleman; waiting for your fingers to curl around his bicep, cling to it for stability. and you do, if only just to please him, because you know the hunter needs to be needed in the same way your grandmother needs pie and wine. the same way the wolf needs something soft to sink his teeth into.

his eyes crinkle, like autumn leaves on golden trees. pats your arm, once, then twice, and says;

”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

and you follow his lead.

you know this man. that’s why you aren’t afraid. why you can’t help but match his step, as he guides you away from the road you’re meant to take, slowing down his strides just so you can keep up. the sun is still obscured, a slob of amber in the middle of the sky, engulfed by sticky clouds. the woods sway in a solemn waltz, bugs scatter away like ravens from the moss-ridden rocks, and when you pass the bushes on your far left you swear you catch a whiff of iron.

before you know it, he’s led you away from the woods — across a field of poppies, beyond the bridge of a river, down to a cabin with a freshly-painted fence.

his home is as warm as his smile.

the moment you step over the threshold, a scent of sandalwood invades your lungs — thick like you just fell into a bag of sawdust. it seeps into your nostrils and burrows itself deep inside your chest, curls up and sleeps there. rich, earthy, firewood and basil from the living room and kitchen, liquid comfort in your veins. warmth, peace; even with the butterflies pinned to the walls, gleaming behind glass. a deer mount watches you from across the hall, its antlers curled up proudly, eyes dumb and dead and animal.

all you can think is respite. rubbing your chilly, frostbitten hands together, blowing hot air on the interior of your palms. the hunter leads you inside, hangs his coat and puts away his shotgun, takes off his hat and steps out of his heavy boots — waits for you to do the same. you leave your crimson coat as is. gently, he takes hold of your basket, gives your shoulder a break. it comes to him naturally, this sense of service; a perpetual motion machine.

you think him a dog, finely trained. it puts your heart at ease.

”make yourself at home,” he smiles.

an absent nod. you’re still busy glancing around, following just behind him as he moves towards the living room. it looks cozy. knitted blankets thrown over chairs, books gathering dust on the shelves, a lit candle by the windowsill. there are carnations in vases, all smelling of spring, the same colour as the eager fire crackling by the chimney — sparks of ember against freshly cut wood, fireworks for only you to see. an axe catches their angry flicker of light with its dull edge, where it lays against a pile of logs, leather sheath curled around it; serpentesque.

already, your eyes have strayed too long. he doesn’t seem to mind. when you raise your head he’s looking at you, standing by the threshold to the kitchen and waiting, lips curled into a soft, ikebana-like smile.

a flicker of amusement passes through his low-lidded eyes. and then he’s turning on his heel.

you follow him.

”take a seat,” he hums, dragging out a wooden chair for you to sit on; and you do so without putting up a fuss, absently scanning the walls and shelves, jars of honey and jam and spices, cloves of garlic hanging in a happy row. a kettle rests idly on the stove, white little petals soaking in a bowl of sweetened water right next to it, reminds you of a bleeding bride. the kitchen table is small, just big enough for two. cozy.

”thank you, mister hunter,” you offer him a smile.

”— suguru.” he pushes the chair forward again, makes sure you’re all sorted, and then steps away. ”just suguru is fine. no need to be formal, little red…”

his voice comes out as something like a purr, interwoven with a morning residue of smoke, fatigue. you can hear it, though, the tender hint of happiness beneath it. he faces the stove, lifts his large hands to open the cupboards above him, and you spot a vast assortment of tea bags; dried yellow leaves, petals and stalks, silken bags and paper wrappings, an earthy scent that pervades the air. cuts into it, forces its way through the thin gap. you inhale, deeply, and feel it take root in your kidneys — no exhale makes the feeling go away. chamomile, rooibos, earl gray…

a cacophony of remedies pulsing in your ribs.

as he busies himself with boiled water and strainers, you gaze out through the window to your left. all you’re privy to seeing is a field, speckled with ghostly pale flowers — barely visible under the shadow of a sky yet to be broken through. in the distance is your destination, the murky woods, tall pinewood trees and willows and clusters of dried up leaves. you wonder if your grandmother will worry if you linger here for too long, if your mother will be disappointed. if they’ll even notice. the basket of goodies you brought rests on the kitchen counter, unassuming.

”here you are,” suguru hums, setting down a mug for you. pure white ceramic. he slips in a teaspoon’s worth of honey, and fills it up with water from the kettle, piping hot, orange in colour, tiny calendula buds swimming like fish in the sea. ”drink up, little one,” he croons. ”we don’t want you catching a cold.”

when you reach out to touch the rim of the cup, you’re stung by the warmth — it sparks against the tips of your fingers, spreads throughout your veins. gives way to a soft smile. ”thank you, suguru.”

his eyes gleam under the dim lights.

”have a sip,” he encourages. ”tell me how it is.”

and you do. you bring the mug to your lips, feel the warmth of the tea seep through the ceramic, steam rising from it and tickling your skin. when you drink it’s an assault on your senses, like the flowers snuck inside your throat and bloomed along your windpipe. hot enough to burn your tongue, rich and sweet.

a sigh leaves your lips. laced with contentment.

”it’s delicious,” you compliment, still feeling the sting on the tip of your tongue. putting the cup back on the table, just to hear the clink against wood.

a warm smile.

”i’m glad.” seamlessly, casually, he leans forward; curling his fingers around the handle, bringing it to his own lips. you watch, owlishly, as he blows on the tea — quick to slide it back towards you. ”… there.”

he must notice your bewilderment, at his familiarity. but he only exhales a soft breath; grazing the surface of a chuckle. resting his jaw on the heel of his palm.

”… go on. have as much as you’d like.”

he doesn’t pour himself a cup until you’ve finished your first. watching you, from across the table, eyes melted into something fond, glimmering faintly.

enamored.

(in every version of this story, the hunter is in love with you.)

that’s why you aren’t worried. that’s why you can’t help but tune out everything except the faint glow of his kitchen, the budding warmth of his home, the tea he keeps on pouring you, cup after cup. the feeling of something deliriously new. listening to the purr of his voice, allowing time to slip you by — sinking into a state of dizzying comfort, slick with safety.

before you know it, he’s shown you around the house, told you all about the lilac-coloured flowers growing in his backyard, coaxed you into warming yourself by the fireplace — he insists. it’s already well past the time you would have made it back home after your outing. your grandmother’s basket is still resting on the counter, untouched, wine and pie and peeled apricots that have probably begun to grow stale. she won’t tell the difference, but you will.

with decision, you rise from the armchair you’re seated on, closing the book he lent you. feeling the stir of a pep in your step, like the kick of a rabbit.

a shallow breath — ’duty calls,’ you muse.

(perhaps it’s for the best; you were beginning to bore of the silence, anyhow.)

suguru makes a low noise, in the back of his throat, seated on the armchair to your right. sleeves rolled up; a light patch of dark hair running from his wrist to his elbow, muscles embraced by the flame-slicked shadows of the fireplace. he gazes at you, silently.

”thank you for letting me stay,” you smile, picture perfect, easy and polite; curling your fingers together as if praying. ”but i really should get going, now.”

the wind whooshes, sharpens its claws against the windows behind you. the sky still dark, rain drizzling down, nothing a cluster of trees can’t shelter you from. the hunter stands up, to his full height.

”… i don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

a twitch of his brow. covered up by a smile. for the first time since meeting him this morning — you catch a flicker of distaste dance inside his pupils.

you aren’t sure what to say.

it doesn’t matter, either way. he parts his lips to speak. ”it’s dangerous… and it’s already getting late. surely, your grandmother can wait until tomorrow?”

”i’m… not sure i should,” you try, fingers idly slipping into the pockets of your red coat. mustering a cheery voice. ”besides, i wouldn’t want to trouble you!”

”i insist.”

…

crackle, crackle, wood splintering into ash. the silence is deafening, thick like a slab of butter on bread. it makes a lump form in your throat, hard to swallow, though you aren’t sure why.

”… tomorrow,” he continues. smile a little stale. ”wolves roam around in the evening. it’s not safe.”

something in his tone tells you he’s already made up his mind. something staggeringly aware — like he’s stating a fact, something unquestionable.

it’s not safe out there.

(he’s right, of course, but…)

(when he opens his mouth, you swear his teeth look just a little sharper than they should.)

a kick to your heart makes you cough up a response, a string of jumbled words. it comes to you almost like an instinct, an unsteady voice. ”if it’s really okay…”

he perks up, at that.

”of course,” he smiles, a little wider. ”of course it is.”

a warm voice, and a warm home, the crackling of a warm fire behind you. it should feel peaceful — yet you can’t help but gaze out the windows, nervously, watching the faraway trees sway. if you squint you could almost make out those golden, piercing eyes, the black fur of a beast in a bush; unease settles in the base of your gut and gnaws at your flesh.

just until tomorrow, you think.

his cabin is a safe zone, of sorts. you’re well aware of that. nothing can get to you, as long as you’re here, with his shotgun close by. suguru is tall, reliable, the only one you can trust — at least he should be. even if he isn’t where he should be at the moment.

it’s in his nature. he looks out for you.

he loves you.

(it’ll be fine.)

”it’s about time for dinner, isn’t it?” he breaks the shaky silence, stretching his arms out, craning his neck with a quiet crack. a clean break of bone. his gaze is kind, attentive. ”time flies… let me make something for you. what would you like?”

”… anything is fine.”

”anything…” a low chuckle. ”what would you say to some warm stew, then? is that alright?”

it is. after a nod, and a moment’s pause, you sit back down; just to feel the soft fabric sink beneath your weight. suguru hums, pleased, makes his way over to the kitchen. the axe gleams under the glow of the fire, and the deer on the wall watches your every move. the butterflies, too. wings for eyes.

(just for the night, you repeat to yourself.)

a hearty dinner, a warm bed to sleep in, and tea with honey in the morning — it doesn’t sound so bad at all. your mother probably won’t be worried, and your grandmother probably won’t die. no repercussions, the script already broke. staying one more day is fine.

… except he doesn’t let you leave, the morning after.

it starts out small. it always does.

(creeps up on you like a bug in a carcass.)

“it’s too early.”

“it’s too cold, you’ll get sick.”

“don’t you want to stay for dinner?”

a warm smile, a smooth voice, a face with sharp lines and soft skin; tailor-made to put you at ease. suguru is beautiful, familiar, eerie in a sense that only makes you feel at home. he’s always been stubborn, you recall. some part of your body remembers.

but never like this. never, ever like this.

never as suffocating.

“you’re too small to know what’s good for you.”

— there’s that bite. it sneaks up on him and grows teeth. he pats your head, with a calloused hand, and you relent. only gnaw at your bottom lip, jutted out into a frown you hope won’t rouse his anger. you’re still not sure he can even get angry, but he’s scary enough when he makes these choices for you; makes you think you have control over your own actions, all the while stealing it from underneath your feet.

(soon, he’s outright denying you.)

“i— i really need to leave,” you try, almost pleading, on the third night. your lungs are constricting, from the heavy scent of peppermint in the kitchen air, and he’s watching you like you’re nothing but a child demanding candy before bed. “please.”

a sigh, and a shake of his head.

“you aren’t listening, little one.” he turns around, clinks a teaspoon against the edge of a porcelain cup. “it’s safer here. your grandmother can wait.”

nails paint crescents on your inner palms.

“… she’s waited long enough.”

frustration sneaks into your tone. bubbles up into your words like venomous pores. you think he must notice, because his smile is especially gentle when he turns to face you again, all lips and no teeth, still as composed as ever. he steps forward, curls an arm around your waist; he’s starting to lose all pretense of caring about your personal space, of not appearing too familiar. pulling you close. steady, steady, steady.

so much stronger than you.

even when you stir, he doesn’t budge an inch. only lets out another mellow sigh, that fans against the side of your face. you think it sounds a bit amused.

“she’ll be okay,” is all he says. “she doesn’t need you.”

…

“she needs you to be safe.” he must have noticed the crestfallen look on your face. “as do i. you’re staying here, for the time being — it’s no trouble at all.”

he gives you a smile, to ease your nerves, honey-slicked and sweet; but something rotten settles in your gut. bile at the base of your throat, sour. it feels constricting, to be held so close, to be forced to inhale the scent of oakwood and musk on his skin. he’s warm. squeezing you firmly, and you’re sure it’s meant as a comforting gesture, but all you can think is burly arms, solid muscles, the crack of a bone. all you can think is that you’re well and truly powerless.

”believe me.”

when he lets you go, lets you scamper upstairs, you feel as though you can finally breathe again. leaning against the door to the guest room — gazing out through the window at the end of the hall, finding comfort in the swaying of the jade-dyed curtains.

something is very, very wrong. wrong with the hunter, the story, wrong with the home you’re in.

(you think you’re beginning to realize what.)

the hunter’s name is suguru. he appeared right by the edge of the woods, seven pages too early — or four, depending on the edition. he hasn’t let you leave his home, despite his initial offer to shelter you for no more than a day. his voice is deep and smooth, gravelly in the mornings or late at night, like an axe dragged through rugged grounds; or the bark of a tree yet to be cut in half. rough. the pieces dig a grave inside your brain, start to reek of decay.

the hunter is trustworthy.

in the story you call home, this is code of law; a black-and-white truth.

(but hunters don’t smell like wolves.)

hunters don’t watch your every move, or keep you locked against their chests, or make you sneak out in the middle of the night when everything is silent. hunters don’t will you to run away.

but on the fifth night, that’s exactly what you do.

once you’re almost certain he’s asleep in his own room, just two doors down from across the hall, you crack your eyes open and slip out from underneath the covers. shivering, shielded only by the flimsy nightgown suguru lent you to sleep in, sheltering you from the cold seeping in through the windowpane. it’s big on you. every step you take is slow and calculated, soft enough not to make any noise; you hold your breath as you crouch down to pick your coat up, lying in a pile on the floor, stretching your arms out through the gaps and pulling it over your head. then you walk to the door, the window behind you leaking in the faintest strings of moonlight.

the sky is dark, the room you’re in cocooned by its shadow. you can barely even see your own hands when you reach for the doorknob and twist.

no noise. no creak.

a soft sigh slips from your lips, just under your breath. your fingers pull it open, and you step out into the hall— not bothering to close the door behind you. paintings line the walls on the second floor, all depicting landscapes, fields of poppies, sheep in circles, a house on top of a windy hill. watercolour on canvas. you wonder if he painted them by hand.

out of the corner of your eye, you gaze at his bedroom door — you can’t help it. under the light of the moon, it gleams like an omen. sealed tightly shut.

your heart strings together a tale of worry.

(it’ll be fine, you tell yourself. he’s asleep.)

and so you venture down the stairs. placing one foot in front of the other, gripping onto the handrail with all your might, trying not to put too much weight into your steps. heart stuck in your throat. one steps, two steps. you can see the fireplace from here, though the flames have long been stifled. pieces of coal gleam under the light streaming in through the windows, blue flickers that disappear when clouds devour the moon. red carnations painted indigo.

eight steps. nine steps.

when your foot meets the rug on the living room floor, soft under your bare soles, a pang of relief squeezes your veins; a moment where you allow yourself to simply breathe. inhale, exhale, because the hardest part is over. almost there, almost free.

your next couple steps are hungry. burning with delight, moving towards the front door, still careful not to stumble over or into anything — but really, all you can think is that the crispy midnight air is just beyond your grasp. it’s all you can think when you fumble for your shoes in the dark, glance up towards the top of the staircase every other second. anxious, despite your excitement. it all bleeds together.

it’s all you think when you pull up the rug by the front door, grab the key you knew would lie beneath it. all you think as you stick it into the keyhole and twist.

freedom. that’s what the air smells like, as it floods your starving veins — as you move your feet to cross the threshold. floods your lungs, as you gaze up at the moon, smiling in the sky like nothing’s wrong. welcoming you back to the narrative. the wind feels cold on your cheeks, streaming into his house when you push the door open, wild and untethered; swaying the field of flowers just beyond his fence.

freedom. freedom. freedom.

you take a decisive step, leaving the boundary of his home —

and the door slams shut behind you.

(a betrayal of the wind.)

it rings in your ears. you stay frozen in place.

the light flickers on, behind the window right above you. casts a glow on the frosted landscape, on your figure — and you know he’s watching. you feel it.

so you run.

it’s sudden, the spike of pure adrenaline rushing through your veins, completely flooding your senses and numbing your legs — you do not feel the cold of the air, barely see the way your breaths turn into mist as you inhale and exhale. you only think to leap towards the fence, fumbling with the lock, your shaky fingers pushing and pulling until you finally decide to simply climb over — placing the sole of your shoe on the picket and tearing your nightgown on the way down, tripping over your own feet and landing on your palms, scrambling to get back up again. the bruising doesn’t ache, the drag of your skin against gravel — you don’t even hear the tear of fabric. you only hear the pounding of your own heartbeat, feel it crawling up your throat like a snake suffocating on the rabbit it just swallowed whole.

it pitters and patters, against your windpipe, and you run. sprint. everything in front of you is dark, mist thick enough to drown in, clouds devouring the moon again — you don’t really know which way you’re going, only that it’s away from here.

your lungs feel on fire, the air gasoline.

and you hear the door slam shut behind you.

(— the hunter begins his chase.)

tall grass melts around your ankles, ice-cold drops of dew and frosted flowers whipping your bare skin, but you don’t feel it, only feel the fear in your heartbeat as it threatens to make your ribcage burst. fear, fear, the primal kind. everything ahead of you is dark but it doesn’t matter, you’re only focused on running as far as your legs can take you — you’ve never felt a rush like this before. never felt so much like an animal being pursued. the wind tugs your hood away.

distant woods beckon you closer, closer still, swaying and waltzing on a moonlit night. you think yourself mad, to follow that shimmer, but you’ve never been quite right in the head, never really. frost, mist, harsh nips at your skin. the sky above is wide and vast, and everything is silent. everything except for you — a litany of frightened whines tugging at your tongue.

you don’t need to look to know he’s after you. yet you still cast a glance over your shoulder, shuddering suddenly, a gasp pushing past your lips —

he’s stares back at you.

golden eyes, sharpened in the night.

you’re knocked off your feet. thrown forward, with an almost brutal lunge, your body hitting the ground of the flowered field beneath you — it knocks the air from out your lungs, and for a moment you can’t breathe, can only feel the wet earth under your cheek and the sickening weight upon you. he’s pressing you down, with all his body weight, and he’s panting into your ear. holding your wrist so tightly you’re scared it’ll break. the fight doesn’t leave you. the rush is still there. but it has nowhere to go, with your legs stuck, it’s just wasted blood sugar.

you can do nothing but wriggle like a worm. fruitlessly. feeling his hair tickle your neck, hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, you want to cry, the fear is coursing through every narrow of your bones and you’re completely out of breath. you trash and trash, a sparrow with broken wings, but it’s futile.

(he caught you. he caught you. he caught you.)

”i caught you,” he finally pants, like a wounded dog, collapsed on top of you. but you hear his smile, that sickening sound of relief. ”silly, silly little thing.”

it hurts. he’s heavy. your knee is pressing into the soil, uncomfortably, you feel the moisture seeping through the fabric of your nightgown, his pulsing heartbeat against your spine. now the adrenaline is leaving you, sinking out of your body, leaving you boneless. like an animal about to be devoured.

resigned. surrender.

suguru presses a kiss against the side of your neck, teeth just barely grazing your pulsepoint— and the fear inside you spikes like the snap of a mousetrap.

”what were you thinking, hm?”

he doesn’t sound upset, only gently reprimanding. fondly exasperated. somehow, that scares you even more — the shift, the dichotomy, his voice a soothing thunderstorm as he keeps you pinned against the flowerbed. his overwhelming strength, in contrast to how relaxed he sounds. like this is nothing but the natural consequence of your actions.

”… you never change.”

the vice grip on your wrist begins to loosen, as he lifts himself up, no longer crushing you. it’s easier to breathe, but you’re still too rattled to try. still playing dead at your instinct’s demand, eyes pried open as you stare into the eyes of bugs above your nose. you can’t do anything but go limp, as he scoops you up, holds you against his chest, stands up straight. one heavy hand on your head and the other on your back.

he turns around, begins to walk back to his house, and your stomach fills with dread.

”n-no…” is all you can muster, too exhausted to make anything other than a quiet whimper, a weak weep of a protest. but he hears you, and he croons.

“shhh,” he soothes, as you whine into his neck, panting softly. rubbing your back. as if shushing a child that just had a temper tantrum. “you’re okay. i wouldn’t hurt you, little one, you know that.”

but you don’t.

(you don’t know anything anymore.)

”you’re my baby,” he continues, another sickening coo, and it sounds like a death sentence. giddy. he leans down to kiss your throat and you can only think of his teeth. ”only mine. my silly baby.”

a final glance at the sky, before he’s closing the door behind you. you see darkness, only darkness, a page being sewn shut. worms crawling out of the moon.

your skin itches from the burning cold.

suguru wastes no time in seating you by the fireplace, cocooning you with knitted blankets, murmuring something else about how you worried him sick, doing something so reckless. you barely hear him, there’s still blood on your palms and bruising static in your ears, everything stings and you’re still shaking from the rough fall.

he apologizes for that, too.

”i’m sorry i scared you,” he smiles, cupping your chilled skin, the slightest tufts of hair running down the tops of his fingers. ”but you needed the lesson.”

maybe you did.

he can hurt you. he’s capable of it.

you’re sure of that, now, no matter how much he’d insists he wouldn’t — no matter what he says. he’s fractured any dream of a cohesive narrative.

the tea he brings you smells of cinnamon, hot and sweet, but you make no move to drink it. just kind of sit there, as he tries to comfort you, rub salve into your bruised skin, assure you that he isn’t mad. you vacantly stare at the butterflies pinned to the wall, until he says something that catches your attention.

“once i’ve found the wolf, you can leave.” he promises, rubbing your shoulders, your already aching muscles. as if it’ll soothe you, as if telling the truth. “it’ll be okay… just let me handle everything.”

you raise your head to look at him, to meet the river of gold inside his eyes, weaving webs of silk. holy grails are always hoaxes, that’s how the stories go.

”… do you mean it?”

his lips curl up, just a bit, at the sound of your raspy voice, at the sight of you taking shaky sips from the cup. and he nods, silky, only slightly tousled hair swaying tenderly with the lull of his voice. ”i do.”

when he kills the wolf, you can leave.

if only it were that easy.

this is what you know; the hunter’s name is suguru. he appeared right by the edge of the woods, seven pages too early — or four, depending on the edition, give or take. he won’t let you leave his home, never runs out of tea to pour you, his voice turns raspy when it’s late and his arms are hairier than they were yesterday. this past week, you haven’t heard a howl echo from the woods at night even once.

it always starts small. small, decaying pieces, molding together and creating something bigger, more rotten. more than just a carcass.

it’s a corpse.

