#and the moment you see someone your mind already has deemed “ugly” in any way you act up. fuck off you ableist cunt.

[i-hear-a-sound]

leftism leaving peoples bodies the moment people with severe facial/bodily differences exist

[drxwsyni]

show me heaven, take me to hell︱okkotsu yuuta x f!reader

“Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore. He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.” a/n: this is my part for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab! i was really excited to write a fic with this prompt, and this collab was super fun so pls go check out the other writers involved!!! words: 3.7k warnings: ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP 18+, noncon, somnophilia, virginity loss, rough-ish sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering, choking for a quick moment, creampie, a little praise, heavy stalking & obsessive behaviour, gen. yandere themes

Yuuta liked to think he had control over his emotions—but peering down at you, he knew that was far from the truth. How those emotions manifested was what he could control, because if it weren’t for the steely expression cemented into his face, he’d be sure you’d know of all the debased things running rampant throughout his mind.

And yet, he doesn’t fear the falter in his masquerade right now.

You’re fast asleep, none the wiser to the looming figure of your boyfriend, locked onto the way your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic manner. How his eyes nearly gloss over as they travel down the curves of your body, half exposed as you’ve only pulled the sheets up to settle around your waist.

Yuuta reminds himself to breathe, exhaling a little too shakily, wondering to himself how he’s made it this far. He was a damn good actor, and he knows that fact currently stood as the only thing that’s gotten him to where he is today.

If he thinks back, it’s hard to even find one moment out of all the time he’s spent with you in which he’d shown you his genuine self. Hell, the very first time you spoke to him wasn’t even honest. He remembers asking you your name after introducing himself, lying through his teeth because he already knew what your name was. Yuuta knew what rank you were (well below his), your cursed technique (too weak to really protect yourself), how long you’d been working alongside Gojo (two weeks―starting the day after Yuuta had gone overseas). But he still asked, enamoured with the way you bashfully looked down at your feet when he praised you for being able to put up with the white haired sorcerer so far.

Another lie―how he claimed he’d love to team up with you and show you around, when it was just to keep you as far from any real danger as possible.

But you didn’t know that, going along with each and every falsehood that left his mouth. Lie after lie, he’d draw on the knowledge of you he’d spent months gathering, gradually molding his character into whichever form earned those soft little gifts of affection. Becoming the person you wanted, the person you needed, slowly until you recognized him as someone special. Yuuta did everything right—only to be completely overwhelmed now that he had you alone.

Because of course suppressing himself wouldn’t work out in the long run. Burying the desire that felt goddamn near insatiable, ignoring the feeling of it festering, growing into something ugly and uncontrollable—the kind of thing he saw in others, and exactly what he was trying to protect you from. But Yuuta wouldn’t let himself believe that what you really needed protecting from was him, even though standing over you now, proof of that reality was finally beginning to surface.

Just for a second, maybe not even that, it crossed his mind—just a taste couldn’t hurt, right?

The bound passion he could never let see the light of day unraveled in the dead of night. You were just so tempting, blissfully unaware of the danger towering over you, a vulnerability that tore away at the seams of his self control.

Yuuta felt the first thread snap, a barely there fracture to spur his irreversible descent into self-destruction.

Moving without really even thinking of any future consequences, long fingers that were calloused from battle and endless training reached to where the sheets atop you rested. White, silken and gleaming under the moonlight, he carefully, calculatedly pulled them down your body. Letting it pool at the foot of the bed, he slowly appraised your sleeping form.

An almost inaudible curse left him, whispered under his breath—he didn’t even notice the way your sleeping shorts were discarded onto the floor before peeling back the sheets, but he couldn’t miss it now. Maybe...you wanted him to find you like this?

No...he knew you weren’t that daring. The two of you might be dating, but all those past insistences of not wanting to move too fast, dancing around intimacy like it was the bane of all evil alone told him that this naivety was genuine.

There was that, and the fact that you were staying in his guest bedroom. Too shy to sleep in the same bed, how cute. He was all too understanding just a few hours ago, leaving you for the night and planning on retiring to his room. Only he was drawn right back to where you lay, realizing it was yet another subconscious lie to tell you he was fine with taking things slow, giving you your space.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this room—there was absolutely no way you planned on Yuuta finding you like this.

A voice in the back of his head warns him, tugging at his subconscious to leave you be. Yuuta ignores it for the first time, crossing a new boundary, knowing that it won’t be the last.

You’re sprawled on your back with the hem of your oversized shirt riding up just a little.

A little too much, he thinks, eyes travelling lower and lower until they land on the lace trim of your panties. Thin, adorned with a small bow at the top. His fingers itch, wanting to feel the fabric for himself, likely soft in comparison to his rough hands.

Yuuta props one knee up onto the bed, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight. With one more glance, just to make completely sure you’re still fast asleep, he allows his fingers to trace up the inside of your leg. Gliding along your calf, then meeting the soft plush of your thigh. Your muscles don’t even twitch, unmoving as his hand gradually creeps higher, higher, higher.

All he needs is to be closer, something to tide him over until you’re willing to let him in. He wants to know just what it feels like to have you under him, little weaknesses you hold that nobody else knows of.

Just a taste, he reminds himself.

Yuuta peers down at you, relieved and on edge at the same time when the tips of his fingers brush against the cotton fabric of your panties. Ever so lightly, his ring finger dips lower, gently pressing against your clothed slit.

The heat between your thighs makes him shiver, warmth pulling him in impossibly closer. Your legs are spread just enough for Yuuta’s hand to fit perfectly in between them, almost invitingly so. He feels like all of his nerves are standing on end, vibrating as just the simplest touch has such a large effect on him.

It’s a familiar feeling, despite always looking at ease, he frequently had to mask these turbulent emotions inside him so that he didn’t scare you away, just as so many others did. This new sensation, not having to worry about constant control, it was unimaginably refreshing. He didn’t want it to end.

You don’t seem to be stirred in the slightest, which is good, because he’s not quite satisfied. The both of you did have a tiring day to be fair—now making you a heavy sleeper. Yuuta deems it a saving grace, curiosity unquelled in wanting to know how far he could push his luck.

That same singular finger travels along the dainty fabric, gently dragging up your folds until stopping at your clit. Experimentally pressing into it, Yuuta spots the way your brows just barely draw together for a moment. The sound of your breathing meets his ears, turned airy as your lips part when he begins rubbing back and forth, a light friction that makes your sensitive, untouched body react unconsciously as you continue to sleep.

Yuuta thinks for a second of how you touch yourself when you’re alone—if you do as he is now, teasing your clit, making you squirm at the light stimulation. You’re not waking up, but your body is still reactive even in this state. With how your panties hug the curves of your body, how he presses them into your heat, it’s not hard to see the small patch of your arousal already leaking through.

It’s cute, you’re so much more honest when you’re asleep.

An idea strikes him, coming more as an intrusive thought than anything helpful, but it’s dangerously enticing nonetheless—if he could make you cum without waking you up. Earn a glimpse of what he hoped you’d let him see eventually.

You look like you want it, chest rising and falling a little heavier, and when he pointedly nudges your clit with the smallest increase in force, your breath hitches.

It would be cruel to leave you like this—Yuuta isn’t a cruel man.

He’s doing this for you now, not himself. It’s repeated in his head, words reassuring as he slinks onto the bed. His grip is delicate, pushing your thighs apart a tad bit more, just enough to make room to lower himself between them.

Eye level with your heat, the scent of your arousal washes over him. He can’t help but place a few ghosted kisses on your inner thighs, a quick nip at the supple skin that leads to a trail of the same before his lips hover over the seat of your panties.

Through long lashes, he focuses on your face, almost shuddering with you as his tongue comes into contact with the patch of wetness, dampness growing as he licks a slow strip up over the cloth. Yuuta repeats the action—once, twice, three times, then loses count. His movements are slow, soft and steady, taking what he can get but soon becoming frustrated with the barrier in his way.

The hands placed on your thighs twitch, and it only seems logical that if he wants to finish what he started, he needs to make things a little easier for himself. An unnatural strength imbued with cursed energy flows through his palms. He’s eager, doing it without thinking, not realizing the force he puts behind his actions until the seams of your panties tear with almost no resistance.

Yuuta’s eyes widen slightly, because his plan was to merely push the fabric aside. But that problem can wait, especially when he can’t.

The offending fabric is casted aside, and Yuuta knows he wants to take his time. Testing the waters, his thumbs come up to spread apart your soaked folds, taking in the way your hole clenches around nothing as he gently blows cold air against it.

He’s not shocked to find your muscles twitching so easily now, reacting to every little thing he does. Not shocked, but it does make him greedy. It makes him want to abandon caution entirely. Taking his time turns out to be a lot easier said than done—when his tongue places a few kitten licks onto your clit, the near sinful whimper that escapes you has his lips latching on and sucking instead.

You’re always so quick to flee from him, Yuuta can barely get a lasting kiss in before you push him away. To hear that leave your mouth, intentional or not, it’s dangerous. He’s starved for intimacy, starting to lose sight on why he’s worked so hard to become close with you, drowning in the thoughts of why he instead wants to rip that safety he provides from you entirely just to see the things you keep hidden from him and everyone else.

There’s his own personal heat building, hips grinding into the mattress now and then to relieve the ache you don’t even know you’re causing in him so quickly. It doesn’t do much, if anything it only makes his resolve weaken, low groans making their way up his throat and sending soft vibrations onto your sensitive nub.

His tongue darts back out, flattening as your hips buck against his face, trying to gain more friction.

And all it tells him is that you want this—just as much as he does. You’ve never told him, but you don’t need to. Your body speaks for itself.

The wet muscle pushes past your entrance, Yuuta’s nose bumping your clit every time his head jerks when his tongue curls against your walls. From how your body tenses, the feeling unmistakable under his large hands, he can tell you’re getting close.

All the breathy sighs and whines leaving you, the overwhelming taste of you on his tongue and in his mouth, it clouds his judgment more and more as each second passes.

Yuuta forgets about the hard work he’s put in to keep you safe, to make sure you ended up choosing him over everyone else. You’re intoxicating, and he can’t get enough. There’s no such thing as just a taste, not when he’s stopped trying to hold back and instead starts trying to devour you.

You deserve more, he thinks, coating his ring finger with your slick, teasingly swirling it around your entrance before letting it sink into your heated pussy. It reaches far deeper than his tongue, and with a few thrusts, curling his finger inside you, Yuuta finds what he’s searching for as you tense hard around the slender digit. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Yet no matter what he does, it’s still not enough. He wants to watch you finally fall apart, wants you to stop pushing him away.

And he realizes, it’s not a want, but a need. One that can’t be satisfied as easily as he thought when he first removed the sheets from your unsuspecting body. Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore.

He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.

Yuuta can’t think straight to save his life, he’s hooked on the way your body shakes beneath him, adding another finger pumping in and out of you, groaning against your clit as he desperately ruts against the bed.

You’re responding so well, it only confuses him more as to why you haven’t let him take care of you sooner, as clearly you needed him like this. He can practically hear his name fall from your lips, airy and begging him for more.

His eyes are screwed shut, and yours are open.

“Ahh—Yuuta...wh—ngh”

Those calloused fingers know just how to make you shake in pleasure, not relenting as you suddenly cum around them. He feels your swollen clit throb, over and over against his tongue.

When you start to convulse, near pained whimpers leaving you, he finally stops.

He’s frozen for a moment, your full awareness dawning on him.

A sheen of sweat clings to you, chest heaving, heartbeat going a mile a minute and hammering against your ribcage. You were falling back down from the high that made you see stars, the closer to reality you got, the more you understood what had happened.

The fear would hit you first, and it’d be fast—you’d scream, fight, try to leave him.

Yuuta knew this, he knew you, and so he moved faster.

Before you could make another sound, panic rising in your throat, a firm hand clamps over your mouth.

And god, you look fucking terrified. Both hands flying up to push him away, nails biting into his wrist while tears begin to well in your eyes. Irises swirling with fear, confusion, betrayal.

It should make him feel guilty, it does—but it’s not enough to stop him from wanting to make it worse.

His palm stays cemented over your mouth, muffling your cries. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s not, all your squirming does is grind against his aching cock. And he’s so far gone that he might as well go further—he doesn’t even try to stop you. The hand over your mouth pins you down well enough, your body so much weaker compared to his.

“M’sorry, just—fuck…”

You’re not calming down, struggling harder with each second that goes by while Yuuta fights to hold you still.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re okay.” With everything running through his mind, the only thing consistent and true is that he has to be inside you. 

His free hand grips the waistband of his sweats and boxers, hastily pulling them both down at the same time. He hisses when the cold air of the room meets his cock, slapping against his abdomen. He’s already in between your legs, and you’re still trying to get away, hips lifting off the sheets as your legs helplessly kick. Your movements are uncalculated, frantic—it’s an accident when his cock brushes against your heat.

You squeal at the contact, but there’s nothing you can do to stop him from rutting against you, length sliding between your folds and coating him in your slick. A slight shudder runs through you as the tip of his cock catches on your puffy clit, repeatedly nudging it with each thrust.

It’s not enough. Not before, not now, he can’t seem to satisfy whatever want inside him has broken loose, and you’re forced to deal with it all because he couldn’t keep himself in check.

“Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good...promise you—”

Yuuta practically chokes on his words, lining himself up with your entrance, unable to stop his hips from pushing himself inside you all in one go. Blood rushing behind his ears drowns out the sound of your whimpers, lost in the way you keep sucking him back in when he goes to pull out. So goddamn tight—Yuuta’s glad he’s made sure he was the first to get to you, despite the circumstances.

He’s a mess, you’re a mess, it’s sloppy and it’s perfect, because the quick back and forth of his hips goes so deep that he’s grinding against your clit with each thrust. Your whines are in tandem with his movements, pain mixing with the building warmth spreading throughout you.

The body draped over yours is so much larger, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight as Yuuta keeps himself propped up above you with a hand beside your head. The one over your mouth disappears, lightly wrapping around your throat for better purchase instead.

It’s too easy to lose himself now, letting his guard down—and you jump at the chance.

There’s a shove to his chest, and then he’s being kicked down the bed. The door is on the adjacent side of the room and so to make quick time you scramble across the bed sheets. Of course, a hand too cold clamps around your ankle, and it feels like he’s about to crush the bone beneath when Yuuta drags you back.

All your pleas go ignored, and he’s suffocating as your body is pinned against the bed by his own.

A lanky yet toned arm snakes around your waist, lifting your hips to meet his. “Just a bit—” there’s a pause, groaning as he drives his cock right back into your pussy, “—bit longer…”

Yuuta hasn’t completely forgotten why he decided to take things this far, his free hand reaching down to toy with your clit. With the new angle, his cockhead hits that soft, spongy patch that has your walls fluttering around his length.

Your fighting spirit diminishes more and more, not much strength to begin with in how you were woken up, only worsened by the way the coil in your stomach keeps tightening. When you go to shove the arm wrapped around your body, it’s not genuine, not completely at least. You’re overwhelmed just as much as him, and letting it happen doesn’t seem all that bad.

Slick is dripping down your thighs, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room alongside his grunts and your airy moans.

There’s a shake in your body, legs unable to keep themselves up as your voice breaks through the noise. “Yuuta...p-please…”

It doesn’t matter what it is you’re begging for exactly, but he tries to console you anyways. “I’m right here, baby. Just let go for me…”

The pads of his fingers press harder circles around your clit as the cant of his hips picks up.

You’re reaching your end, unmistakable in the way you tighten around his length, your muscles contracting and releasing. Yuuta is right behind you, thrusts growing erratic, barely pulling halfway out before sinking in again.

“Ah—that’s it, cum for me, good girl—”

There’s a moment where you go quiet, body locking up and mouth opening into a silent scream. It’s enough to have Yuuta’s body reacting much the same, a harsh ‘fuck’ leaving his lips before painting your walls white. There’s no thought to pull out, just that he wants to relax with you in his arms.

You’re trembling, aftershocks washing over you in waves, especially when he slowly drags his cock out and past your g-spot before leaving you empty.

Yuuta finally releases you from his hold, watching as you slump pitifully into the mattress. There’s a trail of his cum leaking down your slit, a little pool of it forming on the sheets. You look absolutely ruined, face turned and smushed against the bed—he can see the tears heavily wetting your cheeks, mouth agape as your chest heaves.

And he just...stares. Somewhat out of breath himself, hunched over, unmoving otherwise while realization crashes down on him.

You’d never forgive him, you’ll leave the second you get the chance. What Yuuta’s done to you is irreversible.

...As far as you know.

It’s always been like this, he thinks. Yuuta keeps you endlessly in the dark, meticulous pre-planning to make sure you’re protected always. And so he steps away, tucks himself back into his boxers, pulling up his sweats and grabs his phone. It looks like you’ve pretty much fallen asleep, which makes his job easier.

Plan A through Z, Yuuta has something to fall back on no matter what.

The screen illuminates his face, fingers swiping until Inumaki’s contact shines back at him. The cursed speech user owes him a favour, and there’s no time more perfect in Yuuta’s mind than now to cash it in.

A deep sigh from him sounds throughout the room—you won’t remember this happened, none of it. Yuuta will clean you up before Inumaki arrives, use reverse cursed technique to handle any wounds you may have, and then he’ll have his friend make you forget anything past going to bed.

While he still wants to keep you safe, keep you pure—it’s no longer for the same reasons. 

Darkened eyes land on your weakened form, and Yuuta knows this won’t be enough for him. You’ll push him away, he’ll get impatient...the rest is predictable, to say the least.