(and he’s inside it. playing hide-and-seek.)

he’s still smiling at you, making his hands useful, throwing wood into the fireplace when the angry flicker begins to sputter out. you recall your mother’s words, her many warnings. wolves are dangerous. wolves only want to do you harm. wolves don’t know how to love, they only ever show it with their teeth. always the same old stories, the same monsters at the end of every book. wolves, wolves, wolves.

always a wolf, never a man.

when you glance up at the hunter, his ever so softly parted lips, his keen eyes — you think to yourself that you can scarcely tell the difference. that even if you could, it wouldn’t matter. rot is rot, it still decays. you’re still at the mercy of it, of him.

(you’re beginning to think that’s all there is to it.)

you make no move to protest, when suguru pulls you into his lap. holds you close and kisses your wounds until you’re all warmed up, his honeycombed eyes never leaving your face, lit like a slowly sinking sunset. like a man who finally has what he wants.

by the end of the first week, a pit has opened up inside your gut. it smells of a freshly doused fire.

the more time passes, the worse he gets.

the more comfortable.

(he must have taken your resignation as an invitation.)

every morning, when you walk into the kitchen, he pulls you in for a kiss — always just his lips, no tongue, as if he’s afraid of what he’d do to you if he parted them. his big hands squeeze your hips and even if you struggle, try to push him away, he brings you back in, keeps your wrists locked in a steady grip if you’re really putting up a fuss. purse your lips and he’ll pry them open, as simple as peeling an orange.

he’s sweet, about it. gentle.

”let me say hi, little one.”

all you can do is turn limp. just give in, let him take what he wants — which usually isn’t a lot. a kiss, and he’s satisfied, a kiss and he beams like nothing about this is wrong even in the slightest. a kiss, and then he’ll make you tea, and then he’ll watch you drink it.

it’s been just shy of a month since he lured you into his home. you know what he expects of you, by now, you’ve settled into some semblance of routine; one that mostly consists of you being doted on, coddled. suffocated by his presence. he makes you tea every morning, every night, homemade meals of chestnuts and berries and meat. right now, he’s making lemon tea; slicing them with the blade of his knife, dipping them in honey, coating them in sticky-sweet residue. it does nothing to get rid of the sour essence, bitter on your tongue — only makes it bearable.

there’s a gentle smile on his face when he fills a tiny cup and hands it to you, watches you gaze into it. watches as you put your lips against the porcelain and sip, sip, sip. he doesn’t look away until there’s nothing left, his stare like a dagger to your throat.

it’s rare that he lets you out of his sight.

during the day, you’re free to do as you please — anything that doesn’t involve leaving his home, which isn’t a lot. you spend most of your time reading through the books on his shelves, tracing their spines, writing stories on the walls with sharp marker, painting animals and forests on the canvases he lends you. there’s joy to be found in captivity; you think of the rabbits your mother used to own when you were little. anyone can find comfort in a cage.

and it’s not like he never lets you push the bars a little. you may not be allowed to step anywhere near the woods, or outside his field of vision, but he’s taken to letting you play in his garden when he deems the moment right. just to give you some fresh air, as much sunlight as this time of year offers. of course, even then, he has his eyes on you — watching from the window, cutting wood just beyond the fence, each swing of the axe ringing in your ears like the drop of a guillotine. steady hands, toned muscles and arms, broad shoulders and those sharp eyes, sharp like his teeth when he smiles too wide on accident. you can always feel his gaze, and it keeps you from running away, even though the animal inside your chest screams at you to do it already.

but you’re sure you’d fail again.

and were he to catch you — you’re sure he’d no longer be able to resist. the temptation would be too much for him to bear. you were lucky, last time.

(lucky that he still hasn’t realized what he is.)

you’re stuck here, for now. forever. stuck with a man who seems convinced that what he feels for you is love, and not possession, something to hang up on his wall. love like hunters have for headless deer.

or a wolf for a stack of bones.

anyone can find comfort in a cage. it’s true, it’s true, you repeat it to yourself every night, try to find the silver lining in the home he’s made you. he does make it comfortable for you — a soft bed and fluffy pillows, warm food that settles nicely in your stomach, arts and craft to keep you happy. silken bags that never seem to run out. there are always more dried petals to pour into boiling water, a flavour you haven’t yet tried. he always expects you to drink it all. then, when the moon hangs itself in the air, and you’ve tired yourself out — he tucks you into bed. gentle, doting, his voice like a lullaby when he drags the covers up and sits by your bedside, or curls up beside you and reads you bedtime stories until you’re fast asleep. like you’re his grandchild. it’s never easy to relax with his hands on you, but the stories help.

that’s typically when it happens. when you’re lying in bed, when he’s unguarded, his own mind beginning to drift into slumber. he flips through the pages of a dusty fable, smooths your hair down with a steady hand, and his voice loses an octave; a noise that curls around the base of his throat, rumbles through his chest. deep, raspy, gravelly. just shy of a growl. it comes suddenly, reverberates through you, makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

suguru clears his throat, and you pretend not to have noticed it. he rewards you with another page or two.

that’s how he is, you’re well aware. what he does best. he tells you things without opening his mouth, shows you his teeth without letting you see them. he knows you know they’re there, and he rewards you for pretending otherwise. keeping him content is in your best interest — he hasn’t hurt you, doesn’t seem like he wants to, but you know that he will.

no one can fight against their nature, and he has one set of teeth too many.

for now, playing into the part he’s made for you is your safest bet. the fire inside your eyes has dwindled, he’s suffocated it, and the rabbit in your chest is pretending to be dead. every morning, you drink the tea he makes you, go pliant as he kisses you, and every night you let him lull you to sleep.

a comfortable cage is exactly right.

(but the temptation to rebel never truly leaves you.)

it’s already been a month. a whole moonspin. that thirst for freedom is lingering, festering, pushing up against the walls of your throat. makes you nauseous, makes the thin thread of your patience tear at the edges. you yearn for the woods, the flower meadows, the squirrels and bugs of the forest grounds. willows and chestnuts and silky splotches of sunshine, fumbling fawns. your grandmother’s sickly stench, your mother’s striking hand. anything but this stasis.

you miss feeling alive.

(you’d cut your skin open to feel it again.)

you know running blindly would prove futile, but that doesn’t halt the desire. you’re trapped, one foot in a bearclaw, and you want out. he’s stronger than you, faster— and he’s always, always watching. you can’t outrun him, he’s always making sure you’re near.

the only advantage you have is this:

suguru believes himself to love you.

maybe, if you just beg enough — beg again, when the moment is right… he’ll let you go. maybe he’ll take pity on the pitiful, defenseless baby he caught.

(maybe if you hide your contempt, but show your desperation— you can win.)

the pot boils over with the stench of rotten apricots.

they’re still in the basket you brought with you, under the knitted tablecloth, discarded in a storage room linked to the kitchen. you just wanted a quiet place to read, but now you feel too sick. sick with the stench of rotting fruit-flesh. you can smell it even without removing the cloth, and you know what you’ll see if you do — a bottle of wine, molded slices of cake, and sticky, sickly-sweet decay. dirt-brown in colour.

you’re reminded of the day you came. reminded of how long it’s been, who these apricots were for.

and suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

(no one can fight against their nature. that includes you, too.)

with a start, you stand up straight, and leave the rotting basket behind you; opening the door of the storage and making your way to the living room. a wreath of bluebells is hung above the fireplace, crackling and sputtering, snowflakes falling softly from the skies beyond the windowpane. suguru is right where you knew he’d be, seated on an armchair and knitting a sweater, looping two needles through thick thread. his hair is down, and his eyes are closed in pure contentment; formed into thin crescents.

the air smells of chestnuts and incense.

you inhale it, walk up to him with a plea on your tongue — your voice a desperate push of air.

”please let me leave.”

his smile falls. before he even has a chance to open up his eyes, caramel spilling out through slits, before he can usher you into his lap and knead his hands into your body, ’warm you up’ the way he likes.

it’s rare, to see him without it. it makes him look naked.

(it makes him look unsettling.)

but he’s still gentle, when he breathes out a sigh, places the needles on the wooden table to his left.

”… this, again?” he clicks his tongue, sounding disappointed in a way you don’t like, a quiet lull. ”and i here i thought you’d finally decided to behave.”

his tone makes you shiver. something about it feels final, like you’ve pushed too far, reached some kind of dead end he’d been keeping concealed until now. there’s a barely noticeable crease between his brows, and his jaw is tense, lips formed into a tight line. not rough enough to be truly reprimanding, but it’s close. you’re suddenly aware of how small you feel, like this.

how powerless you are against him.

but you push through.

”… i just —” you try, gnawing at your bottom lip even though he’s told you not to bruise it. ”i’m just tired. i don’t want this, i — i’m not happy.”

a slip of your tongue, and a twitch of his jaw.

(his lips curl into a scowl.)

”you are,” he exhales, strained, like you just struck a narrow nerve. ”you’re happy. i take care of you.”

a shuddering breath. you inhale, shallow, trying to stay your ground, trying not to falter after snapping on the twig of his patience. you know what sleeps inside him, and you’re afraid of it. terrified. the hunter is one thing, the wolf is another. but there’s a line between the two, and you can tread it through —

tread it through and through and through.

”… you take care of me,” you concede, watching as the muscle of his jaw slacks, softens, ever so slightly. ”but i’m still not… i’m not happy. i want to leave.”

the fire crackles behind you, logs of wood splintering and snapping, budding heat easing the tension in your bones. silence settles over the scene, stretches out and lays itself to rest there like a wounded animal. suguru just watches you, with smothering eyes, like he knows something you don’t; gaze focused, expression set in stone. knitting your features into his mind with a broken needle.

and then a grating sigh.

”… how many times have we repeated this, little red?” he asks, his voice thick with anger, though you’re unsure as to who it’s aimed at. his eyes burn with something devastating, something that smells of a forest fire and wails like a bleeding dog. ”how many times will you make me go through this?”

suddenly, he’s standing up from his armchair. rising to his full height, towering over you, lifting a hand up to caress the apple of your cheek. it makes you flinch, and his lip twitches, and suddenly his fingers are trailing down to the very base of your throat. as gentle as if he were handling one of the butterflies on his wall. you’re worried he’s going to squeeze down, but he never does, just keeps a hand there like all he wants is to feel the rapid thumping of your pulse.

and his eyes burn you to cinders.

”how many times have i had to watch you be swallowed down… by someone other than myself?”

the question hangs in the air like a noose. grates your ears, heavy with an anguish you couldn’t hope to understand. a skip of your heartbeat — except it feels more like a crash. his fingers never move and your body turns to ice, accepts the hand that feeds it, if only because he looks like he could swallow you whole and still not feel satisfied.

”… far too many,” he seethes. palm finally moving from your throat to cup your cheek, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ”you’re too frail, too — naive. i can’t trust you to be good.”

a gasp pushes past your lip, when his other arm curls around your waist and tugs you closer, keeps a possessive hold on your hip. his body heat is suffocating, it only makes your heartbeat sputter.

”… you can’t keep me here forever,” you murmur, the words laced with fear. spoken carelessly.

(and this time, you can practically hear the snap.)

a dangerous flicker, through his earthen eyes. it’s there and then it’s gone, and it’s enough of a warning on its own, a spark of fury that has you biting your tongue, squirming where you’re held against his steady frame. his grip around your waist morphs into something almost painful, just a pinch away, not quite enough for you to get away with pulling back.

you hear the words before he says them. they rattle against the back of your teeth.

”i can.”

spoken in a whisper, through gritted teeth, an echo from deep within his stomach— he practically spits them out, eyes burning into yours, an overwhelming density in how he carries himself. the words are heavy like lead, and you can tell he believes them.

he can keep you here.

(forever, and ever, and ever.)

a shiver claws against your spine, drags its nails down your back, and you think he can tell, that he feels you shudder against him. like a frightened fawn in front of a headlight. it’s enough to have his pupils dilating, his fingers loosening their grip, a breath of shaky air escaping his lips— like he’s finding it hard to keep his composure. to be tender and merciful.

once the silence has stretched on for a beat too long, and your breathing still hasn’t mellowed— he speaks.

”don’t you think it hurts me?” he asks, just above a tender whisper, brushing a thumb against your cheekbone. just barely grazing your lower lashline, streaks of black hair framing his burdened eyes. ”watching you be deceived, again and again…”

suguru exhales a bated breath, chest moving in tandem, pressed flush against your own. for a moment, you think he looks rather sad.

”… i’m tired,” he admits. ”i’m tired of having to cut you out of his stomach. you did this to yourself.”

…

when you empty your thoughts, you can still feel it. the warm embrace of succulent flesh.

(you never asked to be devoured.)

”you can’t protect yourself,” he tells you, with the same tone that he always has, the tone that tells you he knows best. ”so i will do it for you.”

a twitch of his fingertips. you feel it, as his hand slides down the expanse of your face, tips your head up with a finger underneath your chin. you’ve gone pliant, again. he leans in, until you can’t tell who the breaths you’re exhaling are coming from.

”do you understand?”

every bone in your body wants to move, pull away, but you’re worried his nails will sink into your skin if you dare to try. he’s positively suffocating, like this. demanding a response. you want to flee, you want to fight, you want to grab the axe behind you and drive it into his skull. you’re terrified of him. you loved him, once. the hands that are keeping you locked away are the same that dug through blood and guts to drag you out of your grave. he’s never letting you go.

never again.

no matter how much you beg.

you can see it in his eyes, the trail of ash they leave behind when he blinks. the carnal desperation in his voice. there is no ’leaving’ him — the fire that burns in him is brighter than yours, far more damning.

so there’s no point.

his lips are inches away from your own. golden eyes peeled open, palm covering the expanse of your jaw, arm like a bear trap around your waist — snapped shut. suguru awaits your response, and you give it to him with a voice that barely sounds like your own.

”… i understand.”

(obedience and ignorance, you echo inside your mind. obedience and ignorance is all he asks.)

a moment passes, and his muscles finally go lax, eyes softening like melted snow; a sigh slipping past his lips. closing in, claiming your own. you can taste what he’s feeling, but it’s too much to bear.

”… good,” he smiles, against your lips. ”good baby.”

the praise does nothing to soothe the pit inside your stomach, but it doesn’t matter. he’s not angry, anymore, and that’s as good as anything. you let him kiss you and it doesn’t even make you want to vomit.

it doesn’t make you feel a thing.

”if you just stay here, you’ll be fine,” he continues, breathing you in and out again. ”you’ll be safer.”

safer tucked between his ribs, or lodged inside his throat. so much safer playing dead all year.

(you think of rotten apricots, and bile rises in your throat.)

a moment’s hesitance. you find the will to speak. ”just… my grandma,” you murmur, pulling away from the kiss by a hair, not that he’d let you go if you tried. you look up into his eyes with a pleading gaze, voice a little broken. ”can you at least… give her the wine?”

suguru pauses.

then sighs, a rock from out his heavy chest. pulling back and giving you space to breathe, cradling a lock of your hair with greedy fingers. ”you don’t have to worry about her, anymore,” is all he says. ”believe me.” he’s smiling, just barely, voice meant to soothe you out of making a fuss. but there’s really no need.

you’re well aware of what he means.

(and that’s the end of that.)

”… okay,” you answer, the words pulled out of your throat by an invisible string. ”i won’t, then.”

the smile you muster is strained at best, but suguru glows in its light. looks proud, eyes crinkled at the edges, burning pages of paper on an open fire.

a coo on his tongue that he wants to let out.

”sweet thing,” he purrs, sweltering. ”you were just feeling a little cranky, hm…? must be hungry.”

his hand caresses your stomach, rubbing the skin just beneath your navel, and you feel the beginnings of nausea swell up in the very back of your throat. but you stifle it, lean into it, you have no choice.

you nod, and he smiles.

”i was meaning to use that wine for something, anyway…” he lets out a hum, thinking for a moment. ”coq a vin, perhaps? would you like that, little dear?”

”… mhm.”

he seems content, with that response.

the snow outside the window mocks you with its shimmer.

time continues to pass. the cycle repeats, the same as always.

you think you’re finally starting to get used to it.

suguru grows more wolfish by the day. there’s more hair on his arms and chest, his teeth are longer, when he kisses you he sometimes starts to drool. his voice is deep, his meals taste about the same, he still never runs out of lullabies or bags of tea. wolfsbane, lupine, ipomoea alba — he tastes them on your tongue, drinks them from out your mouth. you’re beginning to forget who you were before him. every day, he tells you that he loves you. you think you could believe it if you tried. maybe, you could even love him back.

if only you didn’t know the truth.

it’s more than a suspicion, now. no longer an if, but a when, a question you don’t dare ask — but there’s no need to. when the hunter falls asleep, the wolf makes tea in the kitchen. you live with them both. they’re a duo, a pair of lovers; never one without the other.

(one of these days, you’re sure they’ll eat you.)

the book you’re reading feels weighty in your hands. you’ve already read it before; you’ve read nearly all of them, fingers far too familiar with the dusty shelves. suguru promised to go get more, though you have no idea from where. you’re not sure knowing would do you any good. he’s upstairs, in your room, scrubbing at the walls to get rid of all your scribbles. it’s bound to take a while — if you dashed out the door now, maybe he wouldn’t notice. but the key is in his pocket, and he’d hear the crack of window glass.

it’s nothing more than a temporary comfort— something to indulge in, roll around and around in your head until you realize how silly you’re being.

you’re broken down, plain and simple, and winter is gnawing itself into the world. ice-cold teeth sinking into the ground beneath your feet, and eating the baby hares buried there. suguru chops wood for the fireplace every single day, just to keep you warm, made a sweater for you that smells too much like him. you sneak a glance out the window, admiring the heavy blanket of pure-white snow draped around the woods; a red fox scurries across your vision, yipping joyeously, skeletal trees shimmering faintly in the distance. a whole world just without you.

it’s comforting. the air smells slightly toasted and your feet are warm, clad in fuzzy socks. you haven’t been outside in some time; suguru’s been reluctant since you sprained your ankle on a sheet of ice in the backyard. you wish you’d hit your head instead.

(you miss the cold sting of the wind.)

each turn of a new page drags you deeper into your own subconscious, sinking into a fragile illusion of peace. paper-thin, falling upon your thumb, your eyes scanning the inked letters tiredly. stories aren’t worth reading more than once, you think, the magic fades away eventually. you can barely taste the citrus the protagonist eats, fingers dipping between the ridges, teeth sinking into the tender flesh. rinse and repeat. boring, boring, you want something new — a thriller, a romance, even something like —

a noise, echoing from the hallway.

rap, tap, tap.

(knuckles against wood.)

it rings in your ears. rattles down your spine. two seconds, eight, ten — all thoughts disappear from your brain and leave only misty foam behind them. a blank slate. rap tap tap, curling inside your ear canal.

when you come to, your heart is pulsing.

a moment of silence. the house is quiet, so very quiet, you’re afraid suguru will hear your breathing from the second floor. everything feels frozen solid and suddenly you want to hurl, get the sickness out of your gut — watch it spill out all over the floor. but you remain planted in front of the fireplace, watching flames flicker and lick a stripe from coal to wood, waiting for something to happen.

(it already has.)

another knock.

this time, you shoot up to your feet — like your mind just realized it wasn’t an auditory hallucination, another mass of hysteria seething in your frontal lobe — your hands clammy as they try to find solace in the fabric of your clothing. gripping onto the wool.

on shaky legs, you move forward. making your way towards the hall, slow and steady, soles against soft flooring. eyes blown wide, skittishly peeking around, out the windows and towards the stairs. suguru. you picture him on his knees, tail wagging behind him, dragging wet cloth against faded tapestry, salvaging his ruined walls so you can ruin them again. you picture him hearing the knock, rushing down, pinning you against the floor until your knees ache.

you picture him none the wiser, and inhale the air like you haven’t in days — gathering courage, dragging your feet towards the source of the noise.

pitter, patter, pitter, patter.

your heart throbs inside your chest, flexes its legs until it knocks against your ribs, makes you jolt — your lungs holding onto every breath you take with shaky fingers. the deer mount on the wall gazes at you, antlers pointing towards the front door, and when your eyes land on the handle you swear you can feel it. the presence of a living, breathing thing.

just behind the door.

and you can do nothing but stare. unblinking, heart still crammed at the base of your throat, scraping at the walls like a squirming bug. you feel like a deer trapped in headlights. your mind crackles, halts, comes to life again, the pages coming undone from their bindings and spilling out over the floor — smudged with ink, a seven-letter word.

freedom. freedom. freedom?

(hope.)

a third knock, more curt. it sends a tingle down your spine, down your bones, makes your hand twitch, as if eager to twist the doorknob. finally, someone is here. someone came to get you. no one forgot.

no one forgot about you.

you move your leg, and —

”keep still.”

… a breath brushes against your neck.

(ba-dump. ba-dump.)

only stillness. only silence, strangling you. there’s someone behind you and you didn’t even notice, there’s a hand on your hip to keep you in place, another latching itself onto your mouth to keep you from making any noise. your heartbeat spikes, collapses in on itself, but he is there to catch you.

he’s always there to catch you.

suguru has you enveloped, his scent like a heavy pelt tossed over your shoulders, familiar tones of earth and musk polluting your senses. you’re wrapped up in it. you feel so small, small enough to disappear into the dip between his chest and stomach, right between his ribs. he’s keeping you so still you barely remember to breathe, can only pant shallowly against his big hand and pray he isn’t angry at you.

too frightened to do anything else, you gaze at him out of the corner of your eye.

and ah, there it is. black hair, golden eyes, a silent quiver of his jaw; like he’s trying not to snap it, trying not to bare his teeth. they’re sharp. when he kissed you this morning you felt them nip at your skin.

(you think he was trying to control himself.)

his pupils are sharpened, eyes blown open, staring straight ahead. he’s making no noise, no sound, only the most subtle of breathing patterns — like a hunter in waiting, like he’s got one finger on the trigger.

yet another knock, impatient, and his grip around your waist grows tighter. a barely audible growl rumbles in his throat, you feel it against the back of your head, let out an involuntary whimper that has something growing hard behind you but you refuse to acknowledge it, refuse to think about it, you’d rather die. he’s immobile and you’re just as paralyzed, only able to watch the door, watch your salvation slip away. again. again and again and again.

one, two, six, nine. the seconds tick on in time with your mismatched heartbeats, and nothing happens.

then, the sound of boots against gravel.

moving farther, and farther away.

(they’re leaving, they’re leaving, they’re leaving.)

”… there,” he rasps, finally, lethally deep, as if culling a calm to your nerves. it doesn’t work, only makes your heartbeat pick up in speed, another tiny whimper muffled against his hairy palm—

you swallow down a sniffle.

and he loosens his grip, sharp eyes melting into liquored honey. a coo, as he spots the beginnings of tears at your lashline, glistening like morning dew.

(you can’t take this, anymore.)

”… my poor baby,” comes a croon, a voice thick with fondness; shushing you softly, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb. ”poor little thing.”

you’re still pressed against him, chest to back, he’s warm and suffocating and you’re reliant on his thrumming heartbeat just to find your own breathing. he’s cradling you like a mother to her child, and it makes you feel anything but safe— makes you feel like a bird in the maw of a rottweiler, like your clothes are soggy and dragging you underwater. your chest is caving in, hot tears burning at your eyes, and god, you’re just so fucking tired.

you’re tired of this. tired of him, tired of the story you’re in. tired of having to hope again and again.

(no one’s coming to rescue you. no one at all.)

”must have been so scary,” he continues, rubbing his cheek against your head, leaning down to smear a kiss against the side of your neck, ”’m sorry. i’ll handle everything, you hear me? don’t be afraid.”

another sniffle, you can’t help it. you bite down on your lip to stop it but all it does is make you taste iron, hot and heavy, a burning sting. your voice feels wobbly, forcing it into shape feels like trying to turn water into ice with your bare fingers; yet you try.

it comes out pitiful.

a broken, battered whisper.

”… i wanna go home…”

more of a whimper than a sentence, it pulls a sigh from out his lips. ”you are home,” he tells you, softly.

you struggle to withhold a bubbling sob, one you know will have you stuck in his arms for the rest of the night. your limbs feel limp but you still dig your teeth into your bottom lip and wipe at your eyes with frustrated humiliation, refusing to let him see you crumble. suguru stays still, just watching, waiting for the ripe moment to pluck your tears and comfort you, but he won’t get it. you won’t give it to him.

when he noses at your pulsepoint, something like an animal whine rips from your throat, scratchy and dry. you squirm, scratch at his forearms where they’re wrapped around you — panicked, feral — and he lets go. he lets you glare at him, through eyes wet with freshly spilled tears, only gives you a look you know means he’s feeling sorry for you. something like a silent oh, look how you’re trembling, look how much you need me, poor thing. it’s demeaning, but all you care about is pushing him away, storming up to your room. for once, he lets you. must think it’s best you deal with your little tantrum on your own for now.

you’re sure he’ll come knocking when it’s time for your bedtime story, but for now you’re alone. free to close the door behind you, collapse against it.

a weak, gurgling sob.

home. this is home.

(if you accepted that — would it hurt any less?)

all you can muster is the strength to smush your snotty face against your elbows, knees against your chest, curling in on yourself. choking out hitched little breaths, all broken and bruised and wrecked into bits. a marble bashed against concrete, over and over and over again, there’s nothing there but glass-splatter. you’re glad he isn’t here to see it. glad he can’t force you to seek out his body warmth, his steadying heartbeat, that you won’t have to hear him coo out reminders that you aren’t needed out there.

(nobody out there needs you. not your mother, or your grandmother, not the story you’re in.)

(you’re a lousy protagonist. better off in the ground.)

if only you could bring yourself to believe it. if only you were capable of swallowing down hope without spitting it back out again. if only you knew better than to trust a wolf, or a hunter, or anyone at all.

if only you weren’t you —

maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

broken, broken, a crack in the middle of your heart.

suguru comes knocking at your door, eventually. there is no lock, you have to let him in, but by then you’re fast asleep. faded into a dreamless slumber.

(you won’t feel it, won’t see it, won’t have to kiss him back. he’ll tuck you into bed without waking you.)

it happens, at last. a long overdue curtain call.

but not to you.

the smell of rot sticks to the walls, bleeds out against the carpet and wails like a dog. the stench of flesh, suffocating ever narrow of your cells, the marrow of your bones. he probably thought you’d be asleep. he probably doesn’t know how thin the walls are.

you stand by the threshold to the kitchen, and peek in through the gap left by the storage room’s open door.

pale moonlight spills in through the window, casts a dim-lit blue across the floorboards and shatters on suguru’s back. illuminates him, where he lays, hunched over like a dog. eating something.

someone.

(a man with a shotgun over his shoulder.)

you can barely make it out, seeing only shadows and shapes. hell on earth, hell permeating the world and forcing it down your throat. you can’t see his face, only his ears, his tail, beautiful blood pooled underneath his knees and glistening in the light. can only hear the noises of him chewing, the sickening crack of a bone being split, gnarls and growls like he’s having trouble fitting it all into his mouth, taking too-big bites all at once. they make you nauseous, make your stomach twist with panic and disgust. desperate to quell your terror-struck breaths, you keep a hand clasped over your mouth— willing your guts to stay unspilled. you’d rather not have him clean it up; rather not owe him any favours at all.

rather not interrupt him in the middle of his meal.

the stench is excruciating. iron and molding meat, damp clothes and patches of wet fur. thick. it makes tears sting behind your eyelids, burn at your lashline, your entire body shaking, skeleton rattling under your skin— panic wailing in your shuddering veins.

it’s happening. it’s happening, but not to you.

(and isn’t that a blessing? to play the role he always has. always just watching everything go wrong.)

(maybe you’ve always hated him. maybe you just couldn’t tell.)

it takes effort to keep yourself upright, to force your knees not to buckle. you’re scared, you’re scared, whatever rabbit made a nest inside your heart is trying to gnaw its way out and it hurts. you’re cold and hot all at once. you think you might pass out, like this; clutching onto the wall with unsteady fingers.

suguru seems to be enjoying himself, feasting on god knows who, tearing through veins and muscle tissue, carving a path that reeks of rotten fruit and guts. it’s horror incarnate. you pray it’s all a dream, a nightmare. you pray you’ll wake up soon. but you’re still frozen when you squeeze your eyes shut, and he’s still hunched over in the storage room when you open them. shallow breaths scrape against your throat, and you swallow down the bile building up at its base. taking a wobbly, wobbly step back.

you thank your lucky stars he does not peek over his shoulder. tip-toeing towards the stairs, leaving the blood and the grit behind before he spots you. you are gone by the time he’s finished, gone by the time he licks the entrails from between his teeth and cranes his head to look behind him.

golden eyes violating the dark.

when you crawl back into bed, fruitlessly trying to gain control over your trembling limbs, wipe the sight from your mind — you are sure of only one thing.

this is the tipping point. this is where the cup runs over. it has to, or it’ll break into pieces, bleed open. you’re never going to forget this; the buzzing of fleas, the smell of rotten apricots. the smell of death, hot and heavy, iron seeping into the back of your tongue and tearing out your teeth. warm, hot blood. gurgling up at the base of your throat with steady thumps.

(your story wasn’t supposed to be like this, a voice echoes in your head. not like this.)

terror. terror. desperation, a silent crack in the night. something in your gut settles, right when you feel so faint you’re sure you’ll pass out — a cold calm.

suddenly, you know what you have to do. you know exactly what the story is about to demand.

(keep that fire burning. even if you burst aflame.)

you stare at the ceiling until dusk turns to day.

a tentative sip.

you hold onto the rim of the cup with steady fingers, warm skin against cold porcelain, and drink slowly; one gulp after another. it tastes good. mellow and vibrant, makes a home on the roof of your mouth, sticks to the back of your teeth. there’s a nutty aftertaste that you can’t help but savour.

he’s trying out something new, today; a bundle of golden leaves, simmering in the liquor-like water, a trail of sweet-smelling steam wafting up into the air. beautiful, if nothing else. flickering softly.

it’s a wonder you still haven’t grown tired of tea. a wonder he keeps finding new ones for you to try.

(he’s fond of flowers, you’re well aware. fond of plucking them by hand, while they’re young and pretty, robbing them from the ground, putting them in hot water and vases and paintings on the wall.)

(yesterday, he asked if he could do your portrait.)

it’s time for your bedtime story. you’re curled up in bed, on freshly washed silken sheets, buried under a fluffy blanket with suguru to your right, sitting on a wooden chair with a fable in his lap. paintings of rabbits and foxes, girls and goats. they’ve grown more childlike, over time, the books he reads to you aloud; the ones he keeps on his shelves. he doesn’t like it when you indulge in anything too graphic.

a nightlight keeps you company, shines a light on the pages in the dark of your room. a small comfort.

in tandem with his words, the curtains sway, tender as the lull of his tongue— window barricaded just behind them. he’s wearing a blouse, with puffy sleeves that barely reach down to his elbows anymore. he’s gotten bigger. there’s a rasp in his throat when he speaks but the softness is still present, the silent turning of another page, he holds them in between his fingers before letting them fall. looks at peace. it’s raining outside, a quiet drizzle, warming up the earth from the frost and snow — a gentle pitter patter against the windowpane. you can almost smell the damp earth, the moss and worms, content to imagine it as tea trickles down your throat, pumps its way into your heartbeat.

content to watch your captor playing house.

(soon, this’ll all be over.)

(soon.)

”… your arms are hairy, suguru.”

your words cut into the silence, shatters the illusion of peace and quiet, spill into the open air. the wolf by your bedside looks surprised, for a moment; a silent series of blinks, raven lashes taking flight. usually, you’d be nothing but silent during this routine.

”do you not like it?” he asks, letting the page flutter shut, fall over his thumb. ”i can shave.”

you pay no mind to his response. only push yourself up on your elbows, sluggishly, reach your fingers out to curl around his roughed up knuckles.

”and your hands are big…”

a flicker, in his ashen eyes. he lets you trace along his hands, dip your fingertips down the valleys and across the bumps, the callouses and scars.

(and oh, he knows what you’re doing now.)

so he plays along.

”… the better to hold you with,” he whispers, low and sweet — bringing your hand to his lips, smearing a kiss against the inside of your palm. you feel the curve of his smile cut into your skin.

a beat. your hand slips away from his touch, travels down to his jaw, tips it up with a thumb beneath his chin. suguru eyes you. hungrily, your instincts tell you. he’s pliant, though, a domesticated thing — doesn’t bat an eye when your fingers tug at his upper lip and expose a row of white teeth. pink gums.

a silent intake of breath.

”… and your teeth are sharp.”

silence. you can see your own reflection in the gleam of his canines, watch it waver like great tides in the sea. you look nothing like you remember.

and suguru looks conflicted.

”the better to…” he whispers, latches onto your wrist and cups your palm— keeps it in place as he nuzzles against it, closing his mouth. ”protect you with.”

something in your chest tightens and coils, at that. he smiles, almost sheepish, and you want to kill him, want to drag his own axe through his stomach, hear the clanking of metal against the bone of a rib.

a voice like no other rings in your ears.

(at least have the gall to say it out loud.)

the fwhip of a book being shut. his thumb slips out from between the pages, comes to rest against the spine, and you know it’s time for bed. you feel a tentative lick, against the skin of your palm, before he’s letting go of your wrist. it makes you shudder, and his eyes crinkle like you just did something cute.

(it’s nearly over. it’s nearly over.)

you feel as if you might throw up.

”… goodnight, sweet thing.”

his voice curls into your mind, around your neck, wriggles like a worm inside your ear. you don’t say it back. you stay silent, as he pulls away.

the nightlight flickers off.

once upon a time, you’re sure your story had an ending.

it’s a distant memory, at this point. a bundle of blurry memories, a sense of knowledge about what goes where. but you can still recall the catharsis.

at its core, little red riding hood is a tale about foolishness. a tale about girls who stay snug in the bellies of beasts, curl up close to their intestines and wait patiently to be rescued. this is no surprise to you. you’ve been devoured thousands of times, it’s in your nature, what you were born to do— there is no version of the story where you aren’t tangled up in meat thread or being swallowed whole. no version where you aren’t a victim, born to wait your turn.

you’re well beyond accepting that.

all children must exit the womb, and all little reds must escape the wolf’s stomach. neither cage was meant to keep you, even if he’d disagree.

but now you really are trapped.

(trapped in the cage he made you, a bookmark glued to paper-skin.)

you sit in his armchair, and gaze into the fireplace. waiting for a cue. suguru is in the kitchen, as always, the sound of a whistling kettle seeping through the air, chattering with steam. gusts of wind claw against the windows, wail and whine against the glass. the woods sway in the distance, mocking shades of green shimmering faintly; beckoning you closer, closer still, into their depths. winter is about to end.

the sun is stuck in vitro.

the deer mount on the wall looks at you with dead, glazed-over eyes. dead like the pinned-up butterflies, dead like every single thing in his home. dead tea leaves, dead men in storage rooms, dead little reds.

the axe glimmers by the fireplace.

an inhale, inflating your lungs. it has to end. the story hungers for it — there has to be some way to reach it.

(everything’s already broken, anyway.)

crackling, splintering, wood on fire. ash gathers at the bottom of the hearth, tears itself into pieces and crumbles into a lifeless heap. your eyes watch the flames lick into each other’s mouths, make a home there. they’re consuming each other. getting their fill. you think of his tongue, his teeth, his voice— you think of the shotgun over his shoulder and the glint in his eye, his greedy hands squeezing at your midriff. you think of the axe, just resting there, leather sheath snug around the steel. waiting, waiting, waiting.

”the tea is ready, honey.”

— and you stand up.

his voice carries across the living room, a jumbled growl of syllables — you scarcely hear them, eyes fixated on the gleaming steel in front of you. fingers hungry for contact, eager to rip the sheath right off.

it’s time to choose an ending.

you could live in his belly, if you wanted, just like this. forevermore. could tuck yourself between his teeth and grow comfortable there. that, or you could cut your way out — stain the last page red yourself, before he gets the chance to. lick the excess off your wrist and tear the binding in half. it’s all or nothing, this or that; an axe in his stomach, his teeth in your neck. your choice, yes, but it’s time to make it.

you know which one you want.

(”and little red riding hood reached for the axe.”)

— it feels right, in your hand. feels right to hold, have it weigh you down, become part of your skeletal structure. everything finally feels just right.

an inhale. your breathing turns more shallow, quiet breaths seeping from out your throat, lips parting silently. a flicker, your gaze darting in the direction of the kitchen, zeroing in on the shadow cast across the threshold. heart, liver, lungs. you can feel them all, count them all. they’re all clambering up your esophagus. worms in your throat, under rocks.

(now. now. do it now.)

hunger. hunger. hunger.

you don’t care what the consequences are, anymore.

a moment of silence. you hear not the whooshing of the wind, the whistling of the kettle, or the sound of tea being poured into cups. you hear neither his voice nor your own footsteps — only the steady beating of your own heart, a bunny about to break into sprint. one step forward. two. his back is visible, the hair at his nape, he’s pouring tea into porcelain cups. he’ll never know what hit him, what he brought into his home. ba-dump. ba-dump. the floorboards split apart, and the binding comes undone.

his guts will spill out just the same.

[ … and ▇▇ ▇ne did ▇▇▇ing t▇ harm h▇▇, ▇ver again. ]

you creep up behind him, stealthy as a fox —

and swing.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #yandere geto #cw dark content #cw yandere

719 notes · View notes

winterarmyy · 2 months ago

Text

Most Precious

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: In which Bucky and the reader had to take shelter from the snow storm after abandoning a mission due to the reader's 'mistake'.

Pairing: avenger!bucky x avenger!female!reader

Words: 2.2k++

Warnings: nudity but no smut content. a sprinkle of angst and i hope the ending is fluffy enough to make up for it.

Inspiration: i saw @buck-star posted this event and some of the prompts inspired me to write this 🥹

Prompts used: stranded/snowed in, cabin in the woods on the mountain, grumpy x sunshine soft reader, mutual pining/idiots in love, sitting lying together in front of the fireplace, a tweaked version of "You're the most precious thing ever. I will protect you with everything I have."

Note: feel free to search up #sydneysfluffywinter or #fluff-star winter for more stories under the event. i hope you enjoy this short fic!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

The wind roared like a creature born of anger, staggering through the cabin’s entrance door as Bucky almost broke the door when he kicked it open. Snow seeping into his tactical suit, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead. In his arms, Y/N lay limp, her frozen skin clinging to the fabric of his suit on his chest as if she belonged there. She can hear his heart hammered against her ear, a relentless beat behind the layers of cloth.

It was wild, frantic even; and she told herself it was because of the storm, the desperate trek to find shelter. She thought of her injuries, the way she slowed him down. The guilt made her heart clench and her chest feel heavy; a throb more suffocating than the pain in her thigh and waist. She’d been nothing but a burden.

The cabin was almost as dark as the night, and the coldness of the space was not that far off from the snow storm brewing outside. But this? This wasn’t new to him. He’d endured worse.

Bucky lowered her carefully in front of the fireplace, his movements precise but urgent. Y/N winced as her wounds screamed in protest, the pain was blazing hot despite the freezing air around. Her thigh throbbed, and her waist felt as though it was wrapped in shards of glass.

Bucky stepped away briefly, his gaze darting over the unlit corners of the room, his hand instinctively brushing the knife at his side. A habit he was not able to forget; the Winter Soldier training never really left him. Satisfied they were alone, he turned back to her.

Her eyelids fluttered slowly, her consciousness slipping in and out. Bucky cursed under his breath. The power was out, but he wasn’t about to waste time diagnosing that now. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line as he set out what he needed to treat her wounds.

Bucky was angry; it radiated off him like steam from boiling water. But the frown on his face wasn’t unfamiliar. Y/N had seen his rigid features a thousand times before. This, though? This was sharper, colder. It wasn’t his usual grumpiness. He was mad. At her.

The realization was like a slow plunge of blade into her chest, and it made eyes pooled with warm tears. Not from the physical pain scorching her flesh, but the ache of his perceived disappointment.

By the time Bucky had coaxed the firewood into flames, the heat began to thaw the rattling chill in the room. He knelt beside her, his expression set in stone as he draped a blanket over her trembling form. Behind the cover of the blanket, his hands worked quickly, undressing her with care that belied his hardened demeanor.

He pulled her close as he worked to pull her pants over her bottom. Her face was buried in his neck as he whispered, “The cold will kill you. Come on, now.” His voice, rough but mostly filled with urgency. They didn’t have the luxury of embarrassment – for her, the sensation of him stripping her bare; for him, the temptation to relish the softness of her skin against his hands – not with her life teetering on the edge of frost and blood loss.

He peeled the blanket back just enough to expose her injuries, the torn of her flesh was slick with half-frozen blood. The cold had helped slow the bleeding, but not enough to ease his worry. Bucky worked with a precision that spoke of grim experience.

Every time she winced or hissed, his grip on the forceps tightened, the metal creaking in protest. It was as if her pain annoyed him, a silent demand for her to be stronger, better; more like an Avenger.

She noticed it every single time, and it pricked into her pride like being wrapped with thorny vines. The fact that he wouldn’t meet her eyes made it worse. His focus stayed on her wounds, his frown deepening with each moment.

When he finally finished, he noticed the tears tracing her cheeks; a silent trace of a vulnerability she couldn’t hide. They were especially prominent when they glistened in the firelight. His brow furrowed further.

“Bear with the pain a little longer,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll get the team here as soon as I can.” his tone was not that far off from his normal grumpy self.

But to Y/N, at this very moment, it sounded harsh. To her, it sounded more like an order than reassurance. She swallowed, guilt twisting like a vice in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice trembling.

Bucky’s head snapped up, confusion flashing in his stormy blue eyes. “What?”

“I’m sorry for being incompetent. I should’ve noticed them sooner. I should’ve taken them down before they could do anything.” Her voice was a mix of shame and frustration however not as evident as the pure agon trembling through.

His jaw clenched. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

The words were meant to be absolution, but she heard them differently. There’s nothing you can do.

Her voice cracked. “I wasn’t enough.”, streams of hot tears kept falling unapologetically, leaving behind a trail of warmth on her cold skin.

Bucky’s frown deepened, his frustration bubbling over. “Damn it, Y/N. Why do you always do this to yourself?”

She blinked at him, her confusion cutting through the haze of pain. “Do what?”

“Put the blame on yourself like it’s some kind of default setting. This wasn’t your fault,” he snapped, the edge in his voice sharper than intended.

Her cheeks burned, shame and anger mingling in her chest. “I’m not blaming myself. I’m just… stating facts. If I’d been faster, stronger; if I’d been better; this wouldn’t happen. We wouldn’t need to abandon the mission. You wouldn’t need to carry me all the way up here.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, his frustration spilling out; contaminating the air around them. “You think I care about that? About you being some kind of perfect soldier?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping but no less intense. “I care about you, Y/N. Not your skills, not your damn performance. YOU.”

Her breath hitched, his words slicing through the self-doubt she’d been drowning in. “Then why do you look at me like that? Like I’ve failed you?”

His shoulders sagged, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “That’s not what this is,” he said, his tone quieter now, tinged with exhaustion. “I’m angry because you scared the hell out of me. I’m worried about you, Y/N. You jumped in front of a bullet meant for me without a second thought. Don’t you value your life?”

The words struck her like a blow, but she struck back with equal fervor. “You’re the most valuable person to me! Of course, I will protect you with everything I have. And I’d do it again if I have to!”

Her confession lingered in the air, fragile but undeniable. Bucky’s eyes widened, the storm in them softening as realization washed over him. His anger melted, leaving only the deepest parts of his emotions afloat; his love for her.

His right hand rose tentatively, brushing the skin of her tear-streaked face. His palm cupped her cheek, his warmth a stark contrast to her icy skin. She leaned into his touch, a quiet surrender.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling with an overwhelming feeling that he couldn’t quite utter out loud yet. “You… you matter to me.”

The words hung between them, heavy and fragile. She blinked up at him, the pieces slowly found its rightful place in puzzle. She realized that he meant more than just about worry or duty. It was something deeper, something unspoken but unmistakable. Yet, she reminds herself not to get ahead of the moment.

“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Because you make it easier to keep going,” he admitted, his voice unfiltered. “When everything feels heavy, when the past doesn’t let me breathe, you’re the one thing that makes it bearable. You remind me that I’m still… me. And that makes you, Y/N, the most precious person to me.”

Her heart clenched, his words cutting through the haze of pain and doubt. The light from the fire danced in his eyes, their usual icy blue now warm and liquid, like the sea yielding to the shore. She hadn’t just been a mission partner or a responsibility to him. She’d been his anchor, his hope.

And for a moment, the storm outside seemed to still; as if time itself paused to let the quiet intimacy between them linger just a little longer. To let the cabin feel like it was a cocoon, sheltering not just their bodies but the fragile truths they’d finally unveiled.