His message sends, phone turning black. 

Somehow, he’ll need to find a way to earn more favours.

[wri0thesley]

omg wait no hold on I just requested overhaul but then I remembered your overhaul thirst post about him pulling a "curing hysteria~" as an excuse and thought I'd request something along that vibe (no oun intended). I think that'd fall under orgasm control, overstim? (hope this is okay!)

hysteria antidote - overhaul x fem!reader (4k)

seeing nothing but the same four walls every day of your life is playing havoc with your brain. overhaul thinks perhaps you're suffering from hysteria. he has the perfect cure for that.

cw: not sfw/minors dni. dark content!!! dubious/non-consent. captive reader. talk of death, blood, etc. medical kink, gloves, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm control. misogyny. mentions of pregnancy/breeding. afab reader, fem pronouns.

[a/n: idk the internet said the 28th of may was his birthday so consider this both a birthday fic and a fic to celebrate 6k followers, sorry that i am gross and horrible but tbh im having a great time <3]

You really don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to be going out of your mind.

Since the Boss was taken ill, and Kai – Overhaul, you remind yourself, though he’s always just a little less sharp with you when you trip over the new name than he is with anyone else – took over leadership of the Shie Hassaikai, you’ve been pretty much stuck indoors.

Considering that you’re pretty sure he only has fond feelings towards maybe three people in the entire world, including you, you guess you ought to feel special about it – but all it actually does is make you feel like a trapped bird, caged and restless. It doesn’t help that all of the other members of the organisation have started being weird around you; people who you’ve known most of your adult life, people who you’ve worked beside and killed beside and done other horrible things beside (for the good of the organisation, of course)--

But now, they look at you like you might break at any moment. They treat you like an invalid. Their brows crease when they see you out and about, quietly murmuring; “Shouldn’t you still be in your room?”, avoiding touching you at all costs. There’s a kind of fear in their eyes, that they’re going to be told off for even speaking to you, that they’re afraid of being caught close to you.

And you know exactly who’s to blame for that.

You’d tried to speak to him about it, once; you’d thought that perhaps he might be amenable to your desire to do something to help the Shie Hassaikai. He’s always wanted to restore them to their former glory, after all! But after you’d let out your little impassioned tirade, his eyebrows had creased over the bird-mask.

“You don’t sound well,” he’d said to you. “Go back to your room. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

You had missed, at the time, that he hadn’t said ‘we’ll talk about it later’. He’d just said ‘I’ll’. When he had come, that is how it had been; the reassurance that he was keeping you safe. That he didn’t want you to be tainted. That he was keeping you well.

Your quirklessness has never been an issue before, but it certainly hasn’t been a boon. Still, for Kai--

“It’s disgusting,” he’d said, agitated by the discussion. You’d stared at his hands, thinking about the destructive power he himself wielded. “Quirks are a curse, and you not having one is just proof you’re not infected.” He’d looked up, golden eyes piercing directly into yours. “I’m going to keep you perfect.”

Overhaul is not a doctor, for all of his talk about illness and disease and plague. You think he could have used his quirk for something meaningful, once; but you also know that his burning curiousity, his disgust of anyone who deems tainted, his utter lack of morality . . . those are all things that would not have been welcomed in the medical profession. So instead, he deals in needles and pills and altering drugs in the underground labyrinth of the compound.

Sterile rooms, with examination tables and scalpels and impersonal, silver-grey equipment. Pill boxes that rattle when he passes them to you and tells you to take three of those a day, one of those, that one has to be taken to with food--

The idea that you won’t take them doesn’t enter his head, and though he has never . . . overhauled someone in front of you, you have walked past other members of the organisation mopping and disinfecting blood and gristle from sterile flooring.

It is better to go along with him, so you take the supplements and the pills and submit to the way he grabs your chin in gloved hands on the doctor’s chair, tipping your face up to shine a light into your eyes and watch your pupils dilate. But inside, you are screaming.

You’re not made to be locked in one room, occasionally allowed out to pace the hallways of the upstairs – never the underground ones, not any more – with restless footsteps and your muscles fizzing with desire to taste fresh air. You’re not made to stare at the same walls and breathe the purified air and think about how empty the compound is, now that Overhaul is in charge of everything--

(Too many knick-knacks attract dust. Pollen allergies act up, if there are too many plants, and he hates hearing people sneeze. Furniture should be easily movable and barren, to assist in the twice-daily cleanings of every room that people walk through.)

But it’s getting too much for you. Suffocating. You feel like you’re choking on air all of the time; you take the pills, because the thought of what he could do to you is terrifying, but sometimes you wonder if perhaps it would be better if you didn’t.

You’d woken up that morning to the sound of rain hitting the high windows in your bedroom, and you had longed to go outside in your thin nightwear and spread your arms and taste the air, smell the rain, feel it hit your body in fat droplets. Your entire being had ached. You’d tried to distract yourself, with what little there was in the barren prison cell that you called a bedroom – but when the door opened at four thirty exactly, and Kai had stood there with his face as impassive as ever, you had not been able to stop yourself.

Hand fastening around his upper arm (you shouldn’t touch him, you know you shouldn’t, but the same four walls are getting to you), you’d begged him;

“I want to go outside.”

If anyone else had touched him like that, they would already be splattered against the walls and floor. But all you get is a furrow of his eyebrows, careful fingers (gloved, of course; the latex against your skin always makes you shudder) pinching at your hand to get you to let go of him.

“No,” he says. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t care,” you’re petulant, you know, frustration bubbling up in every cell of your body. “If I stay in here for one more day, I will tear myself into pieces.”

“You’re being over-dramatic.”

“Kai—”

“Don’t call me that.” His rebuttal is sharp. “You know I’m doing this for your own good.”

Your face twists into something ugly. Overhaul hates it when you do that; hates the way your brow wrinkles, your mouth moves, your normally lovely face (one of very few he can bear to look at unmasked and not feel as though he is going to get sick from merely breathing the same air of you) marred.

“You’re not,” you hiss at him. “You’re doing this because you’re fucked up! Because you’ve got some weird fucking ideas about what’s clean and what’s unclean, because you’re on a power trip, because you don’t care about other people--” Your voice is pitching and modulating, all of the things that you usually try and keep balled up inside of you spilling out that the floodgates of how unhappy you are is open.

You’re breathing heavy as Overhaul, clearly irked by what you’re saying, tugs at the wrist of one of his surgical gloves. If he’s going to kill you, good – at least it will be better than this, you think, your breath coming in short sharp pants after the outburst.

He lets go. His hands fall to his sides. His golden gaze on you is very level.

“You’re hysterical,” he tells you. An exasperated laugh falls from your mouth.

“Yeah?” You ask him. “Of course I am. Do you know the last time I breathed fresh air?”

“Seven months, two weeks, three days.” He says it without blinking. Your shoulders tense. Has it really been that long? “You haven’t been ill once in that time. The world out there is filthy.”

“It’s normal to get sick,” you try and tell him, but Overhaul is moving forward; past the doorway, and into your room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound of a lock ominous. You don’t think you’ve ever been alone with Kai in your bedroom.

In the medical examination rooms, sure. In his office. In common areas, back when he was just the boss’ troubled protege and not the boss himself--

His eyebrows twitch in disgust as he notices the dust on your bookshelves. You’d stopped letting any of the cleaners in here a month ago; you’d refused to clean in the mean time, taking whatever small victory against your captor that you could.

“You’ll give yourself respiratory issues,” he says.

“Good,” your voice is cold, but you realise you’ve backed away from him. For all of your attempts to stand up to him, you’re terrified. Everyone knows what he can do. “Better dead than here--”

Gloved fingers around your wrist, so tight you can practically feel them bruising.

“You don’t mean that,” he says. His voice has gotten softer, cajoling. You’re trembling in his grip. “I told you. You’re hysterical.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you say, but your words feel like you’re spitting them out around a mouthful of gravel. “I—I’m calm--”

Your knees knock against your bed, but Overhaul is still clinging to you; still too close. Your heart is beating so fast that you can hear it pounding in your ears.

“You’re not. You’re hysterical.” He repeats it, calmly. The hand not on your wrist reaches up and cups your face, a gloved thumb stroking across your cheek as if you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. The scent of the latex is overwhelming. “But that’s alright. It’s not your fault.” He clicks his tongue behind the mask. “It’s mine. All of this checking for the physical sickness, and I didn’t think about checking your head.”

You fall onto the bed as his knees knock against yours, your back hitting the wall. It’s just a plain, single bed; rumpled sheets, because you’d fought against any attempt for someone to come in and collect your laundry, too. Overhaul looks silly in your room, you think dimly; like a huge black crow in the nest of a small, frightened wren.

“If you fight,” he tells you, “I’ll disassemble you. I’d rather not. I don’t want to taint you by using my quirk. But . . .” He’s sinking to his knees in front of you, those same methodical hands pushing up the skirt of your dress. “If I did, I’d get a blank mind to work with. I won’t hesitate. But I’d still rather simply fix you without having to break you into pieces first.”

You know him too well to think that he’s bluffing.

After all of the vitriol you’ve spat at him, he’s unwilling to kill you. Would it be worse, to be mindless and brainless under Kai’s quirk? You’ve heard some of his failed experiments before; babbling, drooling, broken things. He’s killed them sometimes just to put them out of their misery.

What if he did that, and your mind remained perfectly capable – just utterly unable to communicate with your body? A prisoner in your own skin. Worse than even now. You swallow back the lump of fear.

“H-how are you going to do that?” You ask him.

You start at how cold the gloved fingers are on your bare thighs, as Overhaul pushes them apart. Cold fear prickles down your spine. You’re too scared to fight back, but everything he’s doing is making you want to run.

“Did you know,” Overhaul says, those same hands sliding higher, to tug at the waistband of your underwear. “In the past, there were rumours that doctors would cure hysteria by genital massage and stimulation?”

His words are very clinical, but there’s a thickness to his voice behind the mask that fills you with revulsion.

“It might be nonsense, of course,” he says. Your underwear is being tugged down, pulled around your thighs, your knees, your ankle. “They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth--”

“Kai—” Your voice is a soft whine, fear-filled. This time, he doesn’t snap at you for calling him by the name he’s left behind. He simply says;

“Spread your legs.”

You don’t want to. But you want to risk what he’s threatening you with even less, so you tearfully open them as wide as you can go. He shifts forward, and the tip of the beaked mask digs into your inner thigh as he studies you like you’re nothing more than a diagram, not a living, breathing person--

“Next time I’ll have lubricant ready,” he says, under his breath, and your heart seizes up at the implication that whatever he’s going to do to you, there’ll be a next time.

You start at the sensation of gloved fingers gently parting the lips of your sex, Overhaul’s golden eyes drinking in the sight of you spread open and bare. You’re shaking, but for some reason the way he’s looking at you – the utter concentration in his eyes – makes a curl of heat flare deep inside of you.

“Don’t,” you breathe, trying not to squirm. “Please--”

“I don’t want to have to,” he says. His tone remains calm, unbothered. “I’m doing it for your own good, you know that. Just helping you along.” One finger slides through the slit; the sensation of the gloves against your most intimate, heated parts makes the muscles in your thighs clench. It’s . . . not exactly unpleasant, but neither it is pleasant. “Do you think I’m getting any pleasure out of this?”

He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. You know this; everyone knows this. If this particular thought was so unpleasant to him, you don’t doubt he’d have found somebody else to do it (the thought of one of the other members of the Shie Hassaikai doing this to you fills you with even more revulsion than the idea of Overhaul himself). But you can’t say that out loud. Not after what he’s threatened. So you press your lips together and shake your head, gasp dying in your throat as one of Overhaul’s latex-covered fingers prods gently around your opening.

“You’re getting wet,” he tells you, as if you can’t feel the shameful slick beginning to leak from you. “That will make this easier. Good.”

You hate that the praise makes another jolt of arousal go through you. You don’t want to like the feeling of his gloves, rubbing at your heated cunt; the sensation of a fingertip circling around your entrance, brushing the bud of your clit and making you want to clamp your thighs around his hand.

He sinks the tip of one finger inside of you and you jerk, your hips out of your control as you try and sink away from the intrusion. Overhaul clicks his tongue again in annoyance at you. The hand holding the lips of your cunt open moves, to land on your hip and pin you between the bed and the wall so you can’t squirm again.

“I’ll sedate you next time, if I have to,” he says. “I’m not getting anything out of this. I’d prefer not to have to do it at all--”

He’s lying. You know he is. But you can’t call him out for it, so you press your trembling lips together and try to stop tears spilling out from your lash line as the finger inside of you sinks further and further inside, past his first knuckle, right down to the base.

He crooks it inside of you and your hands curl into the bedsheets, nails digging into your palms through cotton. His touch is curious, exploratory; has he ever actually done this to anybody before? He slides over a rough patch inside of you with the latex-tipped finger and a moan escapes your mouth against your will, your head falling back against the wall. Narrowed golden eyes look up at you as he repeats the motion; taking in the gloss of your lips, the widening of your eyes, the way your shoulders are shaking up and down.

You can feel yourself pumping more slick out; helping the glide of his finger inside of you, as he begins to carefully thrust it in and out of you. His touch is made all the more impersonal by the mask obscuring everything but his eyes and eyebrows; you can’t even hear him breathing.

Your cunt is fluttering around him, pleasure swarming you in breathless waves as he withdraws his finger entirely. He lifts the glove to his eyeline, looking only vaguely interested in how the white latex glimmers with your arousal.

“I’m going to use two now,” he tells you – and that is all the warning you get before two fingers beside one another are opening you up, scissoring your tight channel apart with an ache that you feel up to your hips. You bite back the whimper, but you’re unable to stop the choked breaths that are falling from you as he fucks you with them in steady, constant thrusts.

A covered thumb brushes your clit; swollen, now. Sensitive. Standing to attention. Your hips attempt to jerk in his hold once more, a strangled noise that’s neither pleasured nor pain falling from your throat. You’ve touched yourself, of course you have – even recently, just to try and assuage some of the boredom that fills your exactly-the-same days – but Overhaul’s fingers and thumbs and touch on you are so entirely different from that.

He continues his assault over your clit, those same eyes watching you with that same detached, clinical disposition that he’s had most of the time. There’s a cast to them that suggests there’s something more, but whatever emotion – if, indeed, he’s still capable of that – he’s feeling about having you at his mercy in this way has been pushed to the back of his mind as his thumb rolls and pinches at the bud.

Your body goes all-over heat, Overhaul’s fingers still pumping in and out of you, the slick noises of your shaming wetness echoing around the prison of the four walls you’ve spent seven months in. You’re teetering on the edge of something, hot and needy and wanting – and as Overhaul’s thumb sweeps over your poor aching clit again, you tilt your hips forward for as much stimulation as you can--

And he pulls his fingers out of you.

The heat fades into nothingness as you let out a noise of disappointment. Overhaul’s head tilts to one side, considering.

“What do you want?” He asks you. “Say it.”

No. You don’t ‘want’. He’s wrong. You keep your mouth pressed tight now that the damning noise has fallen out of it; you have managed to not let the tears trembling in your eyes spill forth. Your gaze meets his, defiant and tired and afraid all at once.

“Alright,” he sighs. “If you’re going to carry on being difficult.”

He does it again; his fingers plunging into you, scissoring you apart, rubbing against your folds with a practised agility now that he’s done it for the first time. He has always been a fast learner; always been observant. His thumb is back on your clit with ceaseless assault, and all over again you feel heat begin to build up; tension that crawls into every crevice of your being and worms its way deep inside you despite how badly you don’t want this.

The hand holding your hip loosens somewhat, allowing you to messily thrust your hips into Overhaul’s stimulation. You’re torn; you shouldn’t want to hump against the gloved fingers stimulating you, you should be wriggling and squirming away. But it feels so good; even with the skin-tight covering of rubbery latex, Overhaul’s fingers seem to find every one of your weak points and exploit them.

There it is again, building up on you; a ball of tension in your stomach being gradually wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. Your hips flex against his hand, your fingers clenching and unclenching on the bedsheet--

He denies you the peak of your orgasm for the second time.

And a third.

And a fourth.

“Kai--!” You’re too far gone to even think, after the pleasure has been pulled from you so cruelly, over and over again. The tears spill over your cheeks., rolling down in fat, shaming droplets. Overhaul’s eyes narrow.

“No,” he says, vehement – more emotion in his voice than you’ve heard all day. “You know what to call me.”

You know what he wants you to call him. You know that he wants to leave his old name behind, start again, be someone who can drag the Shie Hassaikai out of the shadows and into light and power once again – and he thinks that the name will help. You gurgle out a sobbing, strangled noise;

“O-Overhaul, please--”

Three fingers are plunged as deep inside of you as they can go, crooked to rub against your sweet spot; as Overhaul murmurs, detached but soft;

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

They thrust into you, his thumb rubbing your clit with firm, certain strokes – and this time, as the orgasm rushes up on you all at once, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you with his fingers through it, his thumb not ceasing the circling. Pleasure washes over you, finally, in great waves and crests. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, soaking him in your wetness (his eyebrows furrow again, at how close your fluid comes to spilling over his bared wrist; but you are too relieved to think about anything other than finally getting what you need).

Your hips flex, gasps falling from your mouth with every thrust of them – and you expect Overhaul to pull his fingers out of you. To stop touching you. Perhaps to strip off his gloves and put on a new pair – you know he always carries spares – and sneer at you as he walks out of the room.

But Overhaul’s fingers do not move from inside of you. The fierce rhythm of his fucking and petting and rubbing does not stop, even as the final aftershocks of your orgasm clench loosely about him and his constant stimulation becomes more of an annoyance than anything else on heated, sensitive skin.

You squirm, trying to push your thighs together to get him to stop touching you – but the hand not fucking you forces your thighs to stay parted with the curl of fingers into supple flesh, leaving you helpless to do anything but let him carry on touching you. Carry on fucking you.

A short, sharp shock of an orgasm rips through you as he swirls his thumb over your clit just so, and you realise that you’re drooling down yourself as well as panting; helpless and sloppy, utterly unable to do anything except lie there and take it until Overhaul decides he’s had enough of touching you.

You come, what? Twice more? Thrice? Until the pulsing of your channel is painful, your skin feeling red raw, your whimpers into the ceiling dry and broken. Only then does he pull his fingers out of you with a lewd pop.

A gush of your fluid that his fingers were stoppering soaks your bedsheets, and you watch, dazed, as Overhaul stands up. He looks down at you for just one moment, that stretches unbearably long in the heat-and-sex soaked atmosphere of the room.

He strips his gloves off of his hands, eyebrows twitching in disgust as he leaves the crumpled latex on your bedside table. He’s sliding on another pair as he speaks;

“Feel better?”

No. No, you don’t. You feel worse. You feel disgusted and violated and aching, your body over-stimulated and exhausted, sweat and drool and bodily fluids clinging to your skin. But if you tell Overhaul that--

“Yes,” you say, voice very soft and small and weak. You cannot see his mouth, but you see the way his eyes flash happily, the overall sensation of him smiling.

Why does Overhaul’s smile make you so scared, when Kai’s smile used to just make you feel warm?

“We’ll need to do it a few more times,” he tells you, as your blood runs to ice in your veins. “Such maladies aren’t cured in a day, after all. But . . .” He turns, rearranging himself carefully, his mask readjusted. You can’t see him as he speaks the next words. “I’d like to try some of the other suggested remedies, too.”

You think of his earlier words.

‘They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth.’

You’re never going to escape, are you? You’re going to be trapped in this compound until the day you die, and Overhaul is going to think that he’s keeping you safe--

“Take a shower,” he says to you, as he opens the door. It is not a suggestion. “And stop not letting the maids come in here to clean. I’m not having you get sick.”

You think he might be the sick one.

[diavolosthots]

Hey dear! I hope that you have a good time! I want to make a request, but please delete it if you don't feel like doing it.

I saved that request in the notes and been waiting for you to open them 😊

For request

First fight with brother (any of your choice) and one of them (I mean MC or that brother) thinks that it's end of relationship (because never had anything serious), but they reconciled in the end. I want some heavy angst with happy ending. MC can be GN if that is OK.

If you don't mind you can do for Mammon, but feel free to choose another one if you don't feel like write for him. Or if that would be better to write as headcanons for all the brothers. That's up to you!

I haven't been doing requests for ages. Please don't hate me if there is something wrong! I've read the rules, and I hope I haven't missed anything.

Anyway, sorry for long ask. And thank you for your writings!

(I forgot to look if you did anything similar, and remembered it at the end of writing that ask. Sorry if you already did something like that!)

Hey babes ❤ I did end up doing HCs for all of them because I thought it would be cooler (or more like I know someone is gonna request separate fics for all of them if I dont and I'm saving myself that trouble lol) I still hope you like it ! ❤ also this got SUPER LONG so its under a cut

Warning: angst -> happy ending-ish

THE BROTHERS in a fight with MC and thinking that they’re over (yikes)

Lucifer:

Everyone always says Lucifer is quick to lose his cool but he’s honestly been nothing but patient with you. He may have hinted at several things he doesn’t condone and he definitely has that ‘look’, you know the disappointed dad look, but he has held back a lot so as to not ruin the beautiful relationship you have with him. Everyone snaps, though, and when he finally did, it was ugly. He did NOT call you names, but oh he didn’t. He went straight for your feelings and pointed out every mistake you ever made for as long as he’s known you. Ouch. In his defense, you weren’t nice either. The argument ended nasty and ‘I hate you’s!’ were definitely thrown around, but none of them were meant, right? Goodness, he doesn’t know. After you left, he threw himself on his bed, literally, and just stared at the ceiling. His anger slowly fled away and he began to feel… guilty. Not necessarily because of the argument itself, but because he delivered some low blows and he knows that. Are you over? Done with him? You haven’t texted or called or talked… you’ve been actively avoiding him and he doesn’t like that, but his pride is such an issue, goodness. He can’t straight up apologize, that dickhead, but he’s sending you flowers and standing in front of your door with a sad face that says it all. 

“Forgive me? I made reservations at your favorite’s? We can talk over a nice dinner?” 

Mammon:

Mammon is known to get mildly agitated over the silliest things, let’s be real. He’s also quick to revert to the “are you dumb?!” argument, which is never effective. But he loves you and he would do anything for you so even if you do do something that he deems ‘dumb’, he usually bites his tongue. Doesn’t mean that doesn’t get on his nerves, though, and he definitely has a short temper, although people tend to overlook that. You just managed to push his buttons today and he used the “are ya stupid?!” argument, to which you obviously defended yourself, and rightfully so. This ended in a massive screaming match and him saying “Then leave! Ain’t nobody keepin’ ya with me!” He regretted it the minute those words left his mouth and you could see his eyes grow wide in shock at his own words, but that didn’t mean you stayed. “MC!” he tried running after you immediately but you were faster and honestly, who can blame you? He fucked up, and he knows it, and he feels terrible about it. Honestly, he’s crying just at the mere thought of you taking his words seriously and he can’t… he can’t bear to lose you, you know? What’s he gonna do? You’re the light of his life, as pathetic as that may sound to some…. So he won’t let you run away. Homie will hunt you down and beg for forgiveness. 

“Please, MC! Forgive me! I’m dumb, not you!!! Don’t leave me…” Don’t leave him. He will continue crying. 

Leviathan:

His constant need to put himself down is frankly, quite annoying. To you anyway. But you put up with it and just reassure him that, at least to you, he’s the most amazing demon that ever existed. It’s just facts. But a person only has so much patience, right? You can’t always spend your days trying to lift him up when all he does is dig himself a bigger hole. Who has the emotional time for that? You sure don’t. “Oh my God, Levi! Shut up! I can’t take it anymore!” Followed by “See! You’re just like everyone else! Leaving me!” and then you slamming the door to his room shut. It’s frustrating and understandably so. It makes you feel awful that you can’t even make your own boyfriend feel good about himself and get at least a little bit of self confidence and it’s so, so, so very draining to have to constantly listen to that. At this point, it’s affecting your own mental health and you just… you just can’t…. But Levi can’t lose you because he knows you’re right. He has to work on himself if he wants to keep someone as amazing as you with him and that’s why he’s crawling back to you now. 

“Look I… I know you’re right… I’m sorry. I promise I’ll … I’ll try. For you.”

Satan:

For being the Avatar of Wrath, you always admired Satan for his ability to keep cool. He prefers the relaxed and easy going life much more than the type of life people expect him to live, and you respect that. That doesn’t mean his constant need to one up Lucifer, through whatever means necessary, didn’t bother the hell out of you, though. You tried talking to him about it once or twice in a calm manner, but you always got the same answer “Pfft.. it’s Lucifer. Who cares?” And it never sat right with you. Just today he decided to pull a prank on the eldest and you had enough, standing in front of Lucifer and letting the bucket of cursed green slime land on you instead, to everyone’s shock. “What are you doing?!” Now that you’re thoroughly green from head to toe, you were also beyond pissed. “What am I doing?! What are YOU doing?!” But Satan matched your anger tenfold, accusing you of favoring Lucifer over him and oh! “You probably got an affair with him, too!” Which was a stupid thing on his part, but it looked like it the way you defended him. Anger doesn’t even begin to describe the emotion you felt running through you and had it not been for Lucifer, you probably would’ve physically fought Satan for such a dumb accusation. Lucifer took you to get cleaned up and lifted the course, giving you your natural skin and hair color back within a few days and plenty of scrubbing, and Satan felt like shit. You’ve always been there for him and, rationally speaking, he didn’t have a reason to doubt your loyalty to him, but he just can’t help but feel insecure beside Lucifer…. He decides to come apologize anyway, a deep blush on his face and guilt in his eyes 

“I’m… sorry for accusing you. It wasn’t my right to speak out of anger and jealousy…” 

Asmodeus:

How can anyone fight with the Avatar of Lust? Seriously, the guy is super easy going and he loves pretty much everyone. Not as much as himself, but almost. You on the other hand… you didn’t. Well you didn’t NOT love him or yourself, but you were just… you. You didn’t spend 4+ hours in the bathroom trying to get ready when you knew you were only going to the kitchen down the stairs. Like?? Although you never brought it up to Asmodeus, he constantly bothered you about skincare and what foods to eat and what not to eat, etc… It’s quite annoying, honestly, and at some point you just gave him a passive aggressive “Okay, whatever. Can we move on now?” To which he didn’t take lightly. He was still nice and sweet, trying to convince you that at least one of these things will make your skin glow brighter than a unicorn’s ass but you just had enough. “Can you stop?! You’re indirectly saying I’m ugly without that shit ton of product in my face and a diet that would make me starve before it helped me! If you want a skinny VS angel that barely holds onto their skeleton, get one!” It was more hurt and frustration speaking than anything, but your outburst still shocked him and he was taken aback for a moment. And then you ignored him for a week straight and as someone who thrives off of attention, especially the kind he gets from you, he can’t handle that! So he showed up in your room in sweats and a tshirt and messy hair and no product on his skin. 

“You’re right… we’re all naturally beautiful…. Wow that… that really hurts to say MC but can you forgive me?” 

Beelzebub:

Oh the sweet, sweet angel. He’s far from innocent and you know that. We all know that. But for this story, I will give him the benefit of the doubt. His reliance on Belphegor is just really… annoying. Belphegor this, Belphegor that. “Belphie used to…” or “Belphie said….” or “one day when Belphie and I….” Like why does everything have to include his twin? It’s so annoying and so rude when your significant other is right here !!! and planning their own future with you, Beel, thanks. It makes you feel less than and like Belphegor will always come before you. It makes you feel like shit, quite frankly, and who is to blame you? “Hey MC did I tell you what Belphie---!” “No! Shut up! I don’t care! It’s always about Belphie! The day you come to me and don’t let that name drip from your tongue is the day Jesus comes back to save me and we both know that will be never! I’m tired of always being stuck with Belphegor! We are not equals!” Granted, you shouldn’t have yelled and Beel was more than confused at your outburst, but you wouldn’t talk to him anymore after that so he left you alone. He thought you may need an hour or two, maybe a day tops, but that day turned into a full week and he even lost his appetite just because he knows you’re angry with him. It’s been a week, does that mean you’re over? His heart aches just at the thought… 

“I’m sorry for bringing Belphie up… I don’t want you to feel less than, MC. You mean a lot to me and so does Belphie, but you’re not Belphie and I need to learn that…”

Belphegor:

Honestly it’s a miracle he hasn’t lost his temper at you yet. Well, he partially blames it on his own laziness because if being angry or getting upset didn’t take so much energy out of him, maybe he would’ve snapped by now lol, but he tries really hard not to because he thinks your relationship with him after everything is pretty good, considering yall kiss and snuggle and fuck on a regular basis. But anyway, that’s exactly the issue. Considering everything, you’re still holding *that* against him. It’s never direct either, which makes it worse. It’s always said in a joking manner and something like “haha look it’s just like that one time you killed me” or “Beel’s grabbing that ham like you grabbed my throat” or “I remember seeing jesus for a moment there” and it agitates him. It makes him so angry, and he finally snapped. “I know I fucked up MC! Stop holding it against me! What do you want? A medal of honor? A survivor's certificate? Maybe a pat on the back for developing some sort of Stockholm syndrome that made you come back to your abuser?!” And then he left. And you may have cried both from confusion and your own anger, he isn’t quite sure. It’s just so…. Aggravating. He can’t deal with it. He knows it was a mistake spurted by his own insecurities and survivor’s guilt which ultimately led to his hatred but please, stop holding it against him.. He can’t keep putting up with it from the person he’s grown to love. He’s the one ignoring you and he won’t budge either because he’s a stubborn ass, but maybe if you come up first… 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you… I’m just so tired for it being held against me… I love you, and you should know that, and I do feel guilty about what happened.” 

[rocorambles]

Realization

Pairing: Kyoutani x Reader, Iwaizumi x Reader (one-sided)

Genre: SFW, Coming to terms with feelings, Meet Ugly, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Fluff

Prompt: Meet Ugly

Summary: There’s a difference between liking someone and liking the “idea” of someone.

A/N: This is for the HQHQ SFW Meet Ugly collab. Check out the masterlist here and be sure to read all the other talent-packed content on this list!

“Thanks for all your hard work.”

Your face heats, a flustered smile and giggle escaping you as you grin at Iwaizumi, heart soaring from his praise, chest constricting at how handsome he looks when his lips twitch upwards. It’s only a brief moment, but it means the world to you. You begin to bow in respect to your senpai, only to be cut short, both your heads sharply turning towards the gym door as it slams open with a loud bang.

And just like that, Kyoutani Kentarou has ruined your special moment as he determinedly stares at Iwaizumi who merely sighs at the familiar sight of the second-year. Funny how Kyoutani finds himself at the volleyball gymnasium more now that he’s left the team than when he actually used to be on it.

“Race me.”

You sympathetically smile at Iwaizumi before scurrying off to help put away the rest of the gym equipment as the ace begins to make his way towards his underclassman, tuning out the typical scene, knowing how it’ll end, how it always ends. And sure enough, it’s another indisputable win for Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi - 31 Kyoutani - 0

For someone who’s in your class and your year, you hardly know a thing about Kyoutani other than the fact that he’s as sullen and silent in the classroom as he is outside of it. But as you curiously turn your attention to his figure slumped on top of his desk as you wait for your homeroom teacher to arrive, you have to admit his tenacity is...admirable to say the least.

Aoba Johsai is renowned for its volleyball team and although you hadn’t known a thing about the sport, you were easily swayed by your friends and classmates into watching a game, interested in seeing what the big deal was about. In all fairness, you’re not sure if you necessarily like the sport itself any more than you did that first game. But when you saw Iwaizumi Hajime spike a ball, you were instantly hooked.

Everyone and their mom is smitten with Oikawa Tooru and while you can appreciate your senpai’s charisma, skills, and attractiveness, it’s sharp green eyes and a strong and silent demeanor that captures your heart.

One game turns into two. Two games turn into three. Before you know it you’re donning a teal shirt, shouting and cheering the team on as an official member of the Aoba Johsai Cheer team.

The entire team is treated with almost reverence and certainly respect. So imagine your surprise when you’re watching them practice and a loud growl suddenly echoes throughout the room, Kyoutani stalking towards Iwaizumi with almost hostile aggression. You nervously fidget, unsure if you should do anything, worried he might hurt your crush. You’ve heard the stories of the infamous Mad Dog and his temper, but you can’t imagine Iwaizumi doing anything to warrant any of the younger boy’s anger.

Yet no one else seems to be concerned, the third-years briefly glancing at the two before continuing on with practice. So you stay put, intently watching the unfolding scene, only to rapidly bink in shock when Kyoutani barks at Iwaizumi to arm wrestle. And like a surprisingly addicting reality show, you can’t tear your eyes away as Iwaizumi easily agrees and proceeds to win, as Kyoutani scowls but politely (albeit stiffly) bows in respect to the ace before angrily storming out like a dog with its tail between his legs.

But much like a reality show that plays on the same trope over and over again, you also begin to barely acknowledge the strange daily competitions Kyoutani instigates, just wryly shaking your head in amusement when you hear Kyoutani’s familiar snarl, internally praising Iwaizumi for his patience and good-natured spirit as he goes along with Kyoutani’s whims.

Cut to a few months later, you worriedly gaze at Iwaizumi who looks worse for wear, hovering over him to make sure he’s hydrated as he holds a cool towel to his forehead while he sits on the bench, taking an uncharacteristic break.

“Iwaizumi-senpai, maybe you should go home if you’re not feeling well. It’s not good to push yourself too hard if you’re sick.”

The brunette groans in agreement, sheepishly grinning at your concerned face.

“Alright, alright. Stop looking at me like I’m going to die. I’ll go home-”

He’s cut off by the gym door slamming open and both of you whip your heads again once more as Kyoutani storms towards you two.

“Race me.”

“Not today, Kyoutani. I’m not feeling well-”

“Chickening out? Didn’t take you for someone who lets a little cold-”

“SHUT UP!”

Both boys instantaneously stiffen and quiet down, staring at you wide-eyed and in shock. But you’re not done and you stomp towards Kyoutani, turning yourself into a flimsy barrier between your rude classmate and your senpai, getting between the two and shoving your finger in Kyoutani’s chest.

“Iwaizumi-senpai is sick and he’s going to go home and rest. He’s not going to play your stupid little games that you always lose anyway and you’re going to walk away and stop being so rude to your upperclassman.”

If you weren’t so fired up, you might be proud at how you’ve flabbergasted your fellow hot-headed classmate, leaving him speechless as he stares at you, mouth gaping. But a fire is blazing inside of you and you bare your fangs at him.

“Go. AWAY!”