"Are you okay with that, babydoll?" he asked softly.

Heat rushed to her cheeks at the nickname, her heart stuttering in her chest. She nodded, sheepish, her lips curving into a small, bashful smile. His own lips twitched upward, the corners softening into a rare, genuine grin. Her reaction was worth the vulnerability of saying it aloud.

But as the burning wood crackled and the silence stretched, Bucky noticed the faint tremble still coursing through her body. Even with the fire roaring and the blanket tucked around her, she was trembling.

"You’re still cold," he murmured, guilt threading through his tone as his hand moved gently, caressing her cheek before trailing down to her neck. His touch was soft, deliberate, as though he could erase the chill from her skin with every motion.

Their eyes met in that moment, and the realization hit them both at the same time.

She nodded slightly, her voice a soft whisper. "Can you… stay with me? Under the covers?"

Bucky hesitated, his instincts warring with his emotions. His hesitation lingered for a moment too long, and she turned her wide, pleading eyes on him. Those damned puppy eyes. And just like that, he was undone.

With a resigned sigh, he stripped off his snow-soaked jacket and tactical vest, leaving them in a damp heap by the fire. His shirt followed, revealing the lines of muscle and the faint scars that told a thousand stories. He slid beneath the covers, careful not to jostle her injured side. The moment his warmth enveloped her, Y/N instinctively curled closer, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Bucky’s body was a furnace, the serum coursing through his veins keeping his heat steady and intense. Her frozen fingers brushed against his chest, and he sucked in a sharp breath, every nerve in his body coming alive at the contact.

Slowly, he wrapped his right arm around her, careful and deliberate. Pulling her closer; her head snuggled into the crook of his neck, the softness of her breasts resting on just below his chest, her legs entangled with his, until there was no space left between them.

His hand found her back, calloused fingers tracing soothing circles over her bare skin. The gesture was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid that she would break. But the way she relaxed against him, her breaths stabilising as her trembling subsided, told him she didn’t mind. Her nose brushing against his skin, and he felt her sigh; a soft, content sound that made his chest ache in the best way.

"You’re precious to me," he murmured, the words spilling out before he could second-guess them. His lips found her forehead, a lingering kiss that was both tender and grounding. "More than anything."

Y/N’s fingers curled against his chest, her heart thumping a steady rhythm that matched his own. "Bucky," she whispered, her voice thick with sleep but laced with something softer, warmer. "Thank you."

He smiled against her hair, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a way that felt unfamiliar but good. "No, thank you, for saving me", he replied quietly, his sincerity was certain. Then his tone shifted, growing stern as he added, "But, don’t do that again."

She giggled softly at his warning, the sound light and airy, cutting through the heaviness of the moment. "What if I like saving you?" she teased, her voice playful but still tinged with exhaustion.

Bucky rolled his eyes, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "You’re impossible," he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. Instead, his hand shifted to cradle the back of her head, his thumb brushing gently over her hairline. "Just promise me you won’t scare me like that again."

She tilted her head up slightly to meet his gaze, her lips twitching with a faint smile. "Only if you promise the same."

He huffed, his breath warm against her temple. "Deal." His fingers resumed their soothing circles on her back, and he leaned down to press another soft kiss to her forehead. "Get some rest, doll."

They stayed like that, skin to skin, softness meeting strength. Bucky held her as if the world outside didn’t exist, as if the storm that had almost claimed their life was nothing but a distant memory. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of everything; the mission, the storm, the unspoken emotions, seemed to lift. Wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside faded to nothing.

At some point, their bodies finally surrendered to exhaustion, leading them straight to the warm embrace of sleep and perhaps even to the bashful morning after when they awoke, body tangled together, and all too aware of the touch of each other’s bare skin.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: i know it's not a tooth rotting fluff, regardless though, i hope you enjoyed the fic? drop your thoughts, i'd love to read them 💕

#sydneysfluffywinter #fluff star winter event #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #avenger!bucky #bucky angst

609 notes · View notes

ponderingmoonlight · 8 months ago

Text

Hashira reader smacking Zenitsu and sending him to her crush Iguro to teach him a lesson

original idea and inspiration by none other than queen @sitarawrites and this post right here

Pairing: Obanai x fem!hashira! reader

Word Count: 1,1k

Warnings: Zenitsu being a creep and getting payback for it

„Please, you have to give me a chance!“

„Zenitsu, I think that’s enough-„

„You have to be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen! Let’s marry as long as we’re still alive!”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, you creep?”

“I’m so so sorry for his behavior-“

“What’s going on here?”, you interrupt the little chit chat in front of you sharply.

You sign to yourself. Just like you expected, another wave of losers that just arrived. 2 girls, a few of those basic guys and…

You furrow your eyebrows, a wave of nauseous disgust getting a hold of you the second you see him. That blonde haired guy who looks at you as if you’re a piece of meat.

“Oh, who are-“

Without even allowing him so finish his sentence, you grab his blonde hair with one hand while smacking him flat-palmed with the other.

“Just let me make a few things clear before we’re even starting”, you hiss, mindlessly dropping his crying figure to the ground.

“If you didn’t catch it already, I’m a hashira and you are here to train under me. But I’m not like Mitsuri or my former master Himejima-sama. We won’t pray around here, we won’t laugh. But most important of all, don’t you dare to piss me off by disregarding me in some sort of way. Got it, Blondie?”

“I think he understood, (y/n)-san!”, the red-haired boy next to him shouts immediately while throwing his unconscious body over his shoulder.

“I know you’re still listening. If I catch you hitting on a corps member like that one more time, I’ll burry you under rocks before sending you over to Igoro-san”, you bark at the boy who again, screams out in sheer fright.

Apparently, his horrible behavior towards females isn’t the only annoying thing about that guy named Zenitsu. If it wasn’t for Kamado, he’d hide inside his room the whole day while crying his eyes out.

“I promise he acts different when he’s unconscious!”

“Do I have to slap him again, then?”

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

Urgh. If it wasn’t for that crow sent by Ubayishiki-sama himself, you would have drowned that boy in the river nearby immediately. And that nice little interactions with a certain someone.

“If he doesn’t treat you right, send him my way. I’ll make sure he’ll never cry again.”

“Nice try Iguro-san. But Ubayishiki-sama forbid me to hurt him and I’m sure the same goes for you, unfortunately.”

“Is he still looking at you all the time? Then it might be worth it.”

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t. But if I catch him crying around like a baby one last time, I’ll send him to you personally.”

“I’ll take that as a promise, then.”

You smile to yourself while reading those well-written lines. Igoru-san…truth is, you definitely kept an eye open for him these past months. Out of all the hashira, he’s the only one you’re really keen to talk to.

“Ahhh, it’s so cold!”

“Zentisu, calm down. Don’t you remember what (y/n)-san told you about-“

“I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE! THIS IS LIVING HELL! THAT WOMAN IS THE DEVIL HERSELF! I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE TANJIRO!”

“Please calm down-“

“I’M SURE THE GIRLS AT THE BUTTERFLY ESTATE MISS ME, I’LL JUST RETURN TO AOI AND THE GIRLS-“

“You’re not going anywhere, you fool. I’m having enough of your bullshit”, you interrupt his pity party along with a harsh bow into his stomach that surely makes him see stars.

“I’m sending you to Iguro myself.”

Another well-placed hit, a passed out Zenitsu before you even get the chance to hit him.

“Please, allow me to go with you, (y/n)-san. I don’t think Zenitsu will survive the training of the serpent hashira on his own”, a gently voice speaks out next to you.

Urgh. You hate to even consider Tanjiro’s words. But there’s nothing you’re able to teach him anyway. No matter how much you hate to admit it, but that Kamado boy definitely is something special.

“Fine”, you grumble.

“But only because I want to get rid of you.”

“That’s totally fine! Thank you for teaching me hand to hand combat anyway!”

“Yeah, whatever. Just carry that prick and follow me.”

Your heart beats a little faster with every step you come nearer to the serpent hashira’s estate. How is he doing? Is he excited to see you, what will he say? You haven’t seen each other since the last hashira meeting, didn’t have the chance to speak properly since forever as it seems.

But now is your chance. When it means seeing Iguro-san, that douchebag did have a purpose after all.

“Did you take out the trash, (y/n)?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. You didn’t even sense him until he stands in front of you, both eyes set on you with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I can’t take that whining baby anymore. Make sure to treat him right”, you explain briefly.

“Oh, and I took Kamado with me.”

“Tanjiro Kamado”, Iguro-san hisses, his eyes shooting pure venom Tanjiro’s way.

“Bring that useless boy inside and get some rest yourself, Kamado”, you instruct the boy next to you who springs into action immediately.

“He’s doing pretty well”, you mumble more to yourself than actually talking to Iguro-san.

“Doing pretty well?”

Faster than you’re able to react, you find yourself breathlessly pinned against a nearby tree with his eyes almost piercing trough you.

“I mean…yeah”, you breathe out.

“But I actually came here because I missed you”, you add with unusual low voice.

Is that blush creeping up your cheeks? The serpent hashira almost doesn’t believe his ears. You, missing him? He never thought you’d actually like him, that feelings like missing someone like him could actually exist. But you hold his gaze with reddened cheeks. And you’re here, between his arms.

“I…”

He kind find the words. In fact, it seems like his mind and body aren’t able to function normally anymore.

“I need to go”, he presses out.

“But Iguro-san, I-“

He’s gone as fast as he came, leaving yourself leaning against the tree like an idiot.

What was that?

-bonus-

“I’ll let you suffer for making (y/n) uncomfortable. Did you flirt with her?”

“W-what? Me? I’d never d-do that!”

“I’ll kill you-“

“Please don’t kill him Iguro-san!”

“I’ll kill you as well. You made eyes at (y/n)-san.”

“We’re so screwed”, Zenitsu hisses through gritted teeth.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine

2K notes · View notes

lovegalor333 · 4 months ago

Text

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

love faces

summary: you break up with your shitty boyfriend and paige makes you feel better 🤭

content warnings: nsfw smut fingering thigh riding

inspired by love faces by trey songz and this edit right here 🙂‍↕️🧎‍♀️

“I’m so done with you, Noah. I can’t take this anymore.” You scoffed at your boyfriend as you grab the few belongings you had with you, stuffing your phone into your purse.

“Yeah, yeah I’ve heard that one before.” Your boyfriend mocked from his couch where he lounged back, eyes focused on the video game he was playing.

“No! I mean it this time. I’m done.” You insist before storming out of his apartment.

You had plans for a romantic dinner with Noah tonight, but of course he forgot so when you showed up to his place, dressed to the nines, excited for your evening and you were met with a peroxide blonde feeling up on him, you lost it. You’d turned one too many blind eyes to Noahs ways in the past because you thought loved him but you were over being treated like you didn’t exist.

“Hi Azzi, I’m sorry to do this but I need a ride. I think… I just broke up with Noah.” You explain to your best friend over the phone, hoping she’d be able to come and pick you up from the off campus apartment complex.

Azzi wasn’t home, she was out for dinner with her family that were in town but she told you to hang tight, she’d sort out your ride home.

As you wait on the side on the road, you contemplate going back to the apartment and just ignoring what you saw, like you had many times before. Noah was your first boyfriend, your first everything and you loved him, at least that’s what you thought but maybe it wasn’t him you loved, maybe it was just the thought of him. Either way, you never imagined you’d be the one to break up with him, he always said you’d never have the guts to leave him and maybe he was right.

You were about to swallow your pride and go back up the stairs when you saw a set of highlights heading your way. It was dark so you couldn’t make out the car until it was in front of you, it was Paige.

Paige was Azzis best friend, a different type of best friend than you. You’d known Azzi your whole life, practically grew up as sisters where as, she’d met Paige later on down the line at a basketball tournament. You’d met Paige yourself not long after that tournament and you’d grown to know her well so it wasn’t weird that she was the one to come and pick you up tonight.

Paige beeps the horn of her car a few times when you don’t move and you know now, it’s too late to go back. You and Noah were done.

“Hi, thanks for coming.” You say slipping into the passenger seat, your short dress that clung to your thighs riding up slightly.

“No problem ma, Azzi told me situation. Sorry to hear.” Paige sympathised, giving your exposed thigh a comforting rub.

“It’s all good. Was about time.” You say knowing exactly how your friends thought of Noah and the way he treated you.

“Well I didn’t want to say it, but good riddance.” She jokes and she begins to drive you home.

Paige invites you back to her and Azzis place, saying it’s best you’re not alone tonight and you agree, being with the two girls will stop you from calling Noah and going back on your word.

You and Paige sit side by side on the couch, Azzi still isn’t home and won’t be for a while and your mind strays back to the first time you met Paige and the way she enticed you. Her perfectly chiselled features that have only grown more perfect the older she got, her eyes like pools of water from the freshest part of the ocean that locked onto yours so easily and made you feel like you were the only person in the room when she spoke to you. You always thought her and Azzi would end up together but they’ve made it clear, on multiple occasions, their relationship is strictly platonic.

“You were too beautiful for a jerk like Noah anyway.” Paige pipes up, capturing your attention and you clear your throat, glad mind reading isn’t a thing because then Paige would know exactly what you were thinking about her and the way her body language made your heart palpate.

“Thank you, P.” You say and fight the urge to lean your body into hers despite how much you wanted to. You didn’t want Paige to feel like a rebound. Was she a rebound? Shit, even you didn’t know at this point. You had just broken up with your boyfriend, you thought you’d be crying your eyes out but you’re clenching your thighs at the thought of the girl next to you.

Paige fidgets beside you and you look at her, daring her to say something, anything to break the tension that was slowly building between you both.

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Y/N. But when I said you were beautiful, I really meant it. I’ve thought it since I first met you.” She admits looking at you with that God forsaken eye contact that makes your stomach flip.

“Really?” You ask but you believe her, you can see it in the way she’s looking at you.

“Really.” She says, her fingers coming to your thigh to softly draw shapes on your skin.

“Come closer.” She rasps almost asking for your permission and you comply, scooting your body along the couch so you’re as close to Paige as you can get.

Her hand travels further up your thigh leaving goosebumps along your skin in its wake, she reaches your waist and you gasp at the feeling, “Tell me if you want me to stop.” She say seriously but you shake your head, “Don’t stop.” So she leans her face into yours, your foreheads touching first before her lips press to yours.

You both pull away at first and just look at each other, both asking the other is this what we want without actually saying it but the way your lips find each others again, in a hungry, needy kiss, gives you your answer.

It doesn’t take long for you to be on your back, Paige on top of you, hands exploring every part of your body, fingers digging to your hips as her tongue danced in your mouth.

“Not here.” She says breathlessly, breaking the kiss and standing up.

Paige takes your hand and leads you down the hall to her bedroom and once the door is closed behind you, there’s no stopping your frantic movements, ripping each others clothes off, kissing inbetween the shedding of each layer. Your head is fuzzy at the thought of what’s about to happen and you feel drunk off the adrenaline of feeling Paiges bare skin against yours, her toned stomach under your finger tips, her lips on you neck.

You’re layed on your back, legs spread as Paige in kneeled in between them, you feel exposed in a way you’ve never been before but your body is begging to be touched. Paige trails her fingers along the inside of your thighs, teasing as they get closer and closer to your already soaked folds.

“So fucking pretty ma.” She breathes out and you squirm at her light touch, you want it deeper, firmer, you need it.

“Paige, please.” You moan bucking your hips up towards what you so desperately want.

“I want to take my time with you, be gentle.”

“You can be gentle,” You say, this is your first time with a woman and Paige knows that, “but fuck taking your time. I need you, now.” You whimper which quickly turns into a moan as Paige slips a finger inside you.

“Shit.” She pumps in and out of you before slipping a second finger in and then a third and you try to close your thighs at the feeling of her slender digits stretching you out but she holds your legs open with the hand that isn’t curling up inside of you, hitting your g-spot.

“Holy fuck, P.” You gasp, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Does it feel good baby? Tell me how it feels when I touch you.” Paige cooed from in between your legs and hearing the word baby come out of her mouth so low and breathy made your head spin.

“So-ugh good. Oh my-fuck!” You let out a loud groan as her thumb presses down on your clit, rubbing tight circles over the already sensitive spot, you were about to cum, you could tell by the way your walls contracted around Paiges fingers, plunged deep inside you.

“Gonna cum- shit Paige, I’m gonna-“ You slap your hand over your mouth to muffle the cries you were about the let out.

“Nuh uh, I wanna hear you ma, don’t be shy.” Paige tells you applying more pressure to your clit, pushing you to the very edge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Right there, P. Shit.”

Your legs are twitching and spasming and everything cuts to white noise for a split second as you come to your climax, releasing all over Paiges fingers, your juices seeping out onto the mattress below.

“Look at you.” Paige breathes out lifting her hand to show you her soaked fingers and you lift yourself up, slightly light headed, your once perfectly curled hair, stuck to sweat droplets on your forehead and you open your mouth for Paige to stuff in her fingers into.

You run your tongue along her fingers then slip it through the middle of them, tasting yourself and moaning at the flavour. Paige pulls her fingers out of your mouth, replacing them with her tongue taking in whatever was left over in your mouth.

You’re both knelt on her bed, face to face, you finally coming down from your high and you dip your head peppering kisses along her neck and chest, your tongue peeking out to flick at her perky nipples, she moans as you take it in your mouth, sucking gently.

You manoeuvre your knee inbetween her thighs, pressing teasingly at her pussy and the sharp intake of breath tells you she likes it. She begins to grind on your knee, her hands falling to your shoulders for support as you continue tracing your tongue over her tits.

You press your knee further into her, feeling her slick leak out onto you and you glance up from her chest to see Paige already looking down at you latched onto her nipple, her bottom lip clenched in her teeth as she rocks her hips on your knee.

“I wanna ride your thigh ma. Can I ride your thigh?” Paige practically begs and you nod helping her position herself over your thigh, her wet pussy warm against your bare skin.

Her hands find your shoulders again and your grip onto her hips as she gets back into the rhythmic thrusting and her knee naturally finds itself nestled between your legs and with her bouncing on your thigh, your clit is being teased once again so you lean into her and match her pace and speed, both of you grinding and rubbing against each other.

You watch Paige intensely as her eyes flutter shut and her head tips back a low groan escaping her mouth, “Fuck, you feel so good under me.” She mummbles. You loved the way Paige looked, getting off on your thigh, eyes screwed shut in pleasure caused by your body. Her hands moving from your shoulders, into your hair tugging at the roots. The sharp feeling only turned you on more and you wanted Paige to feel the same way so you dipped one of your hands down to her clit and moved your fingers in the perfect pattern, her grip tightening on your hair as you did.

“Shit ma, you’re gonna make me cum. Ugh fuck- keep doing that.” She moaned, pressing herself further onto your fingers.

“I want you to cum on me P.” You purred digging your fingers into her hips forcing her to move faster.

“Shit baby, cum again with me.” She says, her eyes flicking down to where you were working yourself on her knee.

“T-touch me.” You plead, head falling to her shoulder and she wastes no time matching your actions, dropping her hand down to tease your throbbing clit.

You work in sync bringing each other to splintering climaxes at the same time, shockwaves ripple through you both and Paige throws her head back, mouth open as she moans out your name. Your head is still rested on her shoulder as you cum for the second time that night, legs shaking and gasping for breath.

You dissolve into a pool of pleasure, entangled with Paige, skin clammy and cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. Paiges hair that was slicked back at the beginning of the night had loosened and stray strands framed her face. You looked different compared to the beginning of the night too, your lipstick was smudged and mascara had run but none of that mattered after what you just experienced.

Your chest still heaved as you laid together, Paige absentmindedly trailing her fingers down your bare back and you couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for you both.

“Paige…” You tried to broach the subject but she cut you off, “Let’s talk about this tomorrow. Azzi will be back soon and we better make ourselves look presentable before that.”

“I just want to you to know, this wasn’t rebound sex. I wouldn’t do that to you.” You say fiddling with the chain around her neck.

“Good, because I’d really like to do that again.” She replies taking your hand in hers and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You clean yourselves up and change Paiges messy sheets just before Azzi walks in the door.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Azzi says pulling you into a tight hug, “I hope Paige looked after you.” And you can’t help but smirk into your best friends shoulder, “Oh, she did.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: happy (freaky) friday 😚

#paige bueckers #wlw #lgbtq #oneshot #uconn wbb #wcbb #paige bueckers imagine #paige x reader #blurb #fanfic #paige bueckers smut #smut

779 notes · View notes

enchantedflameandflower · 2 months ago

Text

Billy Butcher x you! 18+

NSFW 18+ only for smut, piv, cockwarming, creampie, also a bit of angst and self-doubt

~~~

Thank you @karlurbanism for the request, I loved writing it so much. I hope you enjoy ❤️Thank you so much to @karlurbanism and @babyfri3dric3 for giving me the ideas of how to work Karl’s white t-shirt and black jacket into a Billy story ❤️

Request summary: Reader is working with the boys but the dangers of working for Vought while trying to bring them down are making old anxieties rise to the surface. Anytime reader wants to spend quality time w/Billy, they seem to be interrupted and reader is worried he isn’t attracted to her anymore. Billy decides enough is enough and takes reader to get away for a few days on a boat. Butcher prepares some blankets and a picnic on the boat and then shows reader what she really means to him. Passion ensues. Inspired my getaway boat drabbles on my masterlist

word count: 4.9k

*~*~*~*

What’s Mine ~

The old tv at the safe house filled the room with a low kind of buzzing noise as you flipped through the channels one more time from the even older couch. There wasn’t a thing worth watching. Sighing to yourself, you left it on an old sitcom you’d seen 100 times before but turned the volume down just letting it play in the background.

You checked your phone once more and flicked your gaze toward the steps but still nothing.

You had a good job at Vought but as soon as you had found out about the destruction and horror caused by Supes like Homelander you felt you had no choice but to do something to help. You met M.M. and since then you had been able to help the boys out with information and access quite a few times. But only when Butcher was sure you couldn’t be implicated.

Butcher. You had fallen for him almost immediately. And that wasn’t like you but he was something…something you couldn’t resist no matter how hard you tried.

You’d fallen in his bed even easier.

You told yourself it was just a fling that helped you deal with the stress of this double life but deep down you knew it was more complicated than that. It always was with you. You wanted it to just be about fucking the hottest man you’d ever seen, but you never could keep your heart out of it. And it didn’t help when Butcher did ridiculous things like being thoughtful about your situation.

He had told you more than once that you could quit anytime you wanted, it was always up to you, and you were thinking about it because this whole situation was becoming stressful as fuck but…

Doubt gnawed at your mind. Was Butcher only with you because of your job? Your own secret insecurities snuck up on you while you sat here in the dim room alone, making anxiety bloom in your chest. Why else would he be with you? You didn’t know. If you quit, would he drop you like trash, on to the next useful nobody?

But then you thought about all those moments you’d shared over the past year, the times he’d let you see all those emotions and thoughts he tried to hide, when he’d hold you and you felt safer than you’d ever had in your life…

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as your anxiety started to fully take over but then you heard those familiar boots stomping down the stairs.

“Hey,” you murmured, sitting up and meeting Butcher’s dark hazel eyes.

“‘ello, doll. Ya ‘ere alone?” he glanced around before looking back to you.

“Yeah,” you nodded standing up. “Hungry? I could make something…”

He came over to you sliding his big hand around your waist, tugging you closer and shaking his head but the lines around his eyes crinkled as he studied you. “How was work?” he asked.

Work. Of course. He wanted to know what you had for him.

“Fine,” you answered shortly. “Nothing much happened.” You turned away from him, heading to the kitchen to grab a drink.

But Butcher wasn’t having it. “Oi. What’s the problem, eh?”

You sighed to yourself. “Nothing, just tired,” you murmured, but when you turned back he was right behind you and he was sliding his hand over your waist again. “Let’s go to bed then, yeah?”

You tilted your head to look into his dark hazel eyes and damn if they weren’t swirling with worry and…affection? Maybe all this doubt really was all in your head. You couldn’t deny it felt like the two of you had grown close, especially over the last six months. You stood up on your tip toes to brush your lips against his but just as he started to kiss you back three pairs of footsteps were thundering down the steps and you both pulled away from each other.

Of course they all knew you were together but it wasn’t like either of you to be putting on any shows. And they were always around.

“Got a bunch of new supes to find,” M.M. said, holding up a stack of files for Butcher to see as he came into the room. Frenchie and Kimiko both nodded in greeting, Kimiko heading to her room and Frenchie to the fridge.

M.M. took his coat off and sat down at the table, gesturing Butcher over. “I want to go over them and see what we can set up for the next week in tracking them down.”

Interrupted again. You sort of hoped Billy would protest, he usually protested everything, but he nodded in agreement immediately. “Aye, let’s get these cunts.” He squeezed your waist before he pulled away but any of the warmth you thought had been in his eyes before was replaced with the gleam of excitement in hunting down supes. “Go an’ rest, love. I’ll be there in a bit.”

You nodded but he was already on his way to the table so you went to the bedroom without another word. Of course you knew this work was important, you just…wanted him.

You were so tired it wasn’t hard to fall asleep, but you missed Billy’s presence beside you. It seemed more often than not lately he was busy with the boys. At some point in the middle of the night, he came in the room and the bed moved as he slid in next to you. Sleepily you shifted closer to him to curl into his side craving his heat but you fell back asleep immediately and were too tired to notice if he pulled you against him or not. When you woke in the morning he was already gone and an annoying wave of sadness washed over you. Somehow you were even more tired now than you were the night before.

Within a few minutes you decided you should just go home. Fuck it. It was ridiculous to think you really meant anything to him. Why would you?

You got dressed quickly and grabbed your bag, heading out, and luckily no one was there to notice.

Since it was Saturday, there was nowhere you needed to be and you took a shower as soon as soon as you got to your tiny apartment and changed into an old sweatshirt and leggings.

Butcher texted you around noon asking where you were and you cleared the notification without opening it. He texted you again an hour later and then called when you still hadn’t answered him by 5.

Guilt washed through you as you looked at his name on the screen while the phone rang. You should have at least let him know you were okay, especially considering everything you’d been through together. You tapped the green ‘accept’ button and picked up the phone.

“Hi,” you murmured. “Sorry…”

“Fuck, love. I was ‘bout t’lose me mind. What the fuck is goin’ on? Where are ya?”

He was angry, but your heart still swelled at the bit of concern you thought you could sense in his tone and you felt even worse. “I’m at home. I’m sorry. I was - I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

You heard him sigh over the phone and you bit your lip as you waited.

“Long as you ain’t hurt. But ya ‘ave to tell me what’s wrong. I ain’t dancin’ ‘round playin’ games anymore. If somethin’s gone pear shaped ya need to tell me, doll. Now.”

You swallowed, the command in his voice intimidating but also turning you on like crazy. Fuck. You shifted on the couch, rubbing your thighs together and trying not to think about his face between your thighs as he held your hips down with those huge hands. Get it together.

“Out wiv it.”

His accent deepened in his frustration. You took a breath trying to decide between denying it or telling him how you felt but in the end you knew he would know if you were lying and he’d just get angrier. “I just-“ you sighed. “I feel bad making you feel like you have to be with me. That you have to fuck me to get information.”

Billy scoffed. “What the fuck you on about? Who said that?”

“No one said it, I just - I mean I think it’s obvious.”

“That’s a load of fuckin’ bollocks, ain’t it. You think I would do that?”

“Well…”

Actually no, now that you thought about it, he definitely seemed to enjoy violence as a way to get what he wanted more than seducing anyone, or even trying to get along with them at all…

“No I guess not,” you murmured, picking at a thread on the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Tha’s right. I’m with ya ‘cuz I want to be.” His voice went a little softer, “Want all of you, love.”

He said it so matter-of-fact, you honestly didn’t know what to reply. You wanted to believe him…but it was hard when anxiety was still fluttering through your nerves.

“I just…what’s the point really? We always get interrupted, there’s always someone around these days.”

“Don’t give a fuck who’s around. You’re mine. That’s all I care about.”

“Yeah…” you murmured.

“Ya gonna stop this rubbish and come back ‘ere?”

For a moment you didn’t answer, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to go back right now.

“I’m just tired,” you finally said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Butcher was quiet for a moment before he answered. “Aye. If that’s what ya want. But I want ya t’remember what I said.” His voice was short but his possessive tone was clear, and it made your heart thud.

He hung up and you dropped the phone, letting your head fall back against the couch. For a second you had been pretty sure that was it for you and him but the possessiveness in his voice just now had said something very different.

*~*~*~*

By the morning you had convinced yourself it was over, but then somehow it wasn’t. Butcher texted you in the morning and you ended up texting back awhile later. You tried not to let yourself get your hopes up. Until he called again late in the afternoon.

“Pack a bag for a couple days. But pack light. Won’t need much.”

You paused for a second. “W-what?”

You could hear him take a soft breath over the phone. “We’re gettin’ away fer a couple days, love. Just you and me.”

Your heart was thudding in your chest. “What about work?”

“Call out. Tell ‘em yer sick or family emergency or whatever. It don’t matter much does it? Not a job you wannna keep.”

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking. “Don’t you want me to keep it?”

Billy was quiet for a second. “Been meanin’ to talk t’ya ‘bout that. I think it’s gettin’ too dangerous and I don’t want ya to ‘ave to deal with that. Yer safer with me.”

Your heart flipped. He wanted you with him.

“R-really?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask. But I’m sure you can find some easier job if ya want. And we could use yer help on the team. Ya know yer just as good as the lad at that techy stuff, and lots o’ other things too. We’re gettin’ an office and fundin’ and all that.”

He still sounded a little frustrated but it seemed like he was trying to show you he wanted you, and fuck you wanted him.

“But we can talk about that later,” he said. “Be ready in an hour.”

He hung up before you could answer and you almost considered ignoring his invitation, if one could call it that, but ultimately you didn’t want to.

Trying to push all of your worries out of your head, you took a shower and changed quickly then threw a few things in a bag. Billy was knocking a few minutes after you finished.

When you answered the door it was like a ton of bricks hit you, he was so fucking handsome. And he wasn’t angry, his expression very much said he wanted to be there.

“That’s the jacket I bought you for that undercover assignment,” you murmured quietly. Instead of his usual loud Hawaiian shirt and beat up old duster, he had on a white t-shirt and a trim fitted black coat over his black jeans. Lord, you felt like you were going to start drooling.

Butcher snorted. “Mallory told me not t’look so ‘flamboyant,’” he griped. “And I wanted to wear this for you.”

“You look good.” You couldn’t help yourself, giving him a soft smile. “But why would Mallory care what you were wearing. Are we working?” Your stomach sank.

“Nah. Just you and me. I’ll explain when we get there.”

He grabbed your bag and took you to his car without saying much. You wanted to ask him where you were going but decided you would just see what happened.

In any case it wasn’t long before you were pulling up to a marina southeast of Flatbush. Butcher parked and nodded for you to follow him out onto the docks. At the end of one a huge boat was moored and Butcher stepped on to the back of it without hesitating, holding out his hand for you to join him.

“What’s this?” you asked, unsure. It was a beautiful boat, obviously big enough for bedrooms and living space below, a beautiful seating area on the bow with thick cushions big enough to lay on and a two level deck.

“Confiscated in a drug sting. Mallory’s lettin’ me borrow it.”

You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Really?”

He grinned, his dimples showing but mischief dancing in his eyes. “Sure.”

“Just us?”

He nodded. “If ya need me t’show you how much I want ya, I will.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip and Butcher gave a devilish smirk as he watched it. “Let’s go.” He helped you step up onto the flat deck at the back of the boat then undid the mooring quickly.

It only took a few minutes for him to show you the rooms below deck and drop your bags on the bed. You followed him as he went up to the flybridge and sat with him at the helm as he took the boat out of the bay.

When he got comfortable at the controls he stripped his jacket off and your mouth went dry at the sight of him in the fitted white t-shirt. The cotton seemed molded across his broad chest, the shirt sleeves hugging his biceps and after a moment you had to remind yourself to breathe. Fuck, what had you ever done to deserve this gift…

The stress and tension that seemed to be a constant part of him on land melted away almost immediately as soon as he took the wheel and it filled you with a feeling you couldn’t quite describe, but it was good. The water was calm and as soon as you were on your way, he slid his hand to your thigh. The sun was setting to the west, casting a golden glow across the water.

As far as you could tell he was just heading out to sea and you guessed he’d find a place beyond the port’s boundaries to anchor the boat and then you’d really have him all to yourself. Or he’d have you.

*~*~*~*

As soon as the boat was anchored and everything was settled, Butcher made you go down to the bedroom until he called you back up. When he finally did, you climbed the narrow stairs a little bit nervous but very much looking forward to whatever it was he had in mind.

The actual result though was more than a surprise.

“Billy…” you murmured, taken aback.

There were some blankets and pillows set out and there was a bag of food, you were guessing, on the big cushions at the front of the boat. The sun was below the horizon now, the sky growing dark. Two small lights on the boat gave the setting a warm glow.

“It ain’t much,” he said, reaching for your hand, “so don’t go gettin’ all worked up over nothin’.”

His eyes were serious, but you could see the emotion there even if he wasn’t saying it. How could you have ever doubted him?”

The two of you sat down next to each other on the cushions and he started pulling food out of the bag, little trays of cheese and meat, crackers and a few other things. They were all still in their plastic containers from the store, and you figured Frenchie must’ve helped him but it was more than enough to mean something to you.

It was still warm enough that he was comfortable in his t-shirt and you thanked all that was good for it, stealing glances of his arms especially any chance you could.

He pulled out a bottle of whiskey last and poured you each a bit into two small glasses.

“Cheers,” he lifted his glass with a quirk of his mouth and you clinked it, letting a small smile curve your lips before taking a sip.

“What’s all this for, then?” You asked after a few minutes of nibbling.

He ran his hand over his beard. “To be ‘onest…M.M. suggested it. Gettin’ away and all. I can tell ya haven’t been feelin’ great. And I don’t want ya to feel like that.”

You looked down, slowly choosing another piece of cheese and a cracker, taking a bite and chewing.

“I guess…” you finally said, “the stress of all of this is bringing up old insecurities.”

Billy looked at you, finishing his bite and taking a drink of whiskey. “Ya know I’m happy to prove to ya how much I want ya - with me hands as much as me words, love. Ya just have to tell me. I know there are a lot of interruptions, but that don’t mean I ain’t still thinkin’ about you naked and beggin’ beneath me.” He reached out to brush his fingers along your jaw.

Heat flushed your cheeks but you couldn’t help smiling. He always had a way with words, confident and provocative, whether in the bedroom or out, but for all of his bravado, there was another side to him too. Maybe it was a cover for feelings he found easier to express through small, meaningful gestures instead of words.

“Thank you,” you murmured, still smiling. He was right, and if this wasn’t enough to convince you then you were probably just insane. But you hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Being away and out on the water seemed to have an effect on him too, and you were very much looking forward to what came next.

You didn’t have to wait long. When you were both finished eating, Billy threw everything back in the bag and set it aside. He had a remote for the lights and turned them down to their lowest setting, lifting his arm for you to lay back with him against the pillows and you rested your head against his shoulder.

The stars were bright away from the city. You weren’t sure you had ever seen them like this before and it was beautiful. A soft breeze fluttered across the bow of the boat and a little shiver rippled through your body.

“Cold, love?” Billy asked, pulling a blanket up to cover you.

“Only a little. It’s so peaceful and beautiful out here…” You rubbed your hand lazily over his stomach then tilted your head up to look at him. The boat was rocking gently beneath you.

“We can just lay here if ya want. Just want ya with me.”

His hazel eyes had gone very dark, and you knew he was sincere but the look on his face was smoldering.

“I want you,” you whispered back, your voice already going low with the effect he had on you. Out here alone, there was no need to rush or stay quiet. He looked so good, and you were already desperate for him.

He searched your eyes for a second, then pulled you against him and dipped his head to capture your mouth with his own. It had been more than two weeks since you’d been together and you wondered if he missed it as much as you had but your question was answered right away.

He bit at your lower lip with a low growl and you opened for him immediately, letting his tongue stroke hotly into your mouth. He explored your mouth fervently and you purred from the back of your throat, sliding your hand beneath his shirt. His skin was hot and you rubbed your hand over his stomach, letting your fingers play with the trail of hair leading down from his belly button.

Billy rumbled as you teased him. He pulled back to tug your sweater over your head and then the tank top beneath it right away. His hand smoothed up your back and unhooked your bra with a twist of his fingers before he rolled you beneath him.

For a moment you looked up into his eyes, and your breath caught in your chest. They were brimming with heat and lust and more.

You couldn’t wait another moment to slip your hands beneath his shirt and push it up his chest. He sat up suddenly and pulled it over his head then grabbed your bra as well, tossing it aside. Your jeans and underwear were stripped off next and it was only a minute before you were naked, spread out beneath him.

Do ya have any idea how fuckin’ gorgeous ya are?” he rumbled, his tone rough with desire.

You swallowed, unable to find your voice. How could you have ever thought he didn’t want you?

“Bloody incredible,” he answered for you, shifting to settle between your legs.

He kissed you again, his mouth hot and insistent, his beard a soft scratch on your sensitive skin. You slid your fingers in his hair and he growled when you tugged on the dark strands, pushing his hips against you. His jeans were rough against your inner thighs, but you loved him rough.

He slid one big hand up to knead at your breast, and swiped his thumb across your nipple until it stiffened to a tight peak. When you whimpered, he caught it between his thumb and finger and tugged hard.

The sensation made your body buck beneath him, and the seam of the fly on his jeans over his still-covered cock rubbed harshly against your clit, making you shudder with pleasure.

“Billy…” you gasped his name. He gave a low growl and thrust his cock and the rough material against you again.

“Please…” you gasped, working your hands between the two of you, grasping for the button of his jeans. You needed all of him, needed to feel him hot and hard in your hands.

“I’m comin’ love.” He sat up quickly, working to shed his jeans and his boxers, then laid down beside you. His cock was hot and leaking against your hip but then his fingers were sliding between your folds, distracting you. “Fuck,” he rasped, and the sound made you shiver. “So fuckin’ soaked fer me.”

You moaned, shifting your thighs further apart. He rubbed his fingers along your sex for a moment the settled his fingertips right where you needed them.

He played with your clit mercilessly as he watched your face, making you more and more desperate with each moment. Pleasure and need pooled low in your belly, and you moved restlessly to try to get more.

“Stop squirmin’ princess,” he husked. You groaned impatiently but it only made him chuckle.

Two thick fingers slid down to your tight entrance then, whether in punishment or reward you weren’t sure, and he pushed them in. For a second he left them there, stretching you, deep inside of you and then he drew them out and thrust back in slowly. He seemed intent on driving you insane.

“Please, please, please…” you whimpered, gripping his arm, and trying to move your hips to get him to move again, faster, harder.

“Begging’ so pretty,” he rumbled.

“Billy…”

“Say it,” he commanded. “Tell me what ya need.”

“Need…” you gasped, trying to catch your breath. “Need your cock…”

He hummed and kneeled between your thighs again, pressing your knees up and wide apart and lined up the tip of his cock to your entrance.

“I ain’t letting ya go. Ya hear? My girl.”

You nodded quickly, and then he surged inside you, pushing as deep as he could in one thrust.

A sharp cry left your lips, the sound dancing across the water and fading into the darkness. As thick and wonderful as his fingers were, his cock was even bigger, swollen and pulsing and stretching you open.

“Fuck Billy,” you cried. Your hands scrambled frantically over his shoulders, needing some kind of purchase. He grabbed one, pinning your wrist above your head, giving you the anchor you needed.

You cried out again and then he finally began to move. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze and there was so much emotion there, it made your heart swell. He groaned, and then dipped his head to nuzzle and bite at the curve of your neck, finding a steady, hard rhythm.

You were already so primed for him, it only took a minute before you were on the edge of orgasm. Billy guided your other arm up holding both your wrists down with one hand and gripped your ass with his other hand, tilting your hips up for a new angle. When you gave a helpless cry, he must’ve known he had the right spot and he moved quicker, thrusting hard until he finally pushed you over the edge. Fiery, throbbing pleasure exploded inside you and you came so hard you almost blacked out at first, your cunt clenching around his thick cock as heat pulsed through your body, making you shudder and moan.

Billy gave a low, deep groan then he was coming too, spilling himself inside you. He gripped your shoulder and buried his face against your throat as his cock continued to pulse, filling you with his seed.

“Billy,” you moaned. You felt boneless, completely blissed out and mindless. “So good…” you whimpered.

He groaned in reply, then rolled over, pulling you with him to lay across his chest. You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head and you cuddled closer to his body.

“Feel better, love?” he asked after a few minutes, still holding you tight against him.

“…feel better than I’ve ever felt before,” you mumbled against his warm skin, still panting a little. And you meant every word.

As soon as you’d finally caught your breath, he carried you inside and below deck. When you were done in the bathroom, he settled you in bed, went in the bathroom himself for a minute then came back out. Even in the darkness you could see he was still hard, and you felt a brand new pulse of desire. “Billy…” you murmured as he slid into bed next to you.

“Hmm?” his voice was soft and low, he turned you to your side so he could press up behind you and you felt yourself growing wet for him all over again.

“Want you again…” you purred.

But his answer was just a tsk and a pat on your ass. “You’re exhausted, love. You were about fallin’ asleep in me arms a few minutes ago.”

Mmm, you were tired but you could feel his cock pressing against you and you couldn’t help yourself, wriggling back against him. “Still want you…”

“Needy girl...” His big hand slid down to grip your thigh, and then you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance again. You tilted your hips back and he started to push in, slow and steady. You moaned gratefully, but when he was all the way in he stopped.

You moved, trying to rock your hips, but he caught your waist and you stilled obediently.

“Good girl,” he rumbled, and pressed his cock in just a little bit deeper, making you gasp. “All stuffed full o’ me, ain’t ya? Now you can be sure to remember who ya belong to and how much I want ya.”

“Billy…” you pleaded softly even as sleep pulled longingly at your mind. He was stretching your cunt, swollen and hot and hard inside of you, but still he didn’t move.

Suddenly you realized he intended to just stay like this. Fuck... You let out a desperate whine but he just hummed, contented, again.

“Get some rest,” he commanded quietly, his breath warm across the back of your neck, “and we’ll see about givin’ you what ya want in a few hours. But only if ya do as you’re told.”

God, he felt good filling you up, so big inside you, but he’d moved his hand to stroke your hip and your stomach, and it was slowly working to relax your body. In the end you knew he was in control so you willed your mind to give in. Finally your body relaxed. Vaguely you thought you heard Billy whisper, “I’ll take care of ya,” just as you fell asleep, tucked in close to him, with his cock buried deep inside you.

*~*~*~* @kus-babygirl @jynx15 @cassiopeia-grimm @bohemianblasphemy @butchersboobs

@bluemerakis @ariadnerain @bobabilbil @deansaddiction @weallhaveadestiny

@imherefordeanandbones @str8-jack-it @butchers-girl @vavafaure1994 please let me know if you wanted a tag and I missed you! Thank you for reading 🥹

karl urban masterlist

263 notes · View notes

munsonsmixtapes · 19 days ago

Text

Just You and Me: Part One