Your raised voice hits a chord in Kyoutani and there’s tense silence as both of you practically growl at each other before he shoves his hands in his pockets and storms off, muttering angrily under his breath. But when the gym door clangs shut behind him, all your bravado dissipates and you curl in on yourself in embarrassment as you feel everyone’s eyes still on you.

But you startle when a loud raucous laughter fills the air and you turn to pout at Iwaizumi who’s howling in between coughs and sneezes.

“What’s so funny?”

You don’t mean for the question to be as sharp as it is and you cringe when you hear the defensiveness in your own ears, an apology already on your tongue. But your words get stuck in your throat as your body heat skyrockets when a calloused hand endearingly ruffles your head.

“Thanks for standing up for me. I didn’t realize I had such a scary guard dog.”

You shyly look into playful green eyes, only to whine in protest and wrinkle your nose in distaste as he continues on.

“You remind me of Kyoutani when you get fired up.”

“Yeah! It’s like watching two angry chihuahuas go at it. Scary~”

“Shut up, Shittykawa!”

You exchange smug grins with Iwaizumi as Oikawa dramatically complains about the volleyball sized bruise on his forehead before the two of you walk back home together, already leaving the day’s events behind you.

Or at least you tried to.

You can feel eyes boring holes into your head as class drags on and you don’t need to turn to know who it is. Ever since your little showdown, Kyoutani has made it a point to keep you in his sight, staring at you throughout class, only scoffing in return when you snarkily tell him that as smart as you are, he might find it more helpful to actually take notes from the blackboard in the front of the classroom.

Should you be more unnerved by the fact that you’ve caught his interest and that he can’t seem to keep his eyes off you? Maybe. But you don’t feel any creepiness or danger from his intense gaze and if you’re honest, you find it disturbingly cute (although you’d die before you admit it). It reminds you of a cautious puppy trying to study and gauge another puppy who’s entered their home and space.

You suppose you’re passing whatever mental examinations he’s running you through when he unexpectedly joins you at your lunch table one day and you find you don’t mind the comfortable silence that settles around the two of you as you continue on with your meals like nothing is out of the ordinary.

It’s subtle, so subtle that you don’t really notice your newfound closeness until Yahaba briefly mentions it one day as you’re helping the team clean up.

“When did Kyoutani and you become so close?”

Close?

That’s not a word you’d necessarily use to describe your relationship, but as you ponder his question, you can’t deny where he’s coming from. Kyoutani has become something of a protective shadow, appearing out of nowhere as you make your way to and from school, rudely pulling you back whenever he deems you too close to the side of the street as cars zoom by, hostilely growling at men who come too close to you on crowded train cars, smacking more than a hand or two that drift too close to the hem of your skirt.

And in return you’ve found yourself mindlessly blabbering on and on to him, telling him whatever’s on your mind, nosily peeking over his shoulder and correcting mistakes you notice in his homework, passing bites of food from your bento to his.

Close. The two of you are close. Something warm flutters in your chest at that realization.

It’s like a veil has been lifted from your eyes and you suddenly really see Kyoutani for the first time as the two of you walk to and from school and classes. You see the lean toned muscles of his forearm as he insists on holding your bag for you. You see the well-meaning soul behind all the barks and feral eyes. And suddenly the weight of his eyes on you feels heavier than before and you unconsciously move to pat the rumples out of your skirt and shirt and make sure your makeup is intact.

You find your own eyes straying towards his figure as he furrows his brows in concentration, paying attention to the scrawled equations on the board. You no longer ignore his daily competitions with Iwaizumi, surprising yourself with your sudden quiet internal wish for Kyoutani to win as you watch the two race and wrestle against each other. Meanwhile unknown to you, narrowed eyes hone in on the comfortable companionship between Iwaizumi and you, something uncomfortable churning in Kyoutani’s stomach as he observes the carefree way you smile and laugh at everything the ace says.

Kyoutani and you have been assigned to classroom cleaning duties and both of you work in an easy natural harmony, comfortably maneuvering around each other as you sweep and wipe down the room. So you’re surprised when you bump into a hard object, turning around in confusion and coming face to face with Kyoutani who is intensely staring you down.

“What do you like about Iwaizumi?”

You’re stunned, mouth wildly moving around as you try to form words, but no sounds come out.

Your crush on Iwaizumi is a poorly kept secret. You’ve never been subtle and you have an inkling even the vice-captain himself is well-aware of your feelings for him. So it’s not Kyoutani’s awareness of it that’s leaving you speechless. It’s your instinctual response of denial that shocks you to your core.

“I- don’t like Iwaizumi?”

There’s silence as Kyoutani narrows his eyes and stares at you in a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

“Was that a question?”

“Shh! I’m trying to think.”

Kyoutani rolls his eyes, but he settles on top of a nearby desk, patiently waiting and watching as your thoughts race.

You like Iwaizumi. You’ve always liked Iwaizumi. But you wonder if you’ve ever truly liked the upperclassman in the way you believe you did. He’s hard working, responsible, kind, handsome, and physically gifted. He’s a man’s man, someone who everyone looks up to. He’s the shiny glossy page of a magazine that catches your eyes, showing you a vision of a picture perfect world you wildly create and build in your mind. He’s the older brother and mentor you’ve always wanted. He’s protection, comfort, and guidance. But even then, he’s always at arm’s length, on a pedestal you’ve forced him on, unattainable, unreachable. He’s not Kyoutani.

Kyoutani. Rude, gruff, brash Kyoutani with his few words and feral snarls. He’s not Kyoutani and yet when you think of bleached hair, your heart starts pounding and you instinctively want to lean in towards the silent wall of lean muscles that hovers around you, keeping you safe, listening to every word you say. You think of countless meals, walks, and hangout/study sessions. You think of sharp words and growls mixed in with laughter and fondness.

Iwaizumi is just a pretty pipe dream you’ve concocted. He’s a great senpai, a good man, who you've used as the center of your rose-tinted imagination. But you don’t really know him. Not the way you know Kyoutani. Your feelings for Iwaizumi are silly, whimsy, fluffy and cloud-like, a vapid perfect world that doesn’t exist. Not like the raw and tangible bolts you feel around Kyoutani as the two of you bicker about who has the right answer on their homework when your responses differ, excitedly talk about your favorite dog breed, or discover your new go-to fried chicken place together by accident one day while the two of you are aimlessly strolling through town.

You like Iwaizumi, but you like Kyoutani.

It’s like a lightbulb has flipped on over your head, but you know you’ve been silent for too long when movement catches your attention from the corner of your eyes and you turn to see Kyoutani’s legs beginning to impatiently fidget.

“I don’t like Iwaizumi.”

The conviction in your words startles both of you, but you continue on.

“I saw him spike a ball and my mind got carried away. That’s all.”

There’s so much left unsaid, so much implied and yet, somehow you know Kyoutani understands what you really mean when he abruptly stands up and reaches for both your school bags, carrying them on his shoulder as the two of you exit the classroom, an uncharacteristic softness in his next words.

“Yeah, he’s a pretty cool guy...for an upperclassman.”

No one pays any mind as the gym doors slam open at practice yet again, but heads turn when Kyoutani turns his back on Iwaizumi and makes his way towards Oikawa who’s curiously staring at the approaching second-year.

“I want to rejoin the volleyball team and I’m going to be the ace after Iwaizumi graduates.”

Chaos erupts as people choke on their water bottles, surprised and outraged exclamations and whispers flooding the space. But as irritating as Oikawa can be, you have to admit he’s always been good at finding and honing potential, at swaying people to his ways. And you beam in surprise and excitement as Kyoutani begins to warm-up with the team, stretching and jogging amongst a sea of teal.

You’re jolted back to attention when someone sits next to you, smiling at Iwaizumi who drinks some water as he observes Kyoutani.

“You have something to do with this?”

You balk at the hidden connotation of his words. As if you’d have any influence on stubborn, strong-willed Kyoutani who’s always done what he wants and you fervently shake your head side to side in denial.

“Me??? I’m just as surprised as you are. If he doesn’t even listen to you, what makes you think he’d even hear what I have to say-”

You’re silenced by the loud echo of your name being called, turning your head to the middle of the court where the team is lining up, getting ready to practice their spikes, looking at the second-year who’s scowling at you. (If Iwaizumi notices the way Kyoutani’s glare deepens when he notices the ace sitting so close to you, he wisely doesn’t bring it up.)

“Watch me spike.”

Your jaw drops at the demanding statement, indignation beginning to fester in you as you get ready to retort and tell him he can’t tell you what to do, let alone interrupt practice to order you around. But then you remember…

“I saw him spike a ball and my mind got carried away.”

There’s no way that’s why he’s…

And yet…

You clamp your mouth shut, eyes carefully watching as he bounds towards the net, leg muscles contracting and expanding as he leaps in the air, arm swinging overhead, a resounding smack filling the air as he slams the ball over the net. It’s mere seconds and yet it feels like eternity to you as Kyoutani eagerly whips his head towards you the second he lands back on the ground, making sure you were watching, You’re not sure how the gut-twisting awe and pride you feel translates onto your face, but it must if the slight upwards twitch of his lips are any indication as he makes his way towards the back of the line, getting ready to do it all over again

“Congratulations. I think you’ve officially bumped me down to number two on Kyoutani’s ‘people I give a shit about’ list.”

“Senpai, it’s not like that!”

“Yet. It’s not like that yet.”

There’s a pause as you can’t bring yourself to deny his words, something hopeful and nervous twining and entangling your beating heart at the heavy underlying meaning of Iwaizumi’s words. But you wince, crashing back to reality when a finger roughly pokes your forehead, any complaints dying on your tongue when you see the softest knowing look in green eyes.

“I’m happy for you and I wish the two of you all my best.”

To anyone else, they’re sweet words. That’s all. But you know better. You can see the official rejection of your unconfessed feelings in the way Iwaizumi carefully chooses his words. You can feel the acknowledgement of your past feelings for him in the way his hand gently, but firmly grips your shoulder in consolation and reassurance before he trudges back to practice himself.

Yet it doesn’t hurt the way you thought it would and as your heart bids a final fond farewell to the brown-haired, green-eyed protagonist of your past dreams, you turn to Kyoutani, ready to begin a new real adventure together.

[sondepoch]

Lighter (3/5)

Breaking the Collar

Nine months in the human trafficking circuit has destroyed every sense of normality you ever knew. For you, it's commonplace to be ordered on your knees for your owner, his clients, anyone else Childe deems necessary—and you've reached a point where you accept it this misery, just going along with the motions of life because there's nothing else to do.

Diluc and Kaeya change that.

They enter your life on a regular workday afternoon, stepping inside Childe's massive office under the pretense of sorting out a business deal, but a single hastily written message makes it clear that they're not here to hurt you: they're here to help you.

The only issue is that you have no idea how to escape Childe.

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

MASTERLIST

There’s something demeaning about the outfit Childe has picked for you today. It’s nothing unlike what he had you wear when he last took you outside the apartment, when he brought you on a train to Xiangling’s restaurant, but the blouse and skirt he has you in today are looser than before, and skimpier, too. 

The thought confuses you until you realize that it’s because where you were previously dressed like a regular girl, in fairly modest clothes that were designed to shy away from attention, you’re now dressed like a slave once more: like a little sex toy that can only wear thin, loose clothes so her owner, alongside all her owner’s friends, can have easy access to the pretty tits and cunt beneath.

It should make you sick. 

Yet, as Childe slips his hand underneath your skirt to grip your thigh, the only thing that disgusts you is how easily you find yourself relaxing into his touch. 

“Angel,” Childe murmurs into your ear, voice hovering lowly under the quiet buzz of the van you both sit in. “Angel, I have a present for you.”

That catches your attention. You turn your head to your owner, eyebrows lifted in confusion, as Childe pulls a box from his pocket.

Immediately, you know what’s inside.

The first few gifts Childe gave you were all varied: the very first was, of course, the necklace he gave you in place of the ugly, metal collar all the other girls have to wear. The second was his jacket, too tattered for him to use anymore but literal paradise for someone like you, who had already grown used to spending every waking moment naked. Then, his presents began to come in the shape of services rather than material objects—the decision to allow you to sleep on a bed, the decision to let you eat better-quality meals, the decision to spare you from being sent to Scaramouche for a beating as punishment for a stupid blunder you once made—but after a certain period, Childe had granted you all the freedom he could give.

Then, his presents had to change.

He began gifting you jewels, all of them in different colors but always unfairly expensive, to make your collar sparkle.

You make no haste in opening the black, velvet box Childe gives you, eyes bright. You don’t think twice about how embarrassing it is that he’s conditioned you to associate these little gemstones (probably worth mere pennies to a man as wealthy as Childe) with happiness, but even you can’t keep the smile off your face as you snap open the box and see a blue twinkle staring back at you. 

“It’s a sapphire,” Childe explains, pulling the gemstone out by the short, silver chain it dangles from. “Since you told me that you like colorful stones.”

You remember saying that. It was true: being Childe’s favored toy meant that you were always by his side; it gave you no room for pastimes, and so you found that the most entertaining thing to do was toy with the shiny stones that dangled off your collar and angle them into the light to trace patterns into the ceiling. It’s an activity that works best with larger, colorful stones: the dainty diamonds Childe always used to gift you didn’t work half as well.

“Do you like it?” the man asks, staring down at you. “I thought you deserved a reward so behaving so well last time we went out. If you’re good this time as well, I’ll give you another one.”

I won’t be here for you to give me another one, you think. 

“I like it,” you say, ignoring how your heart instinctively speeds up with—is it fear? concern? hesitation?— when that thought runs through your mind. “Thank you, Sir.”

Childe grimaces.

“I mean, Ajax.”

Calling him by his name is still a hard habit to get into, but you find that the syllables roll off your tongue much smoother now. Alas, you shouldn’t need to worry about it too much longer. Not if today’s meeting with Diluc and Kaeya goes as planned.

“Here, lean forward so I can put it on you.”

The way you arch your neck forward is familiar. You and Childe have been in this position countless times before, him always being the one to fasten his gifts to your collar, and it shows in how quick Childe’s fingers are in attaching the short chain of the sapphire to your necklace. Within seconds, you feel the task’s completion as you lean your head back and smile at your owner, the weight around your neck marginally heavier than when you both stepped inside this van.

“It looks good,” Childe says, squeezing your thigh gently. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” you say like a good little slave. Then, you decide to go the extra mile. “Ajax.”

The man doesn’t respond to that, opting to glance out the window as his driver speeds down the highway that’ll doubtlessly bring you both to the office Diluc and Kaeya share, but you can see the edges of his lips curling upward. It’s rare, after all, for you to address him by name. No matter how much he loves it, your tongue still says “sir” on instinct, a little crack in the homey picture Childe is building with you in his mind.

It’s not like it matters, you think, stopping yourself from thinking too much about your owner before you can begin to feel bad. If all goes well, I won’t ever have to see him again.

The thought instinctively brings a smile to your face, but it falls just as fast.

If.

Looking back, the message Diluc and Kaeya gave you was cryptic. ‘WE CAN HELP YOU’ provides no accurate timeline to place your hopes in. The second message, ‘COME WITH TARTAGLIA NEXT WEEK AND WE CAN FREE YOU’ was of the same nature. Up til now, you’ve been vaguely interpreting their words to mean that they would free you immediately if you managed to go with Childe to this meeting. But the human trafficking world is so complicated, and you can’t help but think that things may be delayed even longer.

All you can do is hope for the best and pray that reality won’t disappoint.

“How much longer?” you ask your owner after the view outside the window has changed from a highway to a cityscape.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Childe chuckles. “We should be there any time soon. Keep an eye out. Their office is in one of the big buildings.”

That doesn’t tell you much, given that nearly every building this van drives past is over fifteen stories high. 

You’re in the middle of scoffing at Childe’s poor description of the office when the car finally stops: and only then do you understand that when he said “one of the big buildings,” he meant the biggest fucking building in the entire city.

You’re gawking like a fool as Childe helps you out of the car, mentally overwhelmed at the sheer size of what has to be the tallest office in Snezhnaya. 

“It’s…” 

Big doesn’t begin to describe the grandeur of this place. It’s nothing you’d expect from two men who are working undercover to free people from human trafficking: it's got to be the most eye-catching thing you've ever seen, one hundred stories high or taller, with every inch of the exterior covered in wall-to-wall windows. It looks like an upscale version of Childe’s own office, and if you thought his building was lavish, then this is full-on opulent.

Your owner has to forcibly pull you forward to get you to move. 

You almost forget to tuck your precious jacket—the one you so foolishly forgot when you last went out in public, the one Childe insisted you bring this time in case you have another episode—underneath your arm because you’re so busy marveling at the exterior of the building, though you thankfully remember to do so right before the van door closes. 

“It’s nothing impressive,” Childe grumbles as he pulls you past the professional double doors. “Diluc and Kaeya are only renting the top ten floors here. They’re not even rich enough to purchase them.”

“Ten whole floors?” you ask, eyes round as you stare at the inside of the ground floor. Childe tugs you towards the elevator, and you’re just barely able to slow him down so you can stare at the marble floors, the expensive-looking paintings on the wall, the embodiment of wealth unlike anything you’ve ever seen. “Why do they need ten—”

“They’re sex traffickers, angel,” Childe tells you when the elevator doors shut. (You have to force yourself to refrain from marveling at how even this elevator seems posh and refined.) “They use the top floor for their own operations. The other nine are where they run their prostitution rings.”