Hello, everyone! I was reading this series by @the-witty-pen-name and was inspired to make a fic where y’all chose who reader ends up with! On every part of this series after this one, there will be a poll where you can vote whether you want reader to end up with Steve or Eddie or both of them! This has been so much fun to write and I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary: You convince Steve to fake date you in order to get Eddie's attention, unbeknownst to you that Steve is actually very much in love with you.

part two part three

The diner is packed as you sit at a booth, your best friend across from you, eating his stack of pancakes while you've barely even touched yours. You're too nervous to eat, and honestly, watching Steve chow down is making you feel sick. there's just a lot of riding on the whole thing and you know you're going to sound crazy for asking him in the first place, but you still want to at least try.

Steve would do anything for you, you know that, but you're wondering if maybe this is crossing a line. You push your plate to the center of the table and sip on your soda, still trying to get the courage to tell him why you really wanted to meet him there. It definitely wasn't just for pancakes.

Steve isn't stupid. He knows something's going on that you're not telling him. You look sick, nervous and he hates seeing you like that. He just wants you to say what you need to say so you'll feel better again. He knows you're only chugging down your soda so you don't have to speak and he hates that for you, trying his best to not seem concerned because for whatever reason, that always somehow makes it all worse.

You finally get the courage to look up at him and hate that he's put on that dopey smile that always seems to be reserved for you. He's finished his pancakes so now he's just staring at you, waiting for you to just get on with it, politely, though, because he's Steve.

"What I'm about to ask of you is crazy and I know that. You are more than welcome to say no and I won't be offended if you do," you finally say before taking a deep breath.

"Are you asking me to bury a dead body? Did you kill them? No, I actually don't want to know. Wait, yeah I do. I should know if my best friend has committed murder." He's speaking so quickly that you can barely even understand what he's saying.

"I don't need help burying a body and I didn't murder anyone. I'm not asking you to do anything illegal, Steve. I would never ask you to do that. That's why we have Eddie, right?" Steve knows that Eddie would be the one to help you out with that kind of thing and that pisses him off. Fucking Eddie. It's just been the two of you your whole lives and then this fucker comes in and ruins Steve's whole plan. Well, he would have if Steve would have just stopped being a pussy and asked you out already.

Truth be told, the man has been in love with you since the moment he laid eyes on you. All you've ever been is friends, but he wants to be more. And he wants it so badly that the whole thing makes his chest ache. The only reason why he hasn't made a move in the almost fifteen years you've been friends is because as much as he loves you romantically, he doesn't want your relationship to change. He's afraid that if the two of you got together, you'd eventually break up and then he'd lose you for good.

"Right, so what's this about?" He asks before taking a sip from his own glass. For once, he's unable to read the situation. He almost always knows what's going on with you, but right now, he's got nothing.

"Well, speaking of Eddie, well, I sort of have a huge crush on him." Steve doesn't know why you're telling him this. He's known for a while. You're so obvious about it that it sometimes makes him cringe. He wishes he could give you some of his subtlety so you’d look a little more cool around Eddie.

"Duh." He's laughing now and for once, it's a joke you don't get, like it's something just for Steve and Steve alone.

"You know?"

"Y/n, all of Hawkins knows. You're not exactly subtle. But what does this have to do with me?"

"I was wondering if you maybe...would be willing to fake date me in order to get his attention." His eyes widen at your request. Whatever he thought you were going to say, it defintely wasn't that.

"Yeah, nice try. Not happening." He can't do it. He won't. He would do just about anything for you, but not this. This is where he’s drawing the line.

"You're not even going to consider it?" You're pouting now and if things were different, he'd kiss it away, or maybe he'd just give in because he almost always does when it comes to your silly ideas. This one, though, has got to be the silliest of them all.

"You said I could say no so this is me saying no." He crosses his arms over his chest in a sort of "that's final" manner and you know you should just forget the whole thing. It was all just a pipe dream anyway.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t want to help, it’s that he can’t. He would actually love to pretend to be your boyfriend and act all mushy with you like he’s wanted for years, but none of it will be real. It’s just going to be a fake relationship with fake feelings and fake kisses and he just can’t take that. It will all just hurt too much when he watches you running into Eddie’s arms when the thing is all over.

He already feels like a dick and seeing the dejected look on your face as you stir your soda with your straw is starting to feel like you stabbed him in the chest. And you might as well have. It would hurt much less.

Guilt is beginning to eat at him as he looks at you. That sad look on your face is making him reconsider. You do so much for him so he doesn’t know why he can’t do this little thing for you. It’ll be maybe a couple weeks tops, right? That wouldn’t be too bad. And not to toot his own horn or anything, but he’s a great actor. Well, he only thinks so because The Hawkins Post article that covered his fourth grade class’s performance of The Wizard of Oz applauded his role as Toto.

Maybe he can fake date you. Maybe it could be fun and he’s just overthinking it. He just wants you to be happy, and the thought of you possibly asking someone else is starting to make him feel sick.

“I guess I could just ask Robin,” you mumble, more to yourself than him, but he can still very much hear you. He can’t believe how quick you’re switching up on him, how quickly you’re able to find an alternate now that he’s said no. He’s usually your first and only option for things so now that you’re even considering asking anyone else-well, the knife has been twisted.

“I see how quick you are to replace me,” he grumbles. “And with Robin?”

“Well, who else am I going to ask? My first choice said no.”

“Or maybe you could cut the shit and just tell him how you feel. Eddie likes it when people are straight up with him.”

You know he’s right, but actually putting your feelings out there is terrifying, especially to one of your friends. You feel sick even thinking about it, the worst possible outcome playing in your head. You can vividly see Eddie laughing at you, the sounds echoing, sounding distorted, making you feel small and scared.

Yeah, there’s no chance that you’re letting that happen even though Eddie would never laugh at you because of something like that. If he were going to reject you, he’d let you down easy and be nothing but a gentleman about it.

“Alright, fine, fine,” Steve pulls you out of your thoughts. “Jesus, you’re lucky I love you.”

“Aww, I love you too, Stevie.” You’ve got on a smug smirk and he’s prepared to shut that shit down. As much as he loves you, he’s not doing this without something in return.

“Not so fast.”

“What?” You’re genuinely confused, convinced that it was a done deal and now you’re unsure if he’s actually going to go through with it or not.

“I mean, what do I get out of this? What’s in it for Steve?” He leans back against the booth, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The satisfaction of a job well done?” You ask with a shrug and he just shakes his head, unimpressed.

“If it works,” he scoffs. “What else?”

“My love and affection?” That should be a given.

“Boring,” he yawns. “You have to cover any family video shift I ask of you and you have to do my laundry for a month.”

“You’re kidding.” Your shoulders slump as you realize that you’re actually going to have to agree to his terms if you ever want to have a chance with Eddie.

“Afraid not. You didn’t seriously think I’d do it for free, did you?” You sort of did because he always does, but you suppose that this is much bigger than his other favors.

“I don’t know, maybe. But you’ve got a deal.” You reach across the table and put your hand out for him to shake.

“Really? That easily. Shit, you must be desperate.” He shakes your hand and that’s that. Steve is now officially your fake boyfriend.

“I am.”

“This better be worth it.” God, this is going to kill him, but anything for his best friend, right?

“Oh, it will be,” you tell him as you down the rest of your soda as you grab your purse that’s sitting next to you before you and Steve stand from your table and you walk side by side to the front where you pay for the meal. It’s the least you can do for Steve helping you out like this, right?

“You are such a dingus,” Robin tells Steve. He’s over at her apartment, the two of them talking over mugs of coffee at her kitchen table. He raced right over after breakfast with you to discuss the colossal mistake he just made, desperately wanting his other best friend’s advice.

“What the hell else was I supposed to do, Rob? She was looking at me with those puppy dog eyes.” He’s saying it like that was the only option he had when he could have easily said no and you would have dropped it.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington. Why can’t you just tell her that you love her?”

“And risk ruining one of the best friendship I’ve ever had? No thanks.”

“I can’t but also can believe you’ve gotten yourself into this. It’s just like you to help the woman you love get another man. Just so you know, I don’t support this.”

Robin loves you, you’re one of her best friends, and while she doesn’t think you ever ask too much of Steve, she does think that he tends to overlook his feelings to spare yours a lot of the time. He’d much rather risk his own happiness if it means he’s helping you in some sort of way.

While she loves that he’s willing to go above and beyond for you, she still thinks that’s it’s important that he takes care of himself. She just wants what’s best for him and hates that he’ll spread himself way too thin just to see a smile on your face.

“No one was asking you to,” he glares and she just mimics his facial expression. “I wasn’t asking for advice, I was just telling you what’s going on so you wouldn’t think it was real and blow my secret.”

“You’re pathetic,” she shakes her head. She honestly doesn’t know Steve still hasn’t told you the truth. The two of you could be married or at least engaged by now, but he’s too much of a chicken to just admit his feelings for you.

He’ll claim it’s because he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship, but Robin knows the truth. She knows that he’s just afraid of putting himself out there. She’s seen the women zipping in and out of his life and not one of them has stuck. As much as he claims he wants to love and be loved, he’s scared. Terrified, even. He’s convinced it will all just crash and burn and he’ll be all alone. Again.

“I know,” he whines, resting his head onto the table before quickly leaning back up and running a hand through his hair. “But hey, if said no, she was going to ask you.”

“Me?” She asks, her eyebrows shooting up as her big eyes widen. “I could have been her fake significant other? Shit, I would have done it for free.” Robin has always thought you were pretty and shit, having everyone think that you were her girlfriend would have been a goddamn honor.

“You’re not her type.” She knows exactly what he means by that, but she just feels like messing with him.

“Oh, and you are?” That’s salt in the wound and she knows it. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to take it back.

“You know what I mean,” he waves his hand in a dismissive manner. “And besides, you’re a terrible liar so it wouldn’t have worked out anyway.

“Well, I would have sold it much better than you,” she scoffs. “But maybe not since you always look at her with the longing stares. How she doesn’t know is beyond me. Anyway, I have to get to work. I’ll see you later, lover boy.”

As Robin leaves, Steve’s not so quick to get up. He just stares down into his coffee mug, gathering his thought about the whole thing. One the one hand, he wants to help you, but one the other, he’s already starting to feel hurt about deceiving his friend. Eddie’s someone he’s gotten really close to over the years and he’d hate to lose someone so special to him just because of something like that.

And what happens if you actually do end up with Eddie? Will Steve resent him for it? It wouldn’t exactly be fair since Eddie has no idea that Steve is in love with you, but he just doesn’t think he’d be able to stand by and watch the two of you behave like a couple when that’s all he’s wanted pretty much his whole life.

But there’s no turning back now. He’s going to stick it out because he doesn’t want to let you down. He’s going to have to see this through, watching you use him to get another man while having no idea that’s he’s fallen madly and deeply in love with you.

He drains the last few sips of his coffee then puts the mug in the dishwasher before heading out, making sure to lock Robin’s door behind him. He gets into his car and sits for a second, thinking to himself that he’s about to be in for one hell of a ride.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader

186 notes · View notes

ceaselesswatchersspecialboy · 3 months ago

Note

Do the twins ever get attached to stanfraud? Does bill get attached to them too? what is their relationship like? and what is their immediate reaction to finding out everything was a lie -- first impressions? GAAHH I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS i'm ur biggest fan bro

Thank you so much!! It really means a lot that people are enjoying my madness this much!

It’s funny because earlier I was actually doodling him and the twins!

He absolutely gets attached and they get attached in return. While their initial introduction to him is very rocky, they come to enjoy his quirks and unusual interests, especially once Dipper puts together he was the author, and he regularly supervises them on adventures, mainly because Stan asked him too, but also because it’s strangely fun. He will repeatedly claim he hasn’t gone soft to Stan, but then Stan will find him fast asleep with the twins curled up against him, or he’ll catch him helping the twins in their respective Dipper and Mabel’s guide videos. He also likes Mabel Juice! Mabel won’t take his suggestion of adding eyeballs though. Alas.

His feelings towards them are made complicated by his own denial. He doesn’t like the idea that he’s changed much at all, and these new doubts he’s experiencing about his original plans are not thoughts he’s willing to entertain for long. He gets snappy when Stan tries to reassure him it’s okay that he cares, because he doesn’t care, he’s just… playing a role. That’s all. It’s all one big lie. He can do lies. But that doesn’t really explain the genuine panic he experiences when Dipper and Mabel are in danger, and how quickly he jumps in to protect them nor does it explain the fuzzy feeling in his chest when Mabel knits him a sweater.

He’s not the same as he was thirty years ago. That’s a fact. And thirty years was once just a blip for him, but this has felt like he’s lived a whole new life.

And on the flip side, Dipper and Mabel care a lot too. He’s off-putting and he’s strange and he says some things that imply he may have committed murder and gotten away with it, but they like being around him. It isn’t always perfect, same as it is with Stan, but the rougher patches don’t tend to last, and they reconcile by the end of the day (although, Bill is usually incapable of saying sorry verbally and shows his apology through actions instead).

Dipper for one hasn’t really had anyone he can just ramble about nerd stuff with. Bill can actually keep up with Dipper, and they both find themselves enjoying the debate they have about inter dimensional travel, or what sort of haunting would be the most annoying to deal with. Dipper does sometimes catch his uncle looking at him strangely though, almost as though he’s seeing right through Dipper and looking at someone else, but he blinks and the odd look is gone, so he must have imagined it.

Bill does sometimes push Dipper’s buttons, of course, and never gives him direct answers, usually making him look for the answer himself, or read between the lines, which Dipper comes to appreciate as it, so he claims, trains his mind for mysteries. They have a very fun back and forth, honestly. Dipper thinks Stanfraud is the coolest despite all the annoyances, and he really does try his best to impress him.

Mabel meanwhile is just her usual bundle of energy, and charms her great uncle by involving him in her unhinged hijinks, and showing him the art of glitter bombing. She meets him where he’s at! Even though he can sometimes be a little extreme, even for her, she pushes herself out of her comfort zone, mainly because of what Stan told her, about how Ford lost his mind while alone. Well, she can’t have that! She makes a real effort trying to understand him, and why he thinks the way he does.

He also weirdly gives her some good advice whenever Pacifica tries to bring her down, and Mabel is both comforted and inspired by how weird he is, even in his old age. He never lets anyone shame him out of it, and he encourages Mabel to just “Be weird! Your fleshbag life is short! Why waste it caring what lesser skin puppets think?”

Bill unknowingly allows both Dipper and Mabel to feel more comfortable in themselves because of how unapologetically ‘him’ he is.

Sorry if this is messy, by the way, I’m just writing my thoughts as I go along.

Anywho, I think all of this makes finding out everything was a lie very hard hitting for them. Mabel tries to rationalise it, that sure, maybe he wasn’t really their Grunkle, but he still loved them like he was, and they loved him like a Grunkle, meanwhile Dipper reacts very negatively, because he really thought he had found someone like him, someone he confided a lot in, and now he thinks he made the wrong choice, that he was an idiot.

And Stan lied too. He admits the biggest mistake he made was not telling them, but it’s too late for that now.

The one bright side, if you can call it that, is Stan and Bill do tell them before they get Ford back. They think they’ve finally found the way to do it, and Stan wants the kids to know before they try it, give them time to process.

Okay I’ll end there for now! Thank you so much again!

#asks #gravity falls #gravity falls au #not who he seems au #bill cipher #stanley pines #dipper pines #mason pines #mabel pines

346 notes · View notes

aashiqeddiediaz · 5 days ago

Text

call this little ficlet thursday, this is @deareddie's fault and is inspired by the h50 episode where danny asks steve what he's wearing and guesses, "cargo pants."

“What are you wearing?”

A laugh startles its way out of Eddie. He abandons the box he was just opening to pick his phone up, turning the speaker off. “What?”

“Well, you won't tell me anything else.” Buck’s laughter filters across the line, teasing and warm and everything that makes Eddie’s heart hurt now that he’s 800 miles away from him. “So, what are you wearing, Eddie?”

It’s that tone that Eddie gets stuck on, all low and flirty the way Buck gets sometimes. Harmless to everything except Eddie’s heart, which kicks in gear every time he hears it.

Like the day he'd found Eddie's iPad flipped over, an innuendo pressed into the curve of his smirking mouth, evidently unaware of what was to come.

Sometimes, he wonders if Buck ever means the things he says to Eddie — if he ever imagines things being a little different, of meeting Eddie at a bar and putting the moves on him. The same moves Eddie’s made fun of him for countless times, good-natured and teasing the way they are with each other.

But then he thinks about his Buck, sweet in his awkwardness, and heart worn on his sleeve, and wonders if he even wants that cocky front. He has no doubt Buck could back it up, knows that there’s a world of truth and skill behind that cockiness, but the man he wants is the one with mismatched socks who slips and slides in Eddie’s kitchen, accidentally knocking over flour bags and leaving trails of cinnamon sugar in the tile grout.

He thinks about the Buck who'd walked into the realization that Eddie was going to leave, and despite his clear sadness, had stuck by Eddie' side, sharing the misery with him.

He thinks about the Buck who challenges him, shoves at him, bullies his way into Eddie's life, the one who drives him up the fucking wall — and the same one he wouldn't have any other way.

He'd fallen in love with his version of Buck, pushy and annoying and endearing and his whole goddamned family.

Hell of a time to have that realization — looking at Buck standing in the rain in his side mirror, his expression devastated and crumpled. The knot of too late, too late, too late had formed in Eddie's gut at the sight, and has only gotten bigger in the 26 hours since.

26 hours since he left LA, left Buck standing alone in front of the only house that's felt like home outside of his Abuela's home, and they've already talked on the phone for a good 7 of those hours.

“Why do you want to know?” Eddie returns, lowering his voice in turn. He knows this game, knows how he can modulate his own voice, make it a little rougher, add an edge to it. He knows how to add the suggestive tone to his own voice, too.

Even with as clumsy as it sounds to his own ears, Buck’s breath hitches over the line.

Eddie smiles, looking down at himself. The Texas humidity had started sticking to him by the time he unpacked the third box from the back of the U-haul, so in actuality, he’s just in a pair of shorts, his shirt thrown off somewhere among the piles of stuff in the rental. He's sweaty and gross, covered in dust and grime, and even a little grease because his truck had started making a foreboding sound and Eddie was not about to have it crap out on him after 12 hours on the road.

So all in all, he looks gross, but he'll play into this fantasy anywhere.

“Eddie.”

Eddie knows what hope sounds like on Buck. Knows what Buck sounds like when he wants answers, can picture him clearly in his mind. Bright blue eyes, head ducked down and cocked slightly to the side.

“Buck,” Eddie says, letting his voice warm with amusement. “Ask me again.”

There's a line in the sand here, one that Eddie brushes away with a swipe of three words. Tomorrow, he'll focus on Chris and his parents and everything else he needs to do, but today, this is for him and Buck.

A beat of silence. Then, lower and rougher and flirtier than before — “What are you wearing?”

Eddie grins.

#zee writes #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buck x eddie #911fic #911ficlet #ficlet #911 abc #911 on abc #might turn this into an actual thing but like for now just #have this #i dont know what this is lowkey

250 notes · View notes

lexawritex · 1 month ago

Text

need you now

idol!huhyunjin x producer!reader

synopsis: you're a producer whose songs dominate the charts. to keep the hits coming, you turn to a couple cans of beer for inspiration. but the alcohol takes control, pushing you into calling your ex.

genre: light angst; heated make out session at the end :/

warnings: alcohol; swearing; top yunjin cus why not

i'm all alone and i need you now

being a producer was a choice your parents didn't agree on but with you being the most sought after producer now—their doubts were erased and now they're showering you with praises and support. you found it hilarious how they ridiculed you for pursuing a non-engineering job like your siblings did and now they're treating you like a prodigy. thinking about it made you feel bitter, to make it worse, the alcohol started to kick in.

you were in your apartment, wide awake at one in the morning due to a sudden urge to write a song. around you were cans of beer scattered on the floor, with the hope that it can help you think of creative ideas but honestly, it's all what you have in your fridge.

finishing a can, you tossed it on a pile of empty beer cans as you shifted your attention to your laptop screen. deleting one line after another—unsatisfied with the words. beside it was also your notebook where you usually write songs but you were still stuck. the urge was strong yet no matter you do, the output didn't feel good enough.

frustrated, you grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurled it across the living room, knocking a box out of place. with a groan, you stood up, set the box right, and started picking up its contents. but when you saw what it was, you froze.

it was pictures of the past. a good memory now leaving bitter feelings whenever you remember it. you shouldn't but you did. you looked at the pictures that consisted of either places or a certain woman. the woman that were once the inspiration of your songs and the one that fueled your passion for music.

"huh yunjin..."

you mumbled as you stared at a photo of her, holding an umbrella and looking back at you. you remembered how you'd always carry a camera whenever you two went on dates, wanting to capture every moment to look back on. now, you traced the dusty photograph with your fingers, the smile on her face a painful reminder of a beautiful past.

you went on a couple of pictures and stopped on the last picture that was at the very bottom of the box. the photograph taken just a week before the beautiful story ended. her smile was so wide that it shocked your whole world when she came to you and ended your relationship. you asked yourself, 'what went wrong?' yet the answer was clear.

you both lived in the same world, yet her life was much harder than yours. you didn’t have thousands of people watching your every move, criticizing each mistake. you didn’t feel the pressure to be perfect, to look like a doll every day. you didn’t have a management controlling every aspect of your life. those were the things you didn’t have—things yunjin did. but despite it all, your relationship blossomed and sailed… until it didn’t.

reminiscing about it caused tears to well up in your eyes. a chuckle escapes your mouth followed with a sigh as you sniff.

"well that was a good two years of sunshines and rainbows..." you said, staring at the pictures scattered on the floor.

you stood up, almost loosing you balance and wobbled your way to the fridge—the alcohol taking over your whole system. grabbing another beer, you slumped on your sofa and took a chug of the drink. you looked at the fogged up window, rain hitting it creating soft thuds. you've always like the comfort of the rain but now you hate it. because it reminded you that no one will give you warmth in the cold weather like she used to. you shook your head as your thoughts drifted drifted her again.

"i'm so fucking lonely..." you said followed by a deep sigh.

you reached for your phone, hoping to have a friend that's still awake at this hour to accompany you in the lonely night. you scrolled through your seemingly endless list of contacts but stopped abruptly when your eyes caught a number you haven't contacted for a while.

your fingers hovered above the number as you hesitated on calling it or not. it must've been the alcohol because now you're looking at a ringing screen, her photo smiling at you while your phone rings—waiting for the other end to pick up.

your eyes widened and you panicked—causing your phone to slip from your grip.

"shit!" you cursed and hurriedly picked up your phone to cancel the call but it was already answered.

you gasped and slapped a hand to your mouth.

"y/n?"

oh how much you missed that voice calling your name. if not for the shock, you would've teared up hearing her voice. you hurriedly pressed the end button and tossed your phone on the coffee table.

"good god..." you said and downed a whole can of beer.

well it was a bad idea because now you're really drunk and lonely and the rain wasn't making it any better. you accidentally called your ex, heard her voice and now you miss her.

☆

yunjin looked at her phone with confusion as she sat in her bed. she had just gotten out of a warm shower after practicing for their upcoming comeback. setting the phone down, she stared at the wall as she let her thoughts run. from their upcoming comeback and how it would do, her thoughts drifted to you. a sad sigh escaping her mouth as her eyes landed on a jacket she hung. the one she wore when she broke things off.

she regretted it, yes, but she had no choice. your relationship was starting to fail when she got busy for their last comeback. fights were becoming frequent when she'd snap at the smallest things due to lack of rest and the pressure of their comeback. that time their group was also under heavy criticism due to a simple mistake that added fuel to the fire. her management urged her to end her relationship to protect their group incase someone leaks your relationship. yunjin didn't want to hurt you and ruin your career so she did the regrettable.

hanging her head down, she let her tears fall and let the feelings pour out as the rain drowned out the sound. sometimes, she'd wish she was stronger and fought for your relationship, for you.

her cries were cut off when her phone rang, flinching in surprise, she looked at who was calling her at this time. seeing that it was your number again, she immediately grabbed her phone. her finger hesitating to press the answer button yet did it anyway and she immediately heard your soft sniffles and your shaky breath.

"can you come over? i need you right now." you softly whispered through the phone.

your soft voice that used to whisper sweet nothings to her, your soft voice that would sing to her heart whenever you'd serenade her and the voice that she misses so much. it was enough to put her on her feet and storm out of her room.

looking at her phone, you had ended the call. she sighed and speed-walked to the front door when her leader called her.

"yunjin? where are you headed to this late?" chaewon asked, crossing her arms.

yunjin pursed her lip, deciding to lie or not before answering.

"y/n...she called and said she needed me.." the leader uncrossed her arm, brow raised in confusion.

"and you'd risk getting caught by dispatch over a call?" chaewon stared at her red-haired member who held a pleading expression. she sighed and waved yunjin off, walking towards her room.

"just don't get caught and use the manager's car. i'll talk to him for you." a smile broke in yunjin's lips as she eagerly nodded and jogged to grab the car key from the drawer.

"will do!" yunjin whisper yelled and put on a disguise. a good old hat and mask, tying her hair neatly under her hat—hiding her recognisable red hair.

☆

you were lying on the cold floor, eyes staring at the ceiling—which had remnants of the past. a masking tape you placed to hold the balloons when you surprised yunjin on her birthday. you forgot to take that off and now seeing it made all the memories flood your mind.

your eyes shifted to your phone that was held loosely by your left hand. you grimaced at how you let yourself go and drunk called your ex. a groan escapes your mouth as you writhe on the ground in embarrassment.

a ring on your doorbell knocked you off your actions— making you confused and scared. it's already two in the morning and you weren't expecting any visitors—unless you were thinking of how you called your ex to come over but it's impossible. there's no way she'd come over.

a ring resounded again and it made you stand up, wobbling to it. getting a grip on the doorknob, you twisted it and opened the brown door. all sense of security leaving your alcohol-drowned brain.

a masked person stood before you, eyes locking with yours. you swear you've seen those dark brown eyes before but you just can't remember where and when. the person took off their mask and you let out the most audible gasp. it seemed to make you slightly sober because you immediately pulled the person in and closed the door.

"yunjin? what are you doing here? you might get seen!" you said and immediately let go of your grip on her wrist. you didn't really expect her to come over.

finding the situation quite awkward, you stepped a good steps back. yunjin looked at you and chuckled softly.

"were you drinking?" she asked.

"no." her eyes shifted to the mess behind you then back to yours before raising a brow.

"yes." you sighed and she shook her head.

walking past you, she went to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bag. her familiarity with your place making you remember the days where she'd spend the night over and cook you delicious meals that you miss.

your eyes followed her as she went to the living room and picked up the empty beer cans on the ground. feeling guilty over her cleaning your mess, you walked into the living room and took the plastic from her—making her look at you.

"i'll clean it myself." you said but she took it from you.

"no, i'll take care of this. you go take a shower and then sleep." you looked at her as she continued cleaning your mess while you stood there watching her.

there she goes again, making you feel things with her actions. a trait of hers that you fell so hard for. but now, it only made your heart wrench in pain.

hearing your silence, yunjin stopped and looked up at you. eyes widening at the tears streaming down your face. dropping the plastic, yunjin got up and went to you, holding your face as she wiped the tears from your eyes with her thumb.

you chuckled bitterly.

"why are you doing this? we're not together anymore. exes don't wipe their ex's tears." you bitterly said, making yunjin stop and let go of you.

"right..." she nodded and stepped back.

"exes also don't call their ex saying to come over because you need them." yunjin retorted making you lock eyes with her.

"can you blame me? you came into my life, rocked my world and left me with these memories i wanted to forget so bad." yunjin's eyes widened at your words as you stood there breathing heavily.

"i wanted to beg to you to come back... i felt so alone that no matter what i do—i just can't fill the hole you left in my heart." tears welled in yunjin's eyes.

"i..oh god..i'm sorry..." yunjin cried as she closed the gap between you and held your face, wiping tears with her thumb.

"please...just for tonight...let me love you again..." you plead, eyes looking back at hers for a response.

the red haired girl nodded and without wasting time, you closed the distance between you—lips crashing against each other. you tasted the tears that you've both shed as you shared a passionate kiss filled with longing for each other.

your arms snaked around her neck as hers circled smoothly to your waist, pulling you even closer. as your lungs burned at the lack of oxygen, yunjin pulled away—foreheads against each other as you both pant heavily.

"i might get drunk with all the beer you've drunk." yunjin commented making you chuckle.

"oh yeah?" you said and leaned for a kiss, smiling against her lips that you missed so much.

lost in the heat of the kiss, you failed to realize that you were now against the wall, her hand trapping you in her tall build whilst the other held your waist. a once passionate kiss turned into something more when yunjin pulled away to breathe and you saw the hungry look in her eyes.

"fuck this." you said and pulled her to the sofa, pushing her against the soft cushion—straddling her immediately.

as if automatic, her hands landed on your hips and pulled you closer to her. looking up at you with an intense, hungry gaze like a predator ready to pounce on her prey—you. pushing your face to hers, your lips danced together emitting sloppy sounds with your soft sighs and moans.

yunjin bit your lip, eliciting a moan from you—music to her ears. taking this chance to invade your mouth with her tongue who danced with yours leaving you breathless. her lips parted from your mouth and trailed kisses from your jaw to your neck.

she softly bit your neck, earning a moan from you. her lips went to your sensitive spot which she knows by heart and began abusing your skin, biting it softly then kissing it. controlled by her lust and hunger, she failed to realize that she'd been sucking on it. once she's done, she released your skin with a pop as she pulled away—looking at the red marks on your neck that are starting to darken a bit.

proud at her 'art', her attention went to your hungry gaze and now swollen lips that are begging for her care. she decided to tease you for a bit, ghosting her lips just a mere centimeter away from yours—watching as you squirm and push your head against hers. you hungrily kissed her, your tongue invading hers but was quickly dominated by her.

the heat becoming too much, you pulled away as you quickly removed your shirt—yunjin helped you so. lips crashing immediately as you threw it somewhere in your room. her lips parted from yours again and ventured beneath your neck, lightly nipping on your skin. her mouth just above your mounds making you whimper when she teasingly licked on the skin.

your eyes met hers, and you just knew where this kiss would lead—a path of no return, one you’d likely regret in the morning. but the thought barely lingered, drowned out by the intoxicating pull of her lips. drunk in her kisses, you leaned in again, letting her warmth consume you.

the world outside blurred as the glass windows fogged up, a hazy testament to the clash of warmth and cold. under the drizzling rain, her lips met yours in a heated frenzy—a desperate attempt to fill the fractures in your hearts. it was a kiss that erased everything but the two of you, a kiss that begged to mend what was broken, if only for a fleeting moment... or maybe, just maybe, forever.

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

halo im back after being gone for almost a week. i made this about three days ago but lost the inspiration to finish it until now so here ya go.

217 notes · View notes

splatashahowlett · 7 months ago

Text

Nighttime frenzy

logan howlett x reader

part.2

you trusted charles with your life, everybody knew it. but sometimes he had the tendency of making the dumbest decisions known to mankind, at least from the outside. one of those senseless decisions was sending you and logan, the person that annoyed you the most in the whole world, on a mission on the other side of the country.

that's how you ended up in a trashy camping car in the middle of texas. what a great spring break! as if the smell of the vehicle or the broken ac wasn't enough, logan had decided to be even more irritating than usual. the begining of the trip could be summarized by unrelenting bickering; like logan tying you to your seat with the seatbelt after you threatened him to jump out of the window while he was driving.

you were conscious that you both acted like children, but you couldn't help it. you both seemed to awaken something in each other but couldn't quite put your finger on it. so you manifestly chose to hate each other. you accepted this mission for charles' sake and absolutely not cause something within you wanted to spend more time with logan.

"stop. it." logan fussed at you, who wouldn't stop pressing every single buttons before you: resulting in turning on the headlights, changing the radio channel, folding and unfolding the rear-view mirrors or activating the blinker. you knew you were getting insufferable but you had to occupy yourself during the trip right ?

"damn, you're so lame. you're the worst person to do a road trip with" you rolled your eyes, wishing it was ororo next to you. logan didn't answer, probably also wishing it was someone else next to him. so you kept going: "you're telling me charles has all those fancy cars and we're stuck with this piece of crap ? how is that even possible ?" logan, again stayed silent, but you knew he agreed on this one.

you both fell silent. the only thing you could hear was the occasional car driving by and honking at logan -considering the truck was going way too slow for everyone's liking- which would inspire logan's need to swear. each time he muttered a "fuck off" or honk in return you would let out a soft laugh, followed by a death stare from logan.

the heat was excruciating and you desperatly needed a shower. so you begged logan to make a stop for the night.

"logan, I know you want it too" you coaxed, giving him a pleading gaze. logan abrubtly stopped the truck almost sending you flying through the windshield if it wasn't for his arm suddenly coming infront of your stomach.

"fine" logan said firmly. you bit your lip, amused but also embarassed by being corrected like a child. "I'll go for a walk while you're showering" he continued, stepped out the truck and slammed the door with enough strength to shake the entirety of the vehicle, including you.

half an hour after your shower logan was still gone and you started to feel dumb for acting frivolous. was he really mad at you? did he get lost? it wasn't your problem anyway, if you could finish the mission alone it would be better for everyone.

so you climbed into the only bed, thinking logan was not going to sleep anwway. you didn't care nevertheless if he wanted to, you would get the bed.

you woke up in the middle of the night, crickets basically singing to death. it was still extremely hot which explained your choice of clothes: a light tank top with a small short. what couldn't be explained was the presence of a monstruous bear in your bed. well, logan had enough of walking you guessed. it's only when your eyes adjusted to the darkness that you noticed logan was bare chest, and even if you hated it, this made your heart flutter.

right as when you were falling asleep, logan started shifting franticly in his sleep. you tilted your head, confused as to what was happening until you heard him mutter somehing along the lines of "let me go". ororo had told you about logan's recuring nightmares and you figured this must be one of those. you didn't really know what to do, being woken up by someone you don't appreciate much must be even worse than having a nightmare and you also didn't want to end up with his claws in your guts. so you found nothing better than to fill an old bucket you found in a cupboard with water and to drown him with it.

logan woke up instantly, claws coming out his knuckles. this definitely wasn't the best idea but at least no one got hurt. logan looked at you, not an ounce of anger in his eyes but more of worry. he got up and seated himself on the stairs leading to the outside off the camping car.

ten minutes later you joined logan by leaning against the doorframe. you didn't love the guy to death, but you knew those kind of nightmares were merciless and left you reliving things you wanted to forget over and over again. you didn't have to get a degree in psychology to guess logan wasn't doing great right now, his arms were crossed over his knees and his eyes fixated on the ground.

"come on, I changed the sheets" you spoke softly, scared to disturb his thoughts more than they already were. logan didn't move at first so you assumed he needed more time. you were about to join the bed when you heard a gentle protest.

"I'm sorry" logan said. you stopped in your tracks, surprised at how logan was acting. this was the first time he showed a sign of weakness. this made your heart melt and you immediatly answered. "there's no need to be sorry logan, you didn't do anything wrong". logan looked up at you and you sweared you saw a glimpse of gratitude and maybe even more. he stood up and followed you in the bed. you were facing him, not wanting him to think you didn't mean what you just said if you turned your back to him. logan looked down, not wanting to show he felt miserable. you took his hand in yours and brushed your thumbs against the back of his hand in an attempt to bring him comfort. you guessed it worked cause when you looked back at him, he was looking straight into your eyes. usually you would find this interaction awkward and immediatly get out the bed, but if logan didn't take his hand back that must mean that he needs you to stay and show him that he is not alone. so you stayed.

"I'm sorry for throwing water at you" you muttered, almost inaudible. the corner of logan's lips twitched upwards and you couldn't help but smile. you scooted closer to him and hid your face in his chest. one of your hand left his and found its way on his back, hugging him. you could hear logan let out a sigh of relief before planting his chin on your head, keeping you close to him.

"thank you".

you would go back to hating each other tomorrow, right now you just wanted to hold each other as long as the moon was glowing.

#logan howlett fluff #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #xmen fanfiction

385 notes · View notes

winitry · 9 months ago

Text

fairy wings and bloody knees ♡ | daryl dixon

word count: 1.9k

A/N: this is really just daryl and reader's daughter. reader is mentioned but not seen during this fic. eventually i will get around to making a part 2 with daryl x reader! this idea was inspired by @louifaith and i included a piece of artwork by @vaebun at the end of the story that is absolutely ADORABLE. please take a moment to view both of their blogs for great content! ♡ also i didn't do much proofreading so forgive meee

"I like your fairy wings."

It took a moment to register the words before Daryl realized they were directed at him, and another moment for him to realize that - shit - so was a pair of big brown eyes. His boots came to a slow stop as he regarded the child. The girl couldn't have been older than six, a tiny little thing with unruly curls and scabbed knees, gripping a piece of pink sidewalk chalk in one hand. Her curls fell into her face as she leaned to try and look behind him, clearly wanting another glance at the wings on his vest.

The fuck?

"Ain't no fairy." Daryl muttered gruffly, unsure of what to make of the girl. A lock of hair clung to the corner of her mouth and she pushed it away, smearing pink chalk over her cheek in the process. He let her walk behind him as he quickly scanned the area, looking for any sign of a guardian but it seemed the girl was just out playing on her own; it was strange to him, to be in a place where someone would feel safe enough to let their child outside without being right behind them. It reminded him a bit of his youth, before his mother died, when she'd send him out to ride on his bike and tell him to be back when the streetlights came on. Different times. Now, that sort of thing felt too irresponsible. Too risky - even with walls.

He felt a pressure against his back and jumped, turning to look at the little girl as she grinned up at him. Her hand was still raised in the air, fingers outstretched and tinted pink. Daryl had half a mind to tell her to quit it, to go find her mom or pops and leave him be, but a little giggle tumbled past the girl's lips and he found himself short of words. Not a moment later she turned and bounded, leaving Daryl alone. For the remainder of the day, he was entirely unaware of the little pink handprint lingering on the back of his vest.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The following day, Carol was the first to notice that Daryl had managed to acquire a shadow. She met Daryl’s eye as Aaron led him and Abraham down the road and the archer found himself pausing at the hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “What?” Daryl questioned, eyes narrowing at the amusement painting his friend’s features. Ahead of him, Aaron and Abraham noticed him hanging back and came to a stop, waiting. “Spit it out.” “Just think you’ve got an admirer, that’s all.” Carol teased, looking past him with a knowing smile. Frowning, Daryl turned to follow her line of sight just in time to see a familiar mop of curls duck behind a mailbox. Daryl let out a quiet huff, shoulders relaxing minutely. The girl wasn’t any good at hiding - not with the way her whole body could still be seen behind the base; she’d clearly dressed herself that day, too - floral overalls clashing with a bright, striped shirt. It didn’t look like she had any chalk that he’d have to be on the lookout for, at least. He could still hear Rick’s chuckles from the night before when he’d pointed out the handprint on his vest. With a dismissive shake of his head, Daryl turned back, moving to continue on with Aaron and Abraham. “Ain’t nothin’. Just a kid.” “Look at you, already a hit with the ladies!” Abraham chaffed, earning a pointed scowl.

“Stop.” Aaron glanced between the two men with a relaxed smile, sparing a glance towards where the girl peeked her head out from behind the mailbox, watching from a distance. Aaron offered a little wave, to which the girl returned a cheeky smile, pressing a finger to her lips as if her presence was a secret between the two of them. “That’s Remy.” “Remy?” Daryl echoed, unamused. “Yeah, Remy. Short for Remington, but for your own safety just call her Remy.” “Remington?” Abraham cut in, unable to contain the amusement in his tone. “Like the rifles?” “I think so. I’m pretty sure her dad picked it.” Aaron told them, motioning for them to follow as he continued down the road. He’d mentioned wanting to introduce Abraham to one of the community members that ran the construction projects for Alexandria, and planned on taking Daryl to speak with Deanna after; she was still figuring him out, trying to decide which job would suit him best. He might’ve had time to brew on how much he couldn’t stand Deanna’s attempts to categorize him if his thoughts weren’t still stuck on the girl - Remy. Daryl glanced back over his shoulder, just enough to notice that she was trailing behind as they walked, eyes downcast and focusing hard as she balanced on the curb of the street while she followed. “She always just out here on ‘er own?” “Not exactly,” Aaron explained, considering his words before adding, “mostly just in the afternoons when she doesn't feel like sitting in class with the other kids. She's usually with her mom whenever she isn’t helping in the infirmary. Actually, I've been meaning to take you all by there - have you met (Y/N) yet?” “Nah.” Daryl muttered, finding no recollection of the name. “What about ‘er dad? He dead?" “Well, no. That’s, uh… a bit more complicated.” A brief silence fell over the them, and when Aaron peeked from the side of his eye to see that Abraham and Daryl were both still waiting for an answer, he let out an uncomfortable sigh. After looking back to ensure Remy was far enough that his words wouldn’t carry, he continued in a softer tone. “Her dad is around but not really around. It’s a long story - and really, not mine to tell - but... alright, they have an arrangement that Deanna settled between them. He gives Remy half of his rations every week, outside of what he hunts for the pantry, and (Y/N)... well, I guess you can say she has 'custody'. Like I said... it's complicated.” While Daryl’s lip twitched with irritation, Abraham let out a low whistle. “Well, ain’t that 'bout a bitch. Whole world goes to shit and you still can’t get outta child support.” It took a solid few seconds for the redhead to register that Daryl and Aaron were both staring at him, deadpanned, before he held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just sayin’!” Daryl didn’t find any of it funny in the slightest. It was bad enough that a kid had to grow up in a world like they were living in, but to have a deadbeat dad on top of it? And the Alexandrians, they just let it slide - let him give her some food and throw the rest of his duties as a parent aside.

Bullshit. This place, these people, this attempt at 'normal' life. A bunch of bullshit.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Talking to Deanna left him in the same spot he was in before. For whatever reason, she couldn't seem to figure out what to do with him even though he already knew the answer was obvious. He didn't belong in these walls, wasn't built for playing house and acting like there weren't monsters lingering around dark corners beyond the streets of Alexandria. It wasn't the dead that really bothered him, not after Terminus... not after the Claimers or Grady Memorial.

There were people out there that would come across a place like this and do the unthinkable and it wouldn't matter how nice their houses were or what casseroles they could make - they would suffer because they were weak and unprepared. He wasn't built to sit back and be vulnerable. He needed to be out there, hunting or scavenging or making sure the people that would hurt them stayed far enough away.

He thought going out and catching some game could clear his mind some. So, after stopping by and checking out his crossbow, Daryl headed towards the gate without much of a plan except to get out of the walls. But of course, it wouldn't never be so easy.

If he hadn't been so on edge in this new place, he wouldn't have heard the sniffle. It didn't take very long to find the source of it - Remy, pressed up against the trunk of a maple tree, blood trailing from her knees down to her ankles. She'd had to have fallen, tearing open scabs that were still healing. Though her knees were bloody and raw, cheeks wet with fresh tears, she didn't seem to pay them any mind.

Following her gaze to where she stared off in the distance longingly, Daryl quickly pieced together what was really upsetting her. Lingering by the front gate, in conversation with one of the other Alexandrian men, was a man with a hunting rifle strapped onto his back. A Remington rifle. That was her dad. Her dad, getting ready to go out on a hunt while she sat here with torn knees and a yearning heart. Well... he'd be damned if he were going to walk away from that.

"Must be clumsy." His own voice sounded foreign to him as he took a step into her view, trying hard to sound casual though he wasn't entirely sure how to approach the situation. Those big puppy-dog eyes looked up at him and he could have sworn he felt like somebody kicked him in the gut.

"Clumsy?" Remy echoed, confused, and sniffled again as she reached up and swiped her nose with the back of her arm.

"Means ya fall a lot." Daryl explained.

"My daddy's leaving." Remy blurted, lower lip quivering a bit as she looked past Daryl to see the man finally stepping out the gate, pushing it shut behind him.

Daryl looked over his shoulder towards the gate, acknowledging the man's departure with a sideways glance. "He come tell you goodbye?" Remy merely shook her head in response and Daryl hummed, unsurprised. He looked down to her knees, considering, before pulling a rag from his pack and kneeling down beside her. "Here, lemme see."

Remy extended one leg as Daryl gently reached for her ankle, watching with a pout as he wiped the blood from her shin before switching to the next leg and doing the same. Her knees were still bleeding a bit, but her legs weren't dripping blood anymore, at least. When he dropped her second leg, Remy blinked up at him through watery lashes. "I want Mommy."

Daryl met those doe eyes of hers, thinking back to the conversation with Aaron earlier that day. He'd mentioned Remy's mom - (Y/N) - helping in the infirmary. Seemed the girl probably needed to get some gravel cleaned out of her knees, anyways...

"C'mon. Let's go find yer ma." Daryl told her, pushing himself back to his feet and holding out a hand for her to grab onto to. As soon as Remy pulled herself up, though, she tried to take a step and limped, whining loudly. Not a second later, Daryl was instinctively scooping her up, resting her on his hip; and Remy, instinctively, reached up to wrap her arms around his neck as he carried her towards the infirmary to see you. Her messy curls tickled his stubble as she tucked her head against his neck, and if it weren't for that alone, then surely it was when he walked into the infirmary and laid eyes on you for the first time that Daryl Dixon knew one thing for certain...

He was so fucked.

artwork by @vaebun !! ♡

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon imagine #twd fic #twd imagine #remy oc

407 notes · View notes

dreamingkitsunewrites · 3 months ago

Text

✧♬•¨a.k.a. What Getting Wasted with GRUNGE BOYFRIEND!CHOSO feels like✧♬• (PT2)

Pt1 here. Inspired Moodboard here

Warning tags: suggestive, mentions of alcohol and weed, nsfw (pin, receiving f!oral)

♬ Inspired by 'I like the way you kiss me' by Artemas ♬

Pt 3?? (I feel like the last? part of this series will be the smuttiest one, already got ideas😏)