Your face darkens at that. It must be the exact same as Childe’s office, where he has you and his other favored prostitutes up at the top with him, and all the girls he doesn’t want to show favoritism to are forced into the life they were meant to follow when they were brought into the human trafficking world: either as unpaid sex workers that are sold by the hour from Childe to other equally-awful clients or as human trafickees to be shipped to someone else if they prove to be too much trouble.

But then, you remember Diluc and Kaeya’s message.

‘WE CAN HELP YOU,’ they said.

There’s no way that they’re running a sex trafficking front up here. Childe must be wrong. It’s probably just a lie they told him to gain his trust so that they could best help you escape this life.

“They’re so arrogant,” Childe grumbles, crossing his arms. “I bet they chose this office just to piss me off. It’s bad business, too. They’re losing out on money by choosing such a fancy place. Not even the Snezhnayan sex work model will boost their profits.”

“What’s the Snezhnayan sex work model?”

“The system we use in the Fatui. It’s supposed to be the best, money-wise. You hand-train the elite girls as prostitutes so that the best ones become magnets for high-caliber clients. You sell off girls who don’t show promise early on. And then there’s a handful of average-quality, compliant girls you keep for the low-caliber clients that want a good fuck but can’t pay as much.” Childe folds his arms as he leans back against the elevator wall. “It's the most profitable method, even if it means that the girls you sell will always be low-quality.”

“Wouldn’t I be an elite girl?” you ask, staring at your owner. “You trained me, but I never had to work as a prostitute. And I only sometimes have to meet your clients, and—”

“You’re different,” Childe says, avoiding your eyes.

Immediately, you want to ask what he means by that. Unfortunately for you, the elevator doors open at that precise moment, and Childe leads you forward by the hand into an office that, now that you think about it, definitely was designed to upstage Childe’s own place of work.

“Come on, you can do it, baby.” A low coo from the left side of the room draws your attention, and your eyes widen in a mix of confusion, concern, and finally, horror. 

“Ignore Kaeya. Focus on my fingers. Relax your throat, doll, yes, just like that…”

Even Childe stiffens when he sees the three men splayed out on a couch: Diluc and Kaeya sandwiching a youthful-looking boy between them as Diluc shoves his hand down the boy’s throat and Kaeya strokes the boy’s small cock. 

For a moment, you don’t understand why the boy looks so wrecked, his braided hair dampened with sweat and his face covered in tears, but when your eyes watch as a trickle of sweat trails from the boy’s neck to his stomach, joining a copious amount of white fluid you can only imagine to be the result of countless orgasms, it’s clear that Kaeya’s overstimulating him. Add that to the way Diluc’s entire hand is slotted down the poor boy’s throat, and how the redhead is still stubbornly trying to get more inside, and it becomes clear that whatever this boy is feeling is far from pleasant.

The picture makes it irrevocably clear that this boy is to Diluc and Kaeya what you are to Childe. 

Instinctively, you imagine how you would feel if you were in such a position. Your worst memory under Childe, after all, is from the time when you were handed over to four men who fucked into your G-spot so vigorously that you cried at any sensation for hours. Your second worst memory is from the time when a client forced a massive dildo so big you couldn’t breathe down your throat and left you like that until Childe intervened. 

The idea of those two memories being combined into one makes you want to vomit. 

“Fucking hell,” Childe grunts once he’s past processing the image before him. “Get your toy out of here. Do you have to be so disgusting?”

“Oh, please,” Kaeya responds, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t stop stroking the boy’s cock. “You had your little angel out during our last meeting. Let us have a little fun now, alright?”

“Hell no. Even I don’t dabble in…” Childe sneers when he sees how young the boy seems to be. “Children.”

Diluc laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through the room. “He’s older than he looks. We’re not scummy enough to deal in children, either, Tartaglia.”

“You’re scummy enough to have to share,” Childe says, scoffing. “What, did you guys spend so much money paying for this building’s rent that you couldn’t afford more than one kid to suit both your needs? The two of you look pathetic, you know.”

“I wouldn’t call it pathetic,” Kaeya offers. “It’s more like we know exactly what we want. And if we both want the same thing, we’re not going to waste our time with…” The man’s single eye skirts over your figure with purpose. “Cheap replacements.”

“Really, now?” You can sense Childe getting offended for you. “You think your little toy is better trained than my angel?”

“I don’t think it, Tartaglia. I know it.” Kaeya grins. He gives the boy’s cock another few strokes, going at the same pace, the small, red-flushed thing twitching furiously in response. “Just watch.”

Kaeya abruptly pulls back from the boy, lifting his hand in the air for dramatic effect, and one, two, three seconds pass where nothing happens. The little organ he’d been stroking still quivers, either from overstimulation or from desire, but the boy suppresses his orgasm, and you can see the desperate, shallow breaths he tries to take from around Diluc’s hand.

Then, it happens.

“Cum, Venti.”

On command, the boy keens, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips spasm and jerk up into nothing. Venti’s cock looks abused, a thought demonstrated by how little cum actually shoots into the air and onto his stomach, the substance looking more watery than it looks healthy.

You grimace when you understand how far Venti must have been pushed to reach this point. 

The boy practically melts into Kaeya’s hold after the orgasm has left his body, boneless after something so intense, and the final shreds of resistance he’d been offering Diluc’s hand disappear as the redhead’s wrist edges deeper into his throat.

“Such a good boy, isn’t he?” Kaeya says, grinning as he strokes Venti’s hair, brushing the sweat-stained bangs from his forehead. “He’s ‘Luc’s favorite. We haven’t had any discipline issues from him in years. Same goes for the rest of our merchandise.”

Kaeya’s words are a shameless flex on Childe: a reminder that your owner’s girls are so often poorly-trained and that even you, the star of his trafficking business, are secretly planning on running away.

You don’t need to look up at your owner’s expression to see the raw annoyance plastered onto his face. 

“No discipline issues?” Childe grunts. “So if I bought him from you and ordered him to kill himself right now, he’d do it?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Whatever response Kaeya was expecting, that wasn’t it.

Finally, Diluc speaks up.

“Venti, much like your toy over there, isn’t for sale.” Diluc withdraws most of his hand from the boy’s mouth, leaving only the tips of his fingers in such that Venti cranes his neck forward to suckle at them. “But if you want him gone that much, it’s fine. He has to go to work now, anyway.”

You can feel your eyebrows shoot up at that. Kaeya watches your expression, and he laughs.

“Sorry, girlie. I know your master over there likes to exercise preferential treatment with his pets, but we don’t do that in Mondstadt.” Kaeya gently pushes Venti to his feet, holding his hand until the shake of the boy’s feet subsides. “All our toys have to work. Favoritism should only go so far in a world like this.”

With that, Kaeya pats Venti’s butt and sends the boy off, and you watch in a mix of awe and horror as he stumbles towards the elevator to “work.”

If it were real, you’d be mortified. 

Venti was overstimulated to tears, his legs wobbling the whole time as he stumbled past you, the apples of his fair cheeks flushed a feverish red. There was saliva dripping down his chin, cum still smeared on his stomach, and the reek of sweat and sex wafting off the entirety of his stumbling, nude form.

But you comfort yourself with the knowledge that it was all just an act. 

You close your eyes and hold your jacket closer to your body as the elevator releases a low ding, forcing yourself to remember the message Diluc and Kaeya left for you that filled your heart with so much hope. What happened with Venti just now looked bad, but you’re certain that it was all part of their master strategy to deceive Childe until you’re free from him.

(If there’s a sudden thump of a body hitting the ground and a low groan from behind the elevator doors as soon as they shut, you force yourself not to pay attention to it.)

“Fucking finally,” Childe mutters as soon as Venti is gone. He shuffles forward and flops down onto a couch, pulling you with him. “Listen, I don’t want to be here any more than you guys want me here. Let’s get this over with quickly, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya mumbles, using a sanitized cloth to clean his hands before slipping his usual gloves back on. Next to him, Diluc does the same. “All we need to do is fix a transportation route for the merch, right?”

“Yeah,” Childe grunts. “I already have some ideas. I own a parent company that sells furniture. If we can legally frame our transactions under the branch of…”

You zone out as soon as they begin using human trafficking jargon you barely understand.

This meeting is much more civilized than the previous, if the whole incident with Venti can be forgotten. The jabs Diluc and Kaeya make towards Childe are much more subtle, popping up rarer, too, and Childe doesn’t openly taunt them with your body the way he did in the first meeting. 

It takes nearly an hour before your owner even remembers you, and even then, his touches remain somewhat innocent. He only ever ghosts his fingers against your thigh, oft going down to drum his fingers against your knee while he continues to work out the logistics of his business deal. The touches honestly end up keeping you on edge with how delicate they are, and it’s right when his fingers have finally flitted up to the innards of your thigh, right when you’re holding your breath, right when Diluc and Kaeya’s eyes are fixated on where his palm has crept beneath your skirt, that his phone rings.

Immediately, Childe’s hands are off you. 

“I have to take this,” he says, wrapping a protective arm over your shoulder as he beckons you to stand next to him. “In private.”

“Take the elevator down to the second floor if you want privacy,” Diluc offers. “It’s not being rented out, and there aren’t any cameras there.”

“Thanks,” your owner says, leading you towards the elevator. 

“Wait,” Kaeya calls, right as you’re about to step in behind Childe. You glance behind your shoulder to stare at him, and the devious expression on his face concerns you. 

Kaeya winks at you a second before Childe, too, turns to face him.

“Leave your girl here with us, will you? Give us a treat to nibble on to kill the time.”

Immediately, you think that Kaeya has said the wrong thing. Childe is a fiercely protective man, over you more than anything else. There’s no way he’d leave you in the hands of two men he barely even likes, and it’ll probably only cast suspicion in his mind to hear Kaeya ask for you so candidly.

You shut your eyes, instinctively preparing to hear Childe’s rejection.

Instead, his tone is light when he speaks, almost amused. “Finally seeing how high-quality she is, eh?” Your owner is smiling at Kaeya, not an ounce of irritation, anger, or protectiveness on his face. “Fine. This call will take a while anyway. Just make sure you don’t wreck her too much.”

With that, the redhead steps into the elevator and leaves you with nothing more than a featherlight kiss to the temple, and you’re standing there, dumbfounded, for a full ten seconds before you process what has happened.

Alone, you realize with a start. I'm finally alone with them. 

Immediately, you sprint forward, grabbing Kaeya’s hand in an attempt to tug him off the couch, not caring about how you dropped your jacket on the floor in your rush.

“Come on,” you say, eyes wide. “If—if you want to set me free, we have to go now while he’s busy!”

But Kaeya doesn’t move an inch off the couch, instead pulling you onto his lap with a strength you didn’t realize he had. 

“What are you—”

“Shh, baby. We have to put on a show in case Tartaglia comes back, yeah?” You feel Diluc shuffle behind you, and the redhead is quick to wrap his hands around your hips from behind. 

The slowness, the casualness, the feigned normalcy of their actions dumbfounds you.

“Why aren’t we leaving?” you whisper, hands going up to grip at the fabric of Kaeya’s suit. “You said you’d free me if I managed to come to this meeting, so—”

“Relax,” Diluc mumbles into your ear, gloved hands sliding beneath your blouse to grope at your breasts. “Freeing you isn’t something we can do at the drop of a hat. It’s not just about you being here.”

“Right,” Kaeya says, his fingers slowly undoing the zipper on your skirt. “We asked you to come to this meeting to first check if it would even be possible to free you. A test, if you will. We weren’t sure you’d pass it. But if Tartaglia is willing to give you enough freedom to wander around with him, we figure you should also have enough freedom to do what needs to be done for us to free you.”

“What?” you whisper, trying to force back the tears that are pooling in your eyes. This is everything you’d feared: that Diluc and Kaeya’s idea of freeing you would be more complicated than you’d realized and that the whole process would require more time. “What do you need me to do to be free?”

“Aw, don’t cry.” Kaeya tosses your skirt to the floor right before he goes up to wipe away the tears from your face. “It’s not hard. We just need you to get ahold of Tartaglia’s fake documents on you.”

“His...what?”

Confusion is ultimately what brings a halt to your tears, and you cock your head naively at Kaeya right as Diluc speaks up.

“Fake documents,” Diluc explains, beginning to rub the front of his pants against your naked arse. “Every human trafficker has a series of documents for their merchandise that they can use for transportation and claim purposes. We need to get yours from Tartaglia.”

“Why can’t you take me away without them?” you plead, still clinging to the hope that you might be able to go free today. “Why do I have to—”

“Because, depending on how smart Tartaglia is, he can use those documents to rightfully get you back, even if we set you free.”

“What?” you ask. “How?”

“Think. If he has you listed on those documents as a minor, then the State can only do so much to protect you. Especially if he has himself listed down as your guardian. Even if you try to speak out against him, the Snezhnayan police won’t care. They’ll send you straight back to him, and you can bet that whatever freedoms you have now will be forever lost to you the second time around.”

“B-but, if I can prove that I’m not the person in his fake documents—”

“You can’t prove that,” Kaeya interrupts. “If you’re lucky, Tartaglia’s fake documents would be low-quality. But if he was smart, which we both know he is, then his documents will be of a high-enough quality that people will believe them when they see them. And unless you happen to have your official documents on you, there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself except steal the papers from Childe before he can use them.”

The annoyed, almost bored inflection of Kaeya’s voice shakes you to the core. They rattle this information off so quickly, so intuitively, so earnestly that you have no choice but to believe them.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll get the documents you want.”

“Do you know where he keeps them?” Diluc asks.

“I think so. He has a locked briefcase that he always keeps in his office. I don’t know the combination to open it, but I should be—”

“Good,” Kaeya interrupts. “You seem like a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Y-yeah,” you say, hesitant. The man’s words seemed like a compliment, but his tone felt much more derisive. “Um, is that all, or is there anything else I—”

“That’s all,” Diluc says. “Two weeks from now is when we’ll be ready to get you out of here. We’ll be staying in the hotel across from Tartaglia’s apartment. The two of us will be in rooms 213 and 214. Come find us at any time, and as long as you have the documents on you, we’ll be able to set you free.”

Your heart beats a little faster at that. 

“Really?” you whisper, almost not believing it. The goal you’ve been given is finally real: it’s tangible, so clear that you can already see yourself using something sharp to tear into Childe’s briefcase and retrieve your documents before you’ll finally be able to live a life you can be proud of.

Kaeya smiles when he sees the look on your face.

“Really,” he whispers, reaching a rough, gloved hand up to cup your cheek with infinite care. The kiss he coaxes you into is gentle, soft, and sweet. It’s everything he is, everything Childe isn’t. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning forward to wrap the man in a hug. You don’t care about the fact that Diluc has unbuttoned and pulled off your blouse now, leaving you effectively nude as you embrace Kaeya, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” the man whispers in response, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

The next minutes are marked by more peace than you’ve felt in months. Sandwiched between Diluc and Kaeya, you feel oddly safe. The roughness of their gloves stops bothering you, the silky brushes of their hair stop tickling you, and the closeness of their bodies, the warmth and the heat that radiates off them as naturally as light off the sun, only relaxes you in their arms.

When Kaeya begins playing with the jewels on your necklace, you don’t stop him.

“Tartaglia gave you this?” he asks, tugging gently at a diamond. 

“Yeah. They're all presents for being good.”

You can’t help the smile that blooms on your face as you say that: it’s like a reminder that you’re special, that you’re important, that even though you’re down in a world where your life isn’t even your own, you still have worth.

Behind you, Diluc’s fingers reach over your shoulder and begin lifting up individual stones to the light. “These are expensive,” he mutters, twisting a ruby among his leathered fingers. “More expensive than what someone would normally give to a slave.”

“I know,” you say. “It's because this is supposed to incentivize my good behavior, and—”

“No,” Diluc interrupts, voice soft. “It’s supposed to manipulate you.”

Your voice catches at that, and you glance at Kaeya for confirmation because you doubt it can be true. Not when Childe always seems so sweet when he gifts you these presents. Not when you've come to look forward to them as the one light in your life in this dark, dark world. But when the blue-haired man’s face twists into sympathy, your heart falls.

“B-but...I like…”

“You’re supposed to like it,” Diluc’s voice, rich and deep, rumbles out into your ear. ”But you need to understand that it’s not a necklace, doll. It’s a collar.”

“I know that,” you say, now wrapping your fingers around the chain protectively. “But I don’t—I don’t want—”

Kaeya kisses you, bringing two hands to your cheeks to cradle your face in his fingers.

“We’re not going to take it away from you, baby.”

He kisses you again.

“Relax.”

Those words soothe you in a way you can’t quite explain; the idea of losing your necklace, even being told that your necklace was a ploy to manipulate you (though you already knew that, to some extent), was unsettling. You much prefer the notion that it’s an innocuous gift: mainly because you’ve grown far too attached to it for it to represent human trafficking and all the pain you’ve had to endure thus far.

But, right when you’ve calmed yourself and forcibly stopped yourself from panicking, you feel a sharp tug on your neck.

“What did you—”

“Nothing,” Diluc says, holding two gemstones—two diamonds, one blue and one pink—in his palm. They still have their chain attached to them, but that's it: there's nothing connecting the diamonds to your necklace, the chains having been ripped off.  You feel your expression change as you see what he's done. “Just—”

“What did you do?!” you blurt, panic beginning to overtake your heart. “Childe—Ajax—he’s going to notice! I—I’ll get in trouble, and—”

“Shh,” Kaeya whispers, trying to calm you down with a kiss, but you pull back before his lips can touch you. “It’s not—”

“Put it back. Put it back!”

You've turned around and are about to hit Diluc when the man grips both your wrists, holding you with such a force that it freezes you. The look in his eyes is fierce, fiery, red eyes shining brighter than the rubies dangling off your neck—and for a single second, you can’t help but think that the man looks furious. 

Then, the expression is masked, and you’re both left calmer for it.

“Tartaglia won’t notice. Unless he makes a habit of regularly counting what’s on your neck, only you’ll be able to feel the difference.” Right. That makes sense. Childe likes to look at your necklace, but you doubt that he’ll actually know how many presents he’s gifted you. Not when he barely touches the thing, dexterous fingers always reaching out to feel your body instead. 

“And besides,” Diluc says, easing you back into your earlier position with your back resting against his chest. “It’s a promise. The two diamonds.”

“A promise?”

In front of you, Kaeya smiles in understanding.

“Right. It’s a promise, baby. We’ll give you these two diamonds back once we’ve freed you, and until then, they’re our weight to bear so that every time we look at them, we remember that we’re waiting for you so we can set you free.”

“It...is?” you ask, hesitant. You haven’t been in the outside world in a while; is this how people do promises now?

“Yes,” Diluc mumbles, kissing your ear as he strokes your hair. Every brush of his fingers against your head instinctively relaxes you, until you’re almost as calm as you were before he took two stones off your necklace. “Do you trust us to return them to you?”

It’s a disguised question.

What Diluc is really asking is this: Do you trust us?

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s the only right answer.

Then, the two men go silent. They focus on relaxing you once more, running their gloved fingers up and down the sides of your body, almost massaging your skin as you sit between them. 

Unfortunately for you, all you can think about is your necklace.

It’s the first time you’ve had it be lighter than before: Childe only ever adds to it; he never takes. Now, right when you’d grown used to the weight of the sapphire he attached this morning, you’ve got the odd situation of it being even lighter than it had been when you woke up.

You know that you should feel freer now: less chained down to Childe and to the Fatui.

But deep down inside, you miss the weight.

Minutes later, when you’re a little less emotionally overwhelmed and a little more relaxed as the two men gently run their arms around your body, another thought surfaces.

“A-also,” you say, hesitant. “Um, everything you said at the beginning of this meeting…”

“All lies,” Diluc says, pulling you closer against his broad chest after you slink too deep into Kaeya’s embrace. “Tartaglia had a negative impression of us coming in, so we had to play to that. Everything we said was just for show.”

Your shoulders sag in relief at that, but another thought continues to poke at your brain.

“And Venti?” you finally manage to ask, remembering how ruined the boy had looked as he stumbled away from the two men holding you.

“He’s a masochist,” Kaeya blurts. “We asked him beforehand if he’d be okay with participating. Not sure he realized how all-out we were going to go, but I’m certain that he enjoyed himself.”

That...makes sense! You’ve heard before about masochists, and looking back, everything Diluc and Kaeya did to the boy really did seem to be for the sake of his pleasure. You’ve heard countless times about overstimulation being something sexy, something desired, something liked by the select few who could bear it. Similarly, the way Diluc had his hand down Venti’s mouth...that’s the equivalent of Childe having you suck on his fingers during sex, right? 

You laugh a little when you realize that everything you’d been scared about had an explanation. You should have known better than to doubt Diluc and Kaeya, two people who are saving you from hell itself. If anything, you should be on your knees thanking them instead of raising questions over what they had to say to be able to help you out.

“I’m sorry for all the questions,” you confess, sheepish as Kaeya’s fingers begin toying with your breasts. “I’m just...really nervous. And a little scared.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Kaeya asks, a tinkling laugh spilling from his lips. “We were the same way when we first came out here to save people from human trafficking.”

“Really?” you ask, eyes round. “Do you guys do this for a living? How many people do you save?”

“Uh...whoever we can, really. We use our covers as human traffickers to identify targets that would be easiest for us to free. You seemed like one. Before you, we helped that boytoy from Zhongli. Before him was some Khaenri'ahi girl, and…”

Zhongli? You ask yourself, trying to figure out where you know that name from. It’s familiar, so familiar, and…

“Wait!” You blurt, sitting up straight and nearly knocking Diluc backward in the process. “You guys were responsible for freeing Xiao? The one who’s always by Zhongli’s side?”

You remember the short little man, beautiful in his own right, from when Childe had a business meeting with Zhongli. That was the first time you learned of Xiao, the last time being just last week when you heard Scaramouche say that the green-haired boy had somehow disappeared. 

Hope blooms in your heart as soon as you realize what that disappearance was: the successful removal of one more slave from the human trafficking network, something you're next in line for.

Diluc lets out a light laugh when he sees how your entire face has brightened up now that you have genuine proof that these two men are for real, that they’ve helped people escape in the past and that they’ll help you escape in the near future. 

“Wait, if you guys freed Xiao, then were you also the ones responsible for setting, uhm…”

Your brain blanks out as you try to remember the second person Scaramouche mentioned when speaking to Childe. What was her name? Amine? you think, but that sounds off. Umino? Lumina? You continue to guess names in your head, brain fixating on Childe’s interaction with the other Fatui executive until finally, you remember her name.

“Lumine!” you declare with pride. “Were you the ones who set her free, too?”

Kaeya stares at you with a shocked expression. His lips part and his face freezes, eyebrows lifted comically high on his forehead, and you turn around to glance at Diluc, but the redhead is in a similar state.

“You’re telling me,” Kaeya begins, “That Lumine...”

He can’t bring himself to finish, and so Diluc steps in to complete the question: “Lumine belonged to Tartaglia?”

You glance back and forth between the two men, unsure of why they seem to be regarding this news with such shock.

“I think so?” you say, now beginning to doubt yourself. “I’m not sure. But Scaramouche said something like that to him, so I—”

You’re cut off by a sharp cackle of laughter from Kaeya. You stare at him in shock, and then behind you, Diluc has begun chuckling, and then Kaeya’s laughing even louder, and within seconds, both men are laughing their heads off at something you barely understand. 

“Oh my gods!” Kaeya blurts between fits of almost-hysterical giggles. “You’re telling me that Tartaglia? Fucking Tartaglia? Was the one to lose Lumine?” He laughs some more, loud and merry and cheerful. "So I was right when I called you a—a—" Kaeya stutters in his laughter. "A cheap replacement?"

You stare at the blue-haired man in confusion, not understanding a word of what he's saying nor why he seems to find it so hilarious that Childe and Lumine are connected. You want to open your mouth to ask why, but you have to stop yourself because it's at this precise moment that your owner returns; and this is the picture that Childe sees when the elevator dings with the announcement of his arrival: you, completely nude and squashed between the two Mondstadt business partners, Kaeya in front of you, laughing his ass off as if you’ve told the joke of the century, and Diluc behind you, the most stoic man in the room losing his composure in an equally graceless manner.

“What the fuck…” your owner mutters at the sight, but seeing Childe only makes the two men around you laugh harder.

It takes a full minute for them to calm down, and in that minute, you rise from their couch and move back towards Childe like an obedient slave, only wearing your clothes when Childe nods at you that it’s okay for you to do so.

“So,” Childe deadpans once Diluc and Kaeya have finally stopped laughing, though Kaeya still releases a giggle every now and then. “Did my girl tell a funny joke or something? You guys sounded like a bunch of dying hyenas.”

“Something like that,” Kaeya says, smiling at Childe, but you sense something deadly in his eyes. 

“Alright, well…” Childe awkwardly tries to steer the conversation back to what they’d been discussing before. “I guess the final details will have to be ironed out once I actually use this company as a cover to ship the girls to you, but is there anything else we need to talk about? Transportation-wise, we seem solid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya drawls, a strange smile on his face. “But, real quick, I want to talk about prices one more time.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Childe grunts, annoyed. “We already agreed on five-hundred thousand mora per shipment. Don’t try to haggle with me again on this.”

“Ordinarily, you’d be right,” Diluc says, crossing his arms. “But we just learned some interesting information.”

Childe’s eye twitches in annoyance. “Right,” he blurts, leaning back. “What is it? Did you find out that I’m giving a better deal to someone else? Because that sucks, but that’s how this business works with new partners. I’m not going to—”

“It’s not that,” Diluc interrupts, lifting a hand. “It’s moreso that before, we thought we were purchasing merchandise from a valued, respected dealer.”

Diluc’s lips quirk into a cruel grin. 

“Not from the infamous idiot trafficker who lost Lumine.”

You can hear the ice settle over the room before you feel it, the abrupt, chilling silence suddenly making every second feel like an hour. You’re almost scared to move, scared to pull your eyes to your owner who, for the first time since you met him, looks like the child his codename was assigned for.

Childe doesn’t try to speak, but his every thought is displayed in his eyes alone, the cerulean blues giving insight to a hurricane of emotions wilder than the sea. In his eyes is fear, horror, despair, and pain, so much pain. 

Something about the look on his face makes your heart break.

Diluc and Kaeya don’t care.

“I think charging five hundred thousand mora is a tad much for a douche who almost brought the entire industry down. Hell, you should be paying us for even being willing to deal with you, but…” Kaeya glances at Diluc, a single blue eye flitting down to where Diluc extends three fingers against his knee. “We’ll settle for a drop in the price instead. Three-hundred thousand mora per shipment. That good with you, Tartaglia?”

You’re expecting your owner to bargain, to argue, to scoff, to do something other than stare into the distance with those bright blue eyes that now look more blank than anything else. 

When you hear Childe mutter a meek “Okay,” you nearly recoil in shock.

Even Kaeya is surprised. “R-really? Damn. Actually, I think we should go even lower, y’know? Every trafficker in the world was scared for their life because of you, so maybe drop the price some more as reparations for that? Whaddya say, two hundred thousand? Per shipment?”

You stare at your owner, silently begging him to do something. Even you can tell that he’s being taken advantage of now, and that awful look in his eyes is something that even you’re unfamiliar with.

“Okay.”

“Fu...okay then? But also, you were kind of a dick to us last time, so how about you make it one hundred thousand? Seems more fair to me.”

“O—”

You grab your owner’s hand before he can agree, and the touch seems to snap Childe out of the awful fog that had been wrapped around his head. The look in his eyes is only less marginally troubled when he abruptly stands up, gripping your hand in a silent plea for you to move with him.

“I’m going,” Childe announces. 

He begins walking away so fast that you just barely have time to grab your jacket before you’re at his heels.

The man completely ignores Diluc and Kaeya as he waits for the elevator to open with a rigid posture, seeming to feel uncomfortable or fearful or panicked or a mix of all three. Kaeya begins laughing behind you both, and you almost want to tell him to stop: tell him that yes, Childe is an awful human trafficker and yes, you hate him as well—but the poor man looks like he’s on the verge of having a panic attack, and you know first-hand how awful a feeling that is. 

You’re grateful when the elevator finally opens, more grateful when the doors close and you and Childe are finally in isolation together. 

Only then, in the silence of the box as it moves you both down to the ground floor, do you hear Childe’s shaky breathing. It’s jagged, uneven. Then, you take note of the way his hands are clenched into fists, palms enclosed so tight that his arms are shaking—and despite everything he’s done to you, you feel some semblance of pity for him.

“Ajax,” you mumble, hoping that the name will calm him. “Relax.”

A moment of silence.

“I am relaxed,” he responds, and when you glance over at him, he’s completely back to normal: breathing even and palms loose.

His eyes, though, are just as pained as when the two of you were sitting upstairs on that couch. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re the one who let it slip that Lumine and Childe were connected. Even if you don’t understand the scope of what you said, it's clear that it had an impact. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” Childe says, not looking at you. “Don’t apologize.”

More silence. It feels heavy, unlike the usual, comfortable stretches of quiet that you and Childe like to bask in.

“What...were they talking about?” you ask quietly, still staring at your owner. “Diluc and Kaeya said that—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

A moment of silence.

It feels so heavy that it seems to crush you under its weight.

“Who is she? Lumine?”

More silence. 

This time, Childe is the one to break it. 

“The only girl I ever loved before you.”

That’s a lie, and you know it. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t be bringing you around to meetings, dressing you like a cheap slave, and handing you off to other men to flex how ‘high-quality’ you are. If Childe loved you, you would be long gone from the human trafficking circuit because he would have set you free. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t force you to stay by his side because he’s your abuser, your trafficker, the monster that haunts your life. 

Most importantly, if Childe loved you, he would have given you a proper answer to your question. Not some flimsy skirt-around that only furthers his attempts to manipulate you into loving him back.

Your eyebrows furrow the slightest as you feel the elevator hit the ground floor, brain still focused on everything Diluc and Kaeya said. Everything Childe didn’t want to talk about. Lumine.

Curiosity begs you to stick around and learn the truth.

Logic, reasoning, and the desire to lead a life of your own tell you that you’ll be long gone from Snezhnaya before that’ll ever happen. 

MASTERLIST

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

Word count: 7.9k

Notes: eyyyy i'm alive! i promise i never forgot about this fic, it's just that after i missed the original due date, my mind was just like 'eh, it's already late, what's a few more days?' and that's the story of how this is two months late. thank you to all the kind commenters from the last chapter - to the people who checked in on me, ily; to the people who sent me those wholesome asks on tumblr, ily ily; and to the people who made guesses on what would happen in future chapters - guess what :D you acc helped me shape this :3 i originally meant for lumine to be a passing thing mentioned once and never again, but she'll end up being important for chapter 4 ^^ so thank you to everyone who'll still be here after i disappeared for so long. hope you liked this chapter (lmk your thoughts!) and i can't wait to see you all in the finale <3

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/11

I do not own the rights to Genshin Impact or any of the characters within it.

[bangchanshehe]

The Trespasser pt.17

You were on top of the world with the new title of leader of your family’s clan. You were the strongest clan in all of the orient and you were proud. But your family feels that there are threats still lurking around making you a target. When they introduce you to a potential man for a business and marriage merger will it help your clan or make matters worse?

Word count: 2.5k

Wonho x Reader, Shownu x Reader, Jooheon x Reader

A few days later you had woken up with a headache because today was the day that all your hard work would either be fruitful or go to waste. You had Jooheon schedule a morning visit to the warehouse with Shownu to check up on the new recruits. But what he didn’t know was that it was a part of your plan to be able to confront Shownu quietly. You had agreed with Minhyuk and Hoseok that the best possible plan was to share what you had in mind with as few people as possible so you don’t possibly expose little details that will make a difference.

And after a few days of working around the clock and taking a deep dive into any and all members within your group you had come to the conclusion that everyone was an honest member to your clan. And with multiple check-ins and detailed notes of Shownu’s whereabouts he seemed as if he was attempting to stay as close to the clan as possible despite his knowledge of his exposure. And you were ready to take advantage of that.

You had slipped on your outfit for the day and you realized that for some reason you had put more effort into your look today, which was completely unusual. Why had you done that? You didn’t know why you had chosen something so business like. Perhaps it was because subconsciously you were aware that this was the last time that Shownu would see you before things turned really ugly. Or perhaps there was a small part of you that wanted him to see you as a beautiful, serious woman one last time.

You had taken a deep breath and dialed Hoseok’s number, waiting for his answer.

“Hey, I was just about to call you.” He answered “I had my men trail him this morning and it looks like he’s seriously trying to pull off an innocence act. However, if he has any idea that something might go down then things could turn pretty ugly. One of my guys said that he packed a backpack and if he feels threatened then he may try for a violent escape.”

You let out a sigh and nodded your head to yourself. What Hoseok was reporting was nothing that you hadn’t already expected or thought of. “Thank you. I’m just about to head to the warehouse and I’ll have Minhyuk and Hyungwon with me. I’ll call you when things are settled” you responded and hung up.

You gathered up your things and placed your handheld weapons in secret places where you could easily reach if necessary. Once you were completely dressed you walked through the house and met the boys in the foyer. Without a single word you had all piled into your car and drove off to the warehouse. The air was so thick as you rode away together that you could cut it with a knife. Hyungwon had been debriefed the night previous for what was going to happen today, and you could tell that he was not taking it well. Shownu was someone that he grew with in the clan. The same year that hyungwon started was the same that Shownu had, and they had achieved many recognitions and rewards together. And he sat silently as he was escorted to take care of someone who he once deemed a brother.

As all of you arrived you let out a single deep breath and scanned the parking lot. Everyone’s car was there including Shownu’s and you immediately gave orders to have his car searched.

“Hyungwon you’re on Shownu’s car.” You ordered

Hyungwon gave you a simple head nod in compliance and jumped out of the car. You and Minhyuk both sat in silence for a moment before giving each other a knowing look and then stepped out of the vehicle to make your way inside of the warehouse. The two of you walked towards your target with heavy footsteps, scared and nervous as to how everything would play out. Shownu was dangerous and someone who you knew had the strength to take out numerous men by himself. You knew because you had trained with him since the beginning. And you knew that he was likely not going to surrender so easily, which would make it very hard to get him out alive.

As you approached the front door it slid open and two men standing guard bowed to you two respectfully. The two of you slightly bowed your head back and then made your way into the main training room. You scanned the floor and looked for any signs of Jooheon or Shownu but came up short, they were nowhere to be found.

Your phone vibrated and you pulled it out to see who was messaging you.

Hyungwon: car all clear. Shownu and Jooheon are taking a smoke break on the rear end of the building

“Out back” you said for Minhyuk to hear and the two of you stomped off to the back.