✧Grunge! Choso who became Grunge Boyfriend! Choso after you two spent the rest of the night together, wandering around the city. As the sun was about to rise, you were seated on a swing, in the middle of a deserted playground of a local park, talking about your personal stories and venting about how being different by showing your authenticity automathically makes you a weirdo in this fucked up society... Lulled by the lazy back and forth of the swing, you smiled at the sight of your matching platform Doc Martens. Shortly after enjoying the sunrise together, he walked you back home. Standing outside your door, his brows furrowed as you start rummaging through your bag, in search of your dark lipstick.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who looked like about to pass out as you grabbed his wrist and started writing your phone number on his forearm with your matte lipstick, along with a clear invitation: text me if you wanna be my boyfriend. "Don't worry it will last enough 'till you make it home...it should be long lasting..." You giggled to yourself and placed a final peck on his pale lips, making sure to leave a stain.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who did text you back as soon as he calmed down his nerves, but still couldn't believe he could call you his now...the mere thought sending chills of anticipation down his spine: he layed in bed for hours, smiling goofily at the ceiling and already fucking his fist while picturing all the naughty things he would have done to you from the following day on, finally able to show the whole world you were nothing but HIS now...

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who never felt alone anymore after you two got together, becoming the cool 'Big Bro' in your friends' circle. He feels contempt every Friday and Saturday night, when you all stumble loudly out of the club together, messing around the underground subway station at 3am. A persistent whistle echoing in your ears until morning from the loud music, pumping through the imposing speakers.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who loves sloppily making out with you, no matter the situation: holding you on the subway seat on the way home with his strong hands on your waist, totally unbothered by other people watching your tongues connecting shamefully with a sticky line of saliva, or laying on top of your tiny sexy body on the old, worn down couch at your pal's place, ending up groaning against your swollen lips and grinding his needy hips on yours whenever your black-polished nails scratched his sensitive scalp ever so slightly.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who fucks you missionary style with gritted teeth when he dives into your velvety depths for the first time, trying desperately not to cum instantly and paint your walls white with his hot seed. He instantly develops an addiction to the lewd, wet sounds your small, warm cunt makes when it swallows his fat dick over and over again at every frantic thrust. He finds his little piece of heaven between your thighs and he feels higher than he ever was when he reaches his climax, quivering and whimpering pathetically as a torrent of tiny pearls of cum erupted violently from his pinky, swollen tip, adorning your chest with a sticky necklace of his cum.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who collapses his whole body weight on you as he fights hard to catch his breath again after tasting the sweetness of your pussy. With his heartbeat slowly coming back to its usual pace, he looks up to you with adoring puppy eyes, meeting your warm smile and asking you if you too enjoyed it. When you nod and cup his face in your palms, he kisses you slowly, savouring every little whine and sigh you confess to his lips.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who just wanna be your sweetheart and treats you like a princess during the day -showering you with cute plushy animals and smothering you with kisses- just to press your head further into his pillow as he hits it desperately from the back, holding onto to you and leaving marks on your soft buttocks, as he physically cannot resist drilling your cunt when he sees you ass up, face down for him on his bed. He compliments you continuously, telling you how much he loves you and how he deep he wants to feel you. He nuts everytime you call him 'your sweet good boyfriend', moaning words of encouragement as you feel your walls flutter wildly with your impending orgasm.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso whose hazed expressions are priceless when you try weed together for the first time, buying it from a guy who offered you some at the exit of the club. His glassy eyed stare makes him appear even cuter and kissable, while he inhales deeply and drag after drag lets go of any inhibition, confessing the depths of his adoration to you: he lazily repeats he would do ANYTHING for you, he would fight ANYONE to keep you safe in his arms, his pretty beautiful angelic girlfriend, the only one he wants to feel laying her head on his shoulder while staring outside the window on the subway train...

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who wakes up on the cold floor of your antics the morning after with a great headache from all the alcohol and the weed of the previous night. He blushes furiously when you show him the video of his sweet, stammering confession, but he doesn't deny a single word...

Thanks for reading this far, reblogs and comments are appreciated! 🙏

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso whose favourite remedy for bad hangovers like this one, is to lock the whole world outside of the door and spend the whole day with you, listening to Nirvana and Radiohead from your vintage vinyl record player in your antic with his head buried for hours between your thighs.

Taglist: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @lordbelkamort @viviennevianna @verydreamerfairy

162 notes · View notes

cherryblossompink303 · 28 days ago

Text

Patience: ~A Challenge from Lobelia Girls Academy!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: the host club gets a reaity check from an interesting group of visitors ➼ what to expect: "I was sent to ouran for a reason, and...we're being patient, it's a lot easier to be patient here than it would be there" ➼ warnings: The zuka club, Tamaki's views on wlw ➼Part Eight | Part Ten

"I don't understand why I have to dress up as well Tamaki" while the ball gown you had been urged into was gorgeous you had to admit that it was not practical, the rare occasion that you would rather be in your uniform.

"For authenticity of course y/n if we are going for the more traditional European fairytale you would know first hand" Tamaki is failing at fastening his suit of armour, "Don't think I forgot that you grew up in France Tamaki I know that this is a ruse I just don't know what for..." You squint at him in skepticism.

"But you look so beautiful as princess" Tamaki starts crying, you roll your eyes "I thought our clients were meant to be the princesses" the last thing you needed to do was draw attention to yourself, it was the whole point of keeping your engagement to Kyoya a secret. "I'm inclined to agree with y/n, tamaki having her dress as a princess, while cute, may inspire rumors in our clients"

Cute? CUTE? You didn't think that the word was in Kyoya's vocabulary. "I'm just going to go change I don't need any client Jealousy it isn't good for the club" before you get the chance the move however the doors swing open, two girls that you do not recognise enter, which is when you remember that there were schools visiting for the cultural fair.

Snapping into host mode the other club members suddenly appear in position "Welcome ladies" Tamaki instantly taking on the knightly persona he has created for himself "Well, well, well, I see you ladies are from another school. I certainly hope we haven't startled you. We love first time guests"

Tamaki's eyes twinkle as he approaches the two girls "I'm glad you've come, princesses. My darlings even if the world were to be destroyed, I'd put my life on the line as your faithful knight and servant" The girls look less than impressed at Tamaki's 'chivarly'

"Oh my, do you you really think you'd be able to protect us?" One of them asks "That's awfully arrogant don't you agree?" Oh no. you could practically hear Tamaki breaking from across the room. "You think that's what a woman wants to hear? well you're wrong"

"Come on, give him a break, sister Suzuran, men are just lowly life forms who don't care about anything other than perpetuating their testosterone-laden image. By 'protecting' us he's actually attempting to disguise the fact that he is weak and unable of even protecting himself"

You and Kyoya exchange eye contact as if to question if they were being serious

"You're such a clever girl, Hinagiku"

Tamaki stands "Don't you think that's a little harsh?" You have to admit that Tamaki is keeping a much cooler head than expected, perhaps because the girls are strangers to him but you would have thought he would have had a crisis by now.

"Fine, then, what do women like you want to hear?"

A voice emits from far away, presumably from out in the hall "Maybe something like 'i would never leave my lover alone'" the next thing you know a third student appears with Haruhi in her arms "If we fight, it'll be together" she spins her "if we fail, we fail together"

"Even if I were to die, I promise you that I will never leave your side my love" She kisses Haruhi's than, you and the rest of the host club look on in shock, clear having missed a few pages. However it does kick off the crisis you were expecting off Tamaki.

"Benibara, we thought you'd never show"

"What are we going to do with you?"

"So tell me where you found this young lady"

"I just met her outside of the school" From the look on Haruhi's face you are willing to bet that 'met' isn't quite the right word."She may be dressed as a boy, but I knew the truth" while you were slightly surprised that the girls had put it together so quickly given that Haruhi can convincingly pass as a boy to the entire school you were also slightly cautious on how loud Benibara was announcing it in the hallway.

"She has so pretty, maidenly eyes" the way that she span haruhi around and dipped her strangely reminded you of tamaki "Uh, thanks, I guess" it soon progresses in all the girls fawning over Haruhi while the rest of you uncomfortably watch on.

"Wow her skin is incredibly soft"

"Isn't it though?"

"I think this ones going to be a diamond in the rough"

Tamaki has had enough, running to the girls "Don't go touching my Haruhi without asking my permission!" he is quickly rebuttled by benibara "Leaver her alone!" leaving Tamaki to crawl back to you "She punched me! Shes so violent!" he bursts into tears "Get ahold of yourself"

"Guess the rumours we heard are true, you guys are just a bunch of weak little punks with no sense between you" Kyoya finally gets a good look at them "Those uniforms, I assume you ladies are from the Lobelia Girl's academy?"

Benibara smirks "That is correct" the girls jump into a costume change and montage

"St Lobelia Academy, high school second year, Benio Amakusa"

"Second year student, Chizuru Maihara"

"First year student, Hinako Tsuwabuki"

"We are the members of the St Lobelia Academy's white lily league otherwise known as-"

"The Zuka Club!"

The host club doesn't really know what to make of it. The twins are the first to burst out laughing at the name "Oh man! What a name! The Zuka club? My stomach hurts"

"The Zuka Club! That's priceless"

"You shouldn't underestimate the zuka club!" Renge's cackling can be heard from far away as the whirring of the platform she uses to enter starts up once again. You roll your eyes "oh god"

"I may not know much about instant coffee, but I'm fascinated with girls schools. St Lobelia Academy. It is truly a woman's world there. The zuka club is a group of strong young maidens who consider women to be superior in every way. The club prides itself on it's 30 year history. It's a society of maidens, by maidens, for maidens. Zuka club activities include 'maiden tea parties' 'the maiden debate forum' but most importantly musical reviews performed by the society's top members"

In the time that it took for renge to finish rambling you had gotten the chance to slip out to change and return, as did Kyoya "You sure have a vast wealth of knowledge Renge"

"Well i've always admired St Lobelia's I just couldn't go to school there, though what would I do without any boys?" Renge disappeared quickly much to your relief. "A maiden's beauty, it means possessing a spirit pure enough to not give in to power or lust"

"As a girl, you, for a girl, you. We've had quite enough of all your oppressive male contempt for womankind"

"And our pride comes from having meaningful relationships based on equality, because we're the same sex. And yes, that include relationships of love"

"Yeah you tell them Benio"

"You're awesome Benibara"

While you were sat confused at the...certainly set beliefs of the girls the rest of the club had gotten bored, moving on quickly "Whatever, we're so over it"

"Why don't you gals just scram?"

"I find it hard to believe that you silly boys have nothing to say about our sublime female love" Chizuru speaks up.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to Kyoya who had moved to reading "Didn't she call the other one sister not five minutes ago?" the observation made him smirk, attempting to hold back a laugh.

"What is she even talking about?" one of the twins asks, continuing to ramble about their games "You should feel sorry for them hinagiku their patented host skills don't work on us. Now they're flusterest and don't know what to do with themselves"

"True. I must say I'm glad we decided to perform here. It was fun to sneak a peek at the notorious Ouran host club"

Honey turns to you "Are we really notorious?" you shrug "I suppose" while you will take any opportunity to call the host club out on something you did not like the seemingly high and mighty standpoint the zuka club was taking.

Benibara suddenly appears next to you, apparently only now noticing your presence "Oh? Another maiden? Tell me these pathetic men have not lured you in with their schemes" you had to resist the urge to burst out laughing at the view that Benibara had built up in her head "I'm not a client, trust me if anything they are victims to my schemes"

"What?" Kaoru looks up from the DS, resulting in you elbowing him to distract from the questioning. "You're not a 'client' of this so called host club? then pray tell why are you here?"

"She's my fiance" Your face fell at how nonchalant Kyoya was about revealing that fact to pretty much strangers, wanting to remind him that it is supposed to be a secret. You didn't even know why that was what he chose to reveal, he could have easily enough said that you were a club member. Perhaps it was to deter Benibara from treating you the same way as she had Haruhi.

"So they have lured you in, poor thing dragging you down with them, the both of you, the host club's president may be a petty little halfer, but he shouldn't be using his looks to create a fictitious romance! Attempting to fool the heart of a pure, young maiden is demeaning! Your so-called 'club activities' are nothing more than debasing macho fantasies"

"If I may butt in, these lot may be idiots but they aren't scheming to take advantage of women, the girls at this school are smart enough to know what a host club is in premise and know what they are entering into when they request a host. They aren't exactly luring the women in they come on their own accord" leaning back in your seat trying to picture what exactly they thought the host club was but coming up empty

"Oh you are in so deep, they have told you so many lies you've started to believe them to be true, and now they have entrapped you into an engagement! I promise you, we will bring this club down! The Ouran Host club will be abolished"

You raise an eyebrow, you think that the reaction is a bit dramatic until you remember they are literally theatre kids. "I see, I understand your concern, but do you think maybe we could finish this later?"

"Are you saying that you're not going to face us?" Benio asks "Not at all, it's just that our president is still bedridden from the initial culture shock"

"You see Tama-chan is having his nappy time right now"

"Wake him up!" Benio seethed "Excuse me. I made some coffee. Would you ladies like to have some?" the zuka club fawn over haruhi and her coffee, which seems to snap Tamaki from his nap.

"You girls have it all wrong! Don't you see there's nothing to be gained in a romantic relationship between women? If that were the case then why did god create adam and eve?" You put your head in your hands, praying that you heard Tamaki wrong, but knowing that you probably didn't, karma instantly faces him as he burns himself on coffee. "Hot! Hot! Hot!"

"You've gotta be more careful senpai" Haruhi kneels down to bandage him up. You turn to Kyoya "So at what point was I going to find out that you have been 'dragging me down with your lies'?" You laugh, Kyoya smirks, pushing up his glasses "Just wait until they find out our engagement was arranged"

"This little conversation doesn't seem to be going anywhere" Benio yanks you and Haruhi away from the hosts "Now that we know what's going on, we can't allow these maidens to stay here. We'll prepare their paperwork and have them transferred to Lobelia at once and we'll welcome them into the zuka club"

"Huh?!" You couldn't help but see the irony in the situation that they were accusing the host club of holding you and Haruhi captive yet also declare to steal you both to Lobelia without even asking.

"Hey, just wait a second, will ya? There seems to have been some misunderstandings here. I mean first of all you called senpai a 'halfer'"

"He is a halfer! He's half french half Japanese" Honey chimes in "Well, uh, anyway, I don't think it's fair for you to pick on the host club just because you don't think they have the same history as you do" you add.

"We barely have any history. We were just founded two years ago"

"Yeah the boss created it whenever he started highschool here"

"Be that as it may saying their club activities are only held to satisfy their appetites is just wrong, I mean it's not like the host club is charging their guests or anything"

You grimace at Haruhi's point knowing that Kyoya's going to correct her any second "While I wouldn't call it a charge, we do have a point system. We offer priority services based on the winning bids of auctions held on our website" You pinch the bridge of your nose,trying to point out to Kyoya that he was not helping Haruhi's point.

"Check this out Haruhi, your used mechanical pencil just sold with a winning bid of 30,000 yen. Good for you"

Haruhi rushes over to the laptop the two of you were stood next to "What?! But I thought I lost that pencil! Why didn't you tell me about this before Kyoya-senpai? I had no idea you were collecting money!"

"So you thought we were all just working here as volunteers? While it''s not much, because of the expense of organising events, we happen to make a small profit from the online auctions"

"You can't sell other people's things without asking permission! That's stealing!" The twins slide in at an attempt to diffuse the situation "It wasn't stealing. You dropped it on the floor" Haruhi looks furious.

Tamaki bursts out crying, rushing over "I'm sorry Haruhi! It's not like we were hiding it from you! Here you can have mind it's got a cute teddy bear on it" Haruhi rolls her eyes "Senpai I don't want your pencil"

"Well to make it up to you how about i do this? I'll tell you the secrets to my success and my fondest memories"

"Not to be rude senpai but I'm not really interested in that information" Tamaki goes to sulk in the corner at the reply, leading the zuka club to swoop in "Oh you poor dear, I can't believe they've been deceiving you"

"Why don't you two just dump these losers and come with us?"

You shoot Kyoya a glance questioning why they were so dedicated "I kinda have an attachment here so..." you could have sworn that in the corner of your eye you saw Kyoya smile. "Oh, well it has been a long day, we'll give you both some time to think about it. We'll come back for your answer tomorrow. Well then, adieu" The zuka club spin out the room.

Haruhi sends death glare to the rest of the club "I'd better be going I've got some thinking to do" She storms out leaving Tamaki wailing "Why did you have to tell her the truth? You just added fuel to the fire"

"Tamaki you shouldn't be mad she found out if you knew she was going to react like this" You point out, you weren't in charge of the auctions, that was Kyoya's side of things, you just assumed they were of photobooks not used pencils "The facts are the facts" Kyoya shrugs.

"Maybe we should've asked before we sold her pencil on the internet"

"Yeah, for all we know, it was a keepsake from her mother"

"Nah it was just a freebie they were giving out at the electronics store"

Tamaki finally calms down into a more forlorn expression "Gentlemen, just think about it. Haruhi may be basically indifferent, but if she had to choose, we know that she tends to favour men's clothing. And besides, when she first joined the host club, didn't she tell us 'being a host and getting fussed over by a bunch of girls might not be that bad' Why didn't I realise this before? Perhaps they would be a better match for Haruhi. Maybe she'd be better off with the Zuka club"

"I think you're reading way too much into this senpai, even if Haruhi is attracted to women that doesn't mean she's going to transfer schools to be with some strangers, her scholarship probably wouldn't even transfer over. She's just mad because you went behind her back" You cross your arms, confused on why Tamaki was being so dramatic.

"Haruhi is smart enough to pass the Lobelia scholarship test"

"And they have the money to pay off the 8 million yen debt she owes us"

"Haru-chan is going away?"

"She's perfect for a girl's school"

"What are we going to do?"

"Calm down, it'll be alright, listen to what I have to say. I have a secret plan." You face palm, knowing that they aren't going to see sense until Haruhi tells them directly. "Okay, whatever, you're going to go ahead and do it anyway why do I try?"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"You're not considering transferring are you?" Kyoya asks while the two of you walk to his car that afternoon. "Huh?" the question catches you off guard, you thought it had been made clear earlier. "You seemed...frustrated earlier, you know that you aren't tied to ouran? if you really wanted to transfer to Lobelia a good point could be made to your father to allow you to transfer"

"I wasn't, I'm used to Tamaki's antics by now, besides I don't think it would be helpful" you reply, looking at all the displays for the exposition "Hm?"

"I was sent to ouran for a reason, and...we're being patient, it's a lot easier to be patient here than it would be there" You smile, entering the car.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You decided to walk into school with Haruhi this morning, not wanting to get unceremoniously swept up again, however you find the Zuka club waiting for you as you approach music room 3. "Hello young maidens"

"We've come for your decision. Are you prepared to leave?"

"We're ready to confront those ouran host club idiots and set things straight once and for all"

Haruhi raises an eyebrow "Set what straight?" Benibara slides over "That you should come with us and go to school with your own kind" she starts dragging the two of you off "She does know other girls attend here right?"

The host club is plunged into darkness as they open the door to the music room.

"Ouran!"

The lights flicker on to reveal the host club "Ouran! Host club welcomes you!" The sight stuns you and seemingly the rest of the girls, you had to admit when Tamaki said he had a plan this was the last thing you expected, the entire host club dressed up as princesses"

“Oh, Haruhi, y/n, welcome back.” Tamaki greets in a red ballgown with pink accents, almost a princess version of the knight costume he had been wearing the previous day.

Honey twirls to the front in a magenta gown, his blonde hair also done up with extensions and beyond garish makeup, “Look, y/n-chan! I’m a princess now! Aren’t I cute?!”

Benibara gasps in offense, “What is the meaning of this?! Are you trying to make fun of womankind?!” she demands. All the while, you’re still beyond confused.

“Make fun? No, that’s not it at all. Everything's going according to plan. Our strategy is guaranteed to make even a crying child smile. It's the freebie campaign!”

"Oh Tamaki" You shuffle away "You ladies have lived sheltered lives at Lobelia so you might not know that commoners are weak. They have a weakness for free things! Haruhi, you may be distracted by the Zuka club, but choose us and you gain not only a host club full of brothers but sisters as well! See, this way you can experience feminine bonding while staying in the host club"

"I am right here?" You point out, rolling your eyes through a laughter however, because you had to admit,this was entertaining to watch. "Isn't that a great idea? aren't I pretty?"

"We’re the Hitachiin Sisters! Which one of us is prettier?” They appear closer to you, fans covering their mouths.

“I’m just teasing you,” Hikaru whispers as Kaoru laughs haughtily.

“Listen, Haru-chan! You can call me Big Sis from now on.” Honey seems to be the least uncomfortable in his attire. Even Usa-chan is decorated with a red bow and bold lipstick.

“Why you! Do you idiots really think you can win her over like this? I’ve had enough of your fooling around!”

Finally, seemingly both of your exteriors crumble, and you burst into a fit of laughter. Not amused chuckles or snickers, but whole-hearted laughter at their show of… whatever this might be.

“This is too much! What the hell are you even trying to do! Oh man, look at those outfits!”

The twins and Honey start chasing Haruhi around the room telling her to call them big sister. "What were you thinking? What's gotten into you guys?"

"We did this because we don't want you to leave the host club"

You approach Kyoya "What did they have to do to get you on board with this one?" he shakes his head "I don't want to talk about it" You laugh.

"So maiden, have you made your choice?" Haruhi stands "Yeah I have, I'm sorry but your club is not for me I think the idea of a girls' school is great, and your views are very unique and interesting. But I came to this school with a goal and a plan for my future so while I appreciate your offer, I really already knew that I was never going to leave ouran academy"

"Haruhi! So why were you acting so angry yesterday if you weren't going to leave?"

"How'd you feel if I stole something of yours without asking you?"

"I told you all this" You shook your head.

"Um… Benio?” Chizuru begins as she watches the interaction, Benibara lets her eyelids slip closed as she sighs.

“Yes… I know. We’re not going to give up on you” She leans over to you.

“I swear this to you. Someday we’ll come and rescue you from this place and your arrangement! And when we do, we’ll abolish the Ouran Host Club!” Benibara affirms with vigor and a smug smirk.

“Well, adieu~.”

Just as they twirl through the door, the three of them simultaneously slip on banana peels just as the doors to the club room close.

“Until we meet again.” you cross your arms and sigh in exasperation.

The lights flicker out, and Renge’s platform rises from the ground for the second time this episode, except this time with a monkey at her side.

“And so, a new rival, the Zuka Club, has appeared. From this point on, the story’s gonna get even more exciting! What’s gonna happen to our beloved host club boys and y/n next? Hang in there, Host Club! Don’t give up, guys!” Renge munches on a banana.

"Hey its not your job to cook things up!"

With that all over you finally take in Kyoya's appearance "I must admit you wear it better than i do" Kyoya rolls his eyes through a laugh "Shut up" You laugh. "Oh sorry 'mother kyoya'"

Next time on patience 'A day in the life of the L/N family!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows

#kyoya ootori #kyoya ootori x reader #ohshc #kyoya x reader #ohshc kyoya #ohshc x reader #ouran high school host club #ouran highschool host club #ouran host club #ouran hshc #kaoru hitachiin #ouran #ouran kyoya #hikaru hitachiin #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh

119 notes · View notes