As you drew nearer to the end of the building you secured a weapon behind your back, preparing for the worst. You could hear Minhyuk behind you take the safety off of his personal weapon and follow behind you closely. Before you opened the door to the rear exit you signaled with your fingers, 3…2…1…

You swung the door open wide and came out to face the boys but immediately raised your gun when you saw that Shownu had his gun aimed at hyungwon and a knife to Jooheon’s throat. And as much as you wanted Shownu locked away you weren’t going to risk the lives of your own members.

“Shownu put the weapons down we don’t want to hurt you!” you barked out to him

He scoffed at you and let out a soft chuckle “I’m not that naïve babe. I know that the minute I put these down there’s a bullet in my fucking skull.”

You glared at him for a moment before you decided to do something that you would normally never do. You put your hands in the air, letting the gun hang freely down in the palm of your hand and backed away a few feet from Shownu.

“You don’t have to do this!” you pleaded with him “no one wants you dead… we just want to know for who and why?”

“You really expect me to just give myself up?” he asked in amusement “that’s not going to happen princess. Because you see the people who I work for want me dead at this point as well… you know my main task was to eliminate you… kill you in your sleep, steal your weapons trade business, smother your clan once and for all.” He let out a demented laugh before he began again “but you see I had my eyes on a much bigger picture… I wanted you. I wanted to rule over this continent with you by your side. Because as much as I wanted to kill you, I couldn’t bring myself to actually do it. Because by your side I had a future instead of a life on the run, doing stupid and meaningless tasks, baiting whores and stupid women for the rest of my miserable life”

“show-“Jooheon attempted to speak up but the knife by his throat was pushed up deeper

“Shut the fuck up!” Shownu demanded never leaving eye contact with you

You looked up to Jooheon and gave him an apologetic look. You were trying to do everything in your power to keep calm and stay grounded but the more that Shownu spoke the more that you wanted to end this once and for all.

“If only you would have chosen ME!” he growled gaining your attention once again “we could have ruled the world together traveling around at our leisure, fucking like wild animals and smiling as we lived in luxury. But instead, you chose that pathetic crippled baiter…. Someone who can’t fuck you like I can or keep up with you.” He smiled at you as if he was in deep despair and was trying to conceal it “so the only one who gets to ask you why is me!” he raised his gun at you leaving hyungwon startled and panicked for a moment

Hyungwon internally struggled for a moment trying to figure out a plan of what to do and you could see how tormented he was in his face. he wanted to disable Shownu and take him down, but his probability of getting the task done without killing either you or Jooheon was slim.

“WHY?!” Shownu shouted again

“Shownu please… we don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to do this.” You pleaded with him once more “you’re as good as dead if you leave here. Your clan will be on the hunt for you and so would mine. If you come with me now peacefully then no one will have to get hurt.”

“what for? So you can keep me down in your dungeon and watch as I wither away until I die? Yeah… no thanks.” He barked out sarcastically “you and I both know that the only way this ends is if someone dies. You or me.”

“no! no one is going to die!” you shouted

Shownu glared at you in silence for a long moment before a long demented lopsided smile crept onto his face. he looked you up and down and licked his lips before he looked you in your eyes once more. “okay. Then sacrifice yourself to me.”

“what?” you asked completely caught off guard with disbelief

“I can shoot and mangle every single one of you or you can give yourself up to me. Freely.” He spoke blatantly

“y/n don’t!” Minhyuk yelled

You looked over at him, watching as he clutched onto his gun even harder than before. His focus was laser sharp as he waited for the opportunity to shoot. You turned your attention back to Jooheon who was in despair. He furrowed his eyebrows and his nostrils flared in hatred as he looked up to shownu from the corner of his eyes, and you knew that he was willing to risk his life to put an end to this madness. But you weren’t going to let anyone die today if you could help it… death wasn’t something that you wanted for any of you.

You slowly bent over with your hands still raised above you to put your gun on the ground. As soon as you were standing up again you watched Shownu as you kicked the gun away from you and your stomach sank as Shownu gave you a wicked smile.

“y/n I said no!” Minhyuk yelled once again at your side in a much more desperate tone

“Put your gun down” you ordered him softly

“NO!” he yelled back

“DO IT NOW!” you yelled “I won’t have anyone hurt here today!”

Minhyuk stood firm for a moment, and he let out a loud groan in defeat. He dropped his gun and kicked it away from him in absolute disgust. You watched him as he ran his fingers through his hair violently and he visibly shrank as he unwillingly gave up.

You turned to face Shownu once more and you put up your hands in defeat. You took a few steps closer offering yourself to him willingly.

“don’t make me have to pat you down… get rid of your other weapons.” He threatened

You glared at him for a moment in hatred before you quickly discarded the rest of the weapons that you had hiding on your body. Once you were completely done you took one final step closer to him.

“Perfect. Now come to me…” he said

You walked to him until you were almost flush to his body, and he quickly circled around you, wrapping his arm around your neck and placing the knife that was once at jooheon’s throat at yours. He pointed his gun at the rest of the members defiantly and he began to slowly back away from the building with you in his possession.

“No sudden movements boys… or ill have to kill our sweet princess.” He threatened

All the boys backed away and watched in horror and disgust as you were taken away from them. As soon as Shownu was around the corner of the building he walked at a face pace to make a b-line straight to his car. As he approached it he threw the door open and watched out for anyone approaching as you sat down in the passenger seat and fastened your seatbelt. When you closed the door he quickly wrapped around the car and immediately started it upon entry.

He wasted no time in peeling out of the parking lot and out onto the streets and all you could do was hang onto the ceiling handle for dear life. You had no idea where he was taking you or what he had planned to do with you but you knew that it wouldn’t possibly be good.

“Put this on your wrists!” shownu demanded handing you a zip tie

You complied and put it on, using your teeth to tighten it until there was almost no blood flow circulating to your hands. And you sat back in your seat desperately searching your brain for any sort of plan that you could think of. But all hopes of escaping had become less likely as Shownu drove with one hand on the steering wheel and held the gun up to you on the center console with the other.

“where are you taking me?” you asked him

He let out a soft chuckle and he shook his head “you don’t get to ask questions anymore princess. I’m the one in charge now.”

You shut your eyes and took in a long shaky breath. You prayed to whatever god there was in the world to help keep you safe and help you find a way out, but when you opened your eyes you found that you were no longer driving in the warehouse and business district. Now you were headed down an old country road where there were no houses, businesses or cars around. You tried to place where you were in your mind but you quickly came up blank and your heart began to beat out of control. If you couldn’t find a way out now then the two of you would likely be unfound in such a secluded and desolate area. And Shownu would have free reign to do whatever he wanted to you.

You watched the speedometer as Shownu picked up his speed along the road. And subtly you began to wrap your hands around the emergency brake. You tried your best to not make any noises or bump into his hand as you did so, and the moment that he had hit the speed of 75 miles and hour you quickly pulled it back and braced yourself for impact as the car skid out of control and ultimately flipped over into a ditch along the road.

[sjhanny2000]

Secrets Worth Sharing

A/N: Hey y'all! This is my first Naruto fanfic, which I've also posted on Archive of Our Own. Please be kind and enjoy!

Warning(s): Minor character death, angst, hurt/comfort, intersex characters, arranged marriage, talks/thoughts about abortion/miscarriage

~~~~

Tobirama Senju was a man of many secrets. Well, more like a man that highly values his own privacy and is not as open as other individuals (like his easy-trusting older brother for example). He was not given the privilege of being open with his truths and feelings, having been groomed from birth to be a heartless shinobi who did not allow his emotions to interfere with his performance. His father had been harsh with these facts whilst training and out on the battlefield, blunt and uncaring that Tobirama and his brothers were children and children had no place amongst the battlefield and shouldn’t be expected to take a life without a bat of an eye. Kawarama had only been seven when he was ripped away from this world, so young and full of life, and it had taken everything in Tobirama’s small, lanky eleven pre-pubescent form to not break down much like his elder brother had, to feel such unbridled emotion his surviving otouto had felt. Itama’s death only a year later (sweet, innocent, and healing Itama) wrung him dry of tears, of allowing himself to be so vulnerable when it came to loss because to die ‘in battle was honorable’, at least that’s what their father had said as dirt was piled atop of his otouto’s grave to the right of Kawarama’s. He fought with every fiber of his being to protect what little family he had left, taking hits meant for Hashirama and saving Toka from debilitating blows, creating new jutsus, and putting the needs and feelings of others before his own because he wasn’t supposed to feel, shinobi don’t feel-.

Then, as he stood dutifully beside his anija opposite the Uchiha heirs amongst their fellow clansmen, Tobirama couldn’t help but feel. Moments before he had nearly stolen the life of one Izuna Uchiha and as adrenaline and tension crossed through his ever lanky yet muscular form, the conversation mingling between the opposing clans made his heart thumped against his chest as the two clan heads agreed to peace. Hope fluttered dangerously in his chest as his wine colored orbs searched Madara’s half hidden profile, gazing at those pools of obsidian with caution and reluctance whilst trying to determine whether the Uchiha was speaking truth when he offered his hand in establishing between through blood soaked clans. The time following the mutual surrender of the Senju and Uchiha, of Hashirama and Madara finally obtaining the means of support to create the peace they had dreamed of from a young age as they were forced to bury clansmen and young brothers, was a whirlwind of events, filled with peace talks, negotiations, and making sure his anija did not make a fool of himself. He waited for the other shoe to drop as each party laid out the final agreements, for this foolish dream of peace between the two rivals to come to an end before he began to believe it was true, and much to his surprise and his other clansmen (including his far too optimistic elder brother), the Uchiha set a requirement for concession.

“A Senju heir must marry one of ours, as a show of mutual acceptance of these peace agreements and in means of acquiring extra security for our clan.”

By the time this peace talks came to be, Hashirama and Mito had been married for nearly a year already and with the eldest Senju heir already taken and the other two dead and gone, the responsibility of establishing peace, in ending the unnecessary bloodshed between their respective clans, to honor the unneeded deaths of Itama and Kawarama, fell onto Tobirama’s shoulders. Being placed in such a position with no means of escape or replacement had been both suffocating and frustrating but he knew better than to reject the frail olive branch the Uchiha had set before them. Hashirama had tried to reason with Madara, (“Madara, is this really necessary-?”), and before the Uchiha clan head could even think of a response, Tobirama calmly sealed his fate.

“We agree to the terms you lay before us.”

His readied agreeance shocked not only his brother and cousin but floored the Uchiha delegation, particularly one Madara Uchiha who stared at him like he had grown a second head. Many deemed him one of the greatest haters of the Uchiha, having seen his treatment towards the rival clan on and off the battlefield, but Tobirama truly had no firm and enduring hate and ill-will towards the fire natured shinobi. Yes, he felt hate towards the Uchiha that had slaughtered his brothers but it was not directed towards the entirety of the Uchiha; they had been at war and a shinobi did whatever it took to survive or gain an upper hand, even if it meant killing the innocent. He found himself wondering what Kawarama and Itama would be like as he stood there with determination, arms crossed over his chest with finality. Would they be upset at seeing him agree to practically give himself away as a bargaining chip as a means to obtaining peace? Would they beg for there to be another way, to demand the Uchiha change their mind? Sadly, he would never know and that piece of knowing reality only strengthened his resolve.

Hashirama, placed between a rock and a hard place, conceded to giving away his only living brother away as a means of finally having peace and Tobirama watched as dread and reluctance colored his anija’s tar colored eyes. The plans of this arranged marriage were set and Tobirama found himself coming to look eye to eye with his promised husband and obsidian orbs subtly clashed with his pools of merlot, an unspoken bond now tying them together forever. Upon arriving back at the Senju compound, Tobirama found himself subjected to a nearly hysterical Hashirama, his elder brother demanding why, why had Tobirama agreed to such demands, there had to be another way-! Toka, while significantly more in control of her emotions, had similar demands, her main emotions having been anger and frustration (“There is only enough room for one idiot in this family, little cousin, and Hashirama already has that role covered!”) and after dealing with a depressed Hashirama, Tobirama did his best to soothe his cousin's worries. The only calm and rational person aside from Tobirama himself was Mito, his well-collected and commanding sister-in-law swiftly jumping in and knocking some sense into her blubbering husband and seething cousin-in-law and if she told him that she questioned his intelligence as they parted ways for the night, only the gods and the chirping crickets would know.

With the negotiations finished and the bed made and laid in by both parties, the construction of Hashirama and Madara’s dream village began and with it began his forced courtship with the Uchiha clan head. Hashirama, in an attempt to be intimidating, threatened the apathetic Uchiha with bodily harm if he ever came to harm his “precious otouto”, those his threats fell short for numerous reasons, the largest being that the peace treaty prohibited any violence occurring between the clans. Tobirama was swift in reminding his anija of this fact. Madara and his courtship began with a rocky start, as many arranged marriages do (Hashirama and Mito’s being the rare exception), and the need to be open emotionally, to not hide his emotions and to be the mind and voice of reason always was a difficult task. His betrothed also struggled with this reality, to be vulnerable in a world that ate such an open state with murderous glee, and arguments were had and feelings accidentally stepped on. Two emotionally stunted men together was a recipe for disaster and many watched them with bated breaths, for their engagement to fall apart, for the cautious hopes for peace to shatter into millions of pieces before their very eyes. The weight to succeed weighed heavy on Tobirama’s shoulders and as he stood in the middle of Madara and Izuna’s backyard amidst another argument with Madara, copious amounts of rain hailing from above without restraint as frustration and confusion tormented his soul, it finally forced him to collapse. He shouted at the Uchiha standing a mere few feet away from him under the roof of the engawa, tears racing down his marked face as he shouted himself hoarse, one of the worst storms in the region's history unfolding around them. Madara watched him with irritation, a well-made mask of indifference sitting upon his stoic visage, and as Tobirama finally gave up, when he threw the towel in and allow himself to be vulnerable for the first time in years, the Uchiha’s rough lips were suddenly on his own and suddenly his surroundings, his worries, his fears were gone and replaced with warm comfort.

Their relationship became one of truth and openness from that moment forward, the two of them doing their best to establish a balance between themselves, and unknowingly fell in love along the way. By the time the primary building of Konoha had been completed and their wedding date arrived, Tobirama could confidently (and quite fondly, though no one needed to know this at the time) state that he loved Madara Uchiha. As they exchanged their vows before the clans of the village, with Izuna smirking that ugly smirk of his and Hashirama in tears as his poor wife comforted the weeping fool (“He is taking Tobi away from me Mito!”, “Tobirama is not yours beloved, he is a grown man.”) Tobirama gazed at his husband to be with honest hope and heated cheeks. His heart sweetly ached at hearing Madara say “I do”, at knowing without a doubt in his mind that he was now Madara’s and Madara was his, that he had someone in which he could wholly confide his secrets and feelings in, and Tobirama knew he had been blessed well the moment their lips joined, sealing their marital union as those around them cheered and sobbed in the case of his anija. Their marriage, while lovely, of course experienced its own bumps here and there, particularly on matters of legislation and equality within the village, but Tobirama wouldn’t trade it away for the world because a world without Madara at his side was not worth living in.

Yet, as he stared at the white stick resting within his shaking hands, Tobirama feared that the world they had made was going to shatter at any second. Two lines of crimson glared at him with undenying truth, the feeling of an extra, new source of chakra nestled within his own person only confirming the results within his grasp. He had been born as an anomaly not only in appearance but in anatomicalities as well; the midwife had nearly passed out when she caught sight of not only albinism but his newborn self having both male and female genitalia and his father’s reaction hadn’t been much kinder. Few people knew of his condition and those who did typically accepted him no matter his abnormalities, Madara being no exception to that, and as he found himself happily married and being tasked with teaching the up and coming generation, the Senju found the yearning to have children of his own grow with each hair ruffle.

Tobirama knew the likelihood of someone with his condition, rare as it was, being able to carry a child let only father one and had unhappily accepted that he would never be able to have a child of both his and Madara’s making. With this truth in mind, the two of them still practiced safe sex and were content with the moments of parenthood being a mentor allowed them, never feeling compelled to strive for anything more; well, at least, Madara hadn’t shown any interest of having children of their own. Even with their vigilance and cautiousness, they ended slipping up here and there, having drunk too much sake or simply enjoyed feeling one another intimately, flesh to flesh, and now here Tobirama was, standing alone in their shared bathroom, two seconds from imploding as he internally panicked. How could this have happened? They had been so careful! What was Madara going to think?!

Silent, unshed tears threatened to fall down his pale features, the gravity of the situation at hand weighing down on him without any restraint. Madara and he were busy with their village and clan duties, with Tobirama being the advisor to his idiot brother who had been elected hokage somehow, along with being the Uchiha matriarch, and Madara acting as his other advisor and clan head. They had already been married for two years and were financially and emotionally stable as two shinobi could be and would have no trouble affording the costs that came along with having a child. No, Tobirama worried over whether this pregnancy was even viable and if Madara would want the child growing within him. The two of them were happy and content with their childless life, what if Madara only wanted that? He couldn’t give up his child so easily, the chance of having one in itself was a miracle, but he could never imagine living a life without his dark haired Uchiha. This secret was going to be the literal death of him.

*Knock knock*

Soft knocks from the bathroom doorway ripped Tobirama away from his heavy thoughts, the Senju hurried tucking the test into the pocket of his training pants, calling out swiftly, “Enter!”

He was thoroughly relieved when the calm personage of his sister-in-law appeared in the doorway, a look of caution and soft worry conflicting with her beautiful features as she stepped forward, sliding the door closed behind her.

Comforting pools of inky black washed over his form, the Uzumaki princess coming to kneel beside him, “No one saw me enter. It is just us.”

Relief flooded his system once more, a shaky sigh escaping the albino as he ran a hand through his hair for probably the millionth time in that hour alone, “Thank the gods.”

“If I may ask, what is this sudden need for secrecy Tobirama,” Mito questioned calmly, gazing at him with searching eyes. “Has something happened?”

Here goes nothing…

Slowly retrieving the test hidden within his pants pocket, Tobirama shakily deposited it into his sister-in-law’s hands, and if the situation had been different, Tobirama would have revelled in being able to shake Mito into a state of shock as she was now.

The Uzumaki’s now avid attention shifted from the positive pregnancy test to Tobirama, the redhead murmuring with caution, “Are you certain?”

He gave her a weak nod, his nerves growing with each second. “I can sense another source of chakra developing within me. Its size fits with the time frame of the last time Madara and I slept together without protection eight weeks ago.”

“Does Madara know of this,” Mito replied, face growing stoic once more. His lack of an answer had his brother’s wife sighing, placing the test back within Tobirama’s grip, “I see. I figure this pregnancy was neither planned nor expected.”

Tobirama did his best to reign in his fluctuating emotions, the sensor squeezing his eyes shut, “I presumed having a child of our own would never be a reality, considering our circumstances. We have never discussed having children, Mito; what if he does not want to be a father? I-I cannot just dispose of it.”

Mito shifted her form, a comforting hand coming to rest on his shoulder, “While I cannot speak entirely on your husband’s behalf, Tobirama, I know I can say that he would be over the moon to hear you are with child. Madara treasures the clan children, why would he not adore having his own?”

Both he and Madara treasured the children within the Uchiha clan, spending large amounts of time assisting fellow clan members by babysitting their spawn or teaching them various jutsus. Tobirama had often found himself imagining the dark haired children that often swarmed his husband were their children, excited to see their father after a long day. A reality he never thought possible until now.

Pools of wine, shakened with doubt and worry, came to fall upon Mito’s face of comfort and dignity, “How do I even go about telling him? What if he assumes the child is not his?”

She squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, voice smooth as water and warm as midday sun, “He would have to be stupider than he is now to conclude the child within you is the product of adulterous actions, brother. You simply need to be honest with him, just as you always have been; keeping this secret will only complicate things more.”

“Tobirama, I’m home!”

No, no, no, he wasn’t ready, he-!

It was only Mito’s touch that kept Tobirama grounded in that moment of panic, the Uzumaki stating with confidence, “Some things cannot be kept secret Tobirama. Tell him.”

“Tobirama? Is everything alright -?”

Madara’s familiar figure appeared in the bathroom doorway, the Uchiha’s already concerned face only intensifying as he stopped mid sentence, coming to kneel beside Tobirama with worry, “What has happened?”

Standing to her feet with grace, whilst knocking the pregnancy test out of view, Mito greeted the Uchiha clan head with a small smile, “Nothing that will not right itself in time, my friend. Now please excuse me, I promised my husband of mine that I would have his favorite dish prepared for him before he returns.”

Her gaze shifted to Tobirama with skillful ease, stating calmly, “Have faith Tobirama, all will be well.”

With that, the Uzumaki was gone, and the two men were left to themselves, an awkward silence quickly enveloping their persons due to her absence.

It was Madara who spoke first, the Uchiha taking Tobirama’s bare hand in his gloved one, “Are you alright Tobirama?”

Was he alright? He was eight weeks pregnant with a child he was not even sure had been possible until his discovery, one he was not certain that his husband would want. The Senju had numerous duties to fulfill not just as the advisor to the Hokage and as clan matriarch but also as a sensei to his students; he would not be able to assist them in learning for the following months until the child’s subsequent arrival.

Tobirama swallowed the fear attempting to slither up his throat, hand tightening around Madara’s, “Promise me that you will listen to what I have to say before releasing your judgement Madara.”

“What is going? Tobirama-!”

Steeling himself, Tobirama gave his husband a stern glare, “Promise me.”

Madara shifted uneasily in his position beside Tobirama, answering reluctantly, “I promise to listen.”

An agitated sigh left the sensor, Tobirama doing his best to gather his thoughts, “As you know, I have been experiencing fatigue and bouts of sickness these past few weeks. To better understand the reasons behind my condition, I conducted various tests on myself and whilst running these tests, came across a foreign entity within myself.”

His husband stiffened and moved to speak but Tobirama cut him off before a sound could escape him, “Worried that it was unnatural, I began to run more in depth tests to better understand the origin of this foreign entity.”

“In the end, with my symptoms in mind, I conducted a final test to confirm my suspicions. The results have me anxious about your reaction, because it is something I did not think possible of occurring.”

The clan head gazed at him with wariness, fear present in those beautiful pools of midnight black that Tobirama loves to peer into for hours on end, but Madara’s voice is strong with determination, “Whatever it is Tobirama, we will face it together! Hell, that idiot brother of yours will do everything in his power to fix it!”

A frown formed on Tobirama’s face, the sensor retorting quietly, “This is not something that can be healed Madara-.”

“It cannot hurt to at least try,” Madara shouted, his other hand coming to cup Tobirama’s left cheek. “I refuse to let you die laying down you foolish Senju-!”

Chuckling wetly, tears of anxiety and cautious joy blurred his vision, “I am not dying you Uchiha idiot.”

Confliction of relief and confusion waged on Madara’s personage, “You are not? But you said it was unfixable-!”

Tobirama was quick to cut him off, giving the fiery man a firm look, “If you had let me finish before rudely interrupting me, I was going to tell you that the condition I am in cannot be healed but it will fix itself on its own in seven months time you blockhead!”

Black eyes searched his person, clearly scrambling for answers, and the albino groaned in annoyance, “I swear, you can be as dense as my brother at times! I am trying to tell you that I am pregnant, you imbecile!”

Oh kami, what had he done?

Madara froze in his spot beside Tobirama, staring at him with undetectable emotion, and the sensor instantly was sent into a panic at his reaction, “I know we have never officially discussed having children and I know having a child right now while the village is still so young and with us being so busy is not logical but I want to have this child and I will raise it with or without your approval-!”

Rough lips smothering his own cut him off mid-rant, fiery passion burning brightly in the act of intimacy as his husband’s other hand came to cup his right cheek, and after a few moments of quiet, Madara pulled away, joy shining brightly in his tear-blurred eyes, “How could you ever think that I would not want to have a child with the man I love?”

With that, Tobirama fell apart, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he timidly replied, “A normal man could never do this.“

“Who said I wanted a normal man,” Madara firmly questioned, eyes stern and passionate. “I married a man who is a genius shinobi in his own right, who also happens to have a condition that has gifted us with a chance to have a child of our own flesh when so many others couples dream of such an opportunity!”

“You are not upset,” Tobirama whispered cautiously.

Madara gave him a shining smile and kissed him once more, tears of his own running down his face as his right hand came to rest on the albino’s flat stomach, “I could never be upset over something like this Tobirama. A child is a gift from the gods; I only pray it has your beautiful mind.”

The Senju stifled a sob at the Uchiha’s confession and Madara rested his forehead against Tobirama’s, allowing him to give his husband soft, comforting kisses.

After a few moments, Tobirama was able to reign himself in, giving Madara a small grin, “Hashirama and Izuna are going to be complete nightmares once they learn I am expecting.”

Scoffing, Madara pulled away, though he didn’t move his hand resting on Tobirama’s abdomen, “Those two buffoons are already nightmares in general. All hell will break loose once they hear they will be receiving a niece or nephew within the year.”

A comfortable silence filled the area for a few minutes before Tobirama spoke once more, “I asked that we do not let anyone know of the baby until at least the twelfth week mark, Mito aside of course; I do not want to get anyone excited in case I happen to miscarry.”

“You are not going to miscarry anything,” Madara stated confidently, moving Tobirama to rest his back against his chest whilst other hand came to join his right one. “But I understand your reasoning and agree to wait until you are ready to share this news.”

Tobirama turned his head to look at his husband, murmuring lovingly, “Thank you Madara.”

His husband pecked his lips, replying fondly, “Anything for you, my husband.”

Some secrets were better worth sharing after all.

[entishramblings]

It’s Not That Bad [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: I’m so sorry I have not been writing as often. I’ve had zero time. But anyWaYS...here is a fic that has been requested by someone who has always been into my writing so thank you for supporting me and here is a fic for you! Additionally, I did some research on herbs and stuff so I could make this at least a little accurate!

Request: @quilledinkpen — Hellooo i hope you're having a good day ^-^ I was wondering if I could request a Legolas x reader? Something like she's travelling with the fellowship and is kinda the unspoken "mom" of the group, like she's always doing her best to make sure everyone's safe, and reminding Pippin and Merry to be careful and stuff like that. Just an all-around motherly person lol (mainly to the Hobbits bc they're her babies but she looks after the other guys too) I think it'd be cute ^^ Thank you!

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N), a healer, travels with the fellowship. She takes care of everyone and is basically “the mom friend.”

Word Count: 2, 510

Warnings: battle wounds that are kinda graphicish?

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST

(Y/N) was a well known healer throughout all of Arda. Many traveled to her for treatment for life threatening ailments. But now, now it was her time to travel throughout the lands of Middle Earth in search of a salvation for all. A gruesome quest to destroy the evil ring of power had begun and someone well versed in natural apothecary was needed. (Y/N), of course, volunteered for this role for there was no one better suited than her. Besides, it was her duty to contribute to the survival of this world as she was one in it and relied heavily on what the earth produced. And if Sauron was to rule.....well, we all know where that would lead: no earth, no life, just darkness.

(Y/N) ruffled through her dark-brown leather satchel as she sifted through her healing herbs. Little pouches filled with athelas leaves, echinacea stalks, alder bark, valerian roots, and more piled inside the confinements of the fabric.

“Sam,” She called out. “Would you mind making hot tea for Frodo while I take care of Strider’s cut?”

The little hobbit ran over instantly and she passed him a couple pouches naming each one out loud, “Valerian root, dried chamomile pedals, and sycamore bark.” She then lowered her voice and leaned it, for it wasn’t anyone else’s business to hear. “It will help him sleep and deter the anxieties the ring bestows upon him.”

Sam nodded quickly and set to work as (Y/N) moved towards Aragorn who sat upon a large rock.

“Let me have a look.”

The dunedain rolled his eyes, “(Y/N), it is not that bad. Just a scratch.”

The young women sighed in annoyance and pulled up his sleeve to reveal a slash across his bicep. He was right—to an extent—it wasn’t terrible. He would not need stitches. However, it did need to be cleaned and wrapped for infections were nasty things.

(Y/N) started by pouring some alcohol over the wound; receiving a harsh hiss from the dunedain in response. She muttered a quick apology before continuing. The young woman ground athelas leaves into a fine paste and expertly smeared it onto the cut. She then unrolled gauze and placed it upon the wound. Lastly, she pulled white dressings from her satchel. She gingerly wrapped it around his arm, yet she was careful to still pull it taught as the goal was to keep the athelas paste in and bacteria out.

She stood up and brushed her hands off before placing them firmly on her hips. “See Strider, it takes only a couple minute.”

He grumbled at her comment but thanked her for the medical attention.

(Y/N) nodded quickly and went to check on the rest of the fellowship. She made her way to Boromir who was also sitting in rest. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Boromir, how are you doing? Any wounds?”

He seemed slightly startled at first for his mind had been elsewhere, but he looked up at her with a soft smile.

“I’m quite alright, My Lady.”

A light chuckled escaped her lips. “My friend, how many times must I tell you? It’s (Y/N), no lady of any sorts!”

He shook his head and grinned at her, “Well, my lady, I am doing quite fine.”

She let her eyes circle into the back of her head as the corner of her lip pulled into a smirk.

The healer turned and made her way to Gimli who was sharpening his axe.

“Gimli, I trust you are alright as I see you are already preparing for the next battle even though we just endured one.”

His gruff voice answered immediately, “Aye lassie! Those orcs can’t ensnare a dwarf that easily!!”

She laughed at his comment as Merry and Pippin came rushing up to her. As soon as she saw their faces she knew that the two mischievous hobbits wanted to claim her attention. She lowered herself down to their height as they flung themselves into her arms.

“Ahh my two hobbits! How did you fare in the battle?”

They pulled from her hug and began speaking at the same time.

“It was intensely scary but we were fierce!”

“Merry had hit one with a tree branch! It was quite magnificent!”

“Yes it was, I would have to admit! And Pip tripped another and he fell flat on his face!”

(Y/N) beamed at the two and giggled at their attempt to tell the story. As much as she was focused on caring for everyone, the hobbits cared for her—in another way that is. The four of them brought joy to her heart and glee to her spirit. Their innocence and appreciation of the simplest things brought happiness to her soul. They had offered her a welcomed visit to the shire at any time; telling her of the grand tour they would take her on. She had grown to look upon them as children for their smallness and way of perceiving life was similar so.

The two scampered off quickly, most likely to share their adrenaline filled story with Boromir, while (Y/N) did a final scan of the fellowship.

Her eyes soon rested on the elf. Legolas was off to a distance standing upon the rocky tundra. Something about his posture made her frown. His back was to her and his head seemed bowed, as if he was looking down at something. Furthermore, his one arm was pulled up at an awkward angle—strange, even for the elf. As the healer that she was, she was compelled to check on him.

(Y/N) weaved through the rocks until she was only a short distance from him.

“Legolas?” She questioned softly.

He immediately whipped around. His shirt fell to cover his form, but not before (Y/N) caught a glimpse of bright purple, red, and black. The young woman’s lips instantly parted in shock. She had seen many wounds in her life, on many people of many different races. However, it was not often that she had an elven patient with a wound like that. To state it simply, (Y/N) was worried—that looked bad, very bad. Legolas on the other hand was only flustered for he, an elf, had gotten snuck up on. He did not have great concern for the injury given that there were far more important things to worry about.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated firmly. “Lift your shirt.”

He sighed, “(Y/N), it’s not—“

She interrupted him, “Let me guess, ‘It’s not that bad?’” She shook her head, “You and Strider.”

She stepped forward and took the hem of his shirt in her hand. She cautiously lifted the fabric, not caring about the socially deemed scandalousness of the action—she was a healer after all.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath. A relatively large bruise stretched across his torso with a sizable cut in the center of it.

“By the Valar, Legolas!” She exclaimed with exasperation. “You should have come to me straight away!”

“(YN)—“

She cut him off again, “No. don’t ‘(Y/N)’ me. This is serious. It could be internal bleeding. I don’t care that you are an immortal elf, you can still die from this.”

The healer gently let her fingertips brush against his skin, tracing and examining the injury. He winced in pain at the contact and that did not escape (Y/N)’s attention.

“How did this happen exactly? I need every detail.”

Legolas groaned again when she grazed over the cut; and when he spoke it was with heavy breaths, “A harsh kick to the side into another orc....” (Y/N) hand pressed on the bleeding laceration and he hissed in pain before continuing to speak. “...who—who slashed downward.....with a jagged-edged blade that had a—a curved tip.

(Y/N) looked up at him with concern, his breathing was getting labored and that was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

“Alright, come on.” She ordered. The young woman practically dragged the reluctant elf back towards the group and pushed him down on a rock.

She knelt in front of him and, once again, ruffled through her satchel.

“Take your tunic off,” she commanded while pulling out various pouches and gauze dressings.

(Y/N) could feel all of the fellowships’ gazes on the two, which only intensified when Legolas removed his tunic. She could hear the hobbit’s hushed whispers and concerned tones for the wound was gruesome and ugly—probably the worst they have ever seen considering their simple lives.

Once she had all her supplies ready, she set to work.

(Y/N) was kneeling in-between Legolas’s legs while she studied the torn up, bloody, and bruised fresh for yet another time; it was imperative that she made a plan before starting.

During this examination, the young woman could not help but let her eyes wander across his chest and rippling muscles. The bends and curves of his form looked perfect against his pale complexion. He was incredibly toned and well built, even more so than humans. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to him.

Additionally, battle scars of various shapes and sizes littered his body—which was expected given he was over 2,000 years old. Here, she took a moment to study them for if one really looked at a warriors scars their fighting style would be revealed. Many stretched across his being—specifically on his ribcage, sides, pecs, and abs—it was clear that he was way more reckless than he would like people to think. He was fast with his moves, going for the quickest way to an oppenent’s death, but that often left him exposed. No wonder he ended up with this terrible bruising gash. He lived up to the Mirkwood elf expectation—less wise and more fierce.

As (Y/N) realized that her mind had wandered too far off task, she cleared her throat and reached for the flask of liquor.

“This will sting,” she stated before pouring it over the broken flesh. As expected, a loud groan escaped his lips and his fists clenched around nothingness.

Carefully she dabbed the area with a cloth. (Y/N) then threaded a needle and began to sew his skin back together. The elf was stiff as he clenched his jaw and flexed his muscles—a natural reflex in this kind of situation. She continued to pull his skin taught so their was no more breakthrough bleeding. It seemed that he had gotten used to the sensation as she went given he began to relax. Next, she made a paste for the wound, much like Strider’s. However, she decided to use more than athelas leaves because this cut was more severe than the Ranger’s. (Y/N) ground up echinacea stalks and mixed in alder bark to soothe inflammation and fight infection. Gently she applied the blended mixture into his torso. Lastly, she wound gauze and dressings around his midsection in order to keep everything in place.

Much time had past given stitches took long; luckily, the fellowships’ concerned glances faded.

(Y/N) stood up from her position and it was then when she released just how close the two were. She stood between his legs, their faces inches apart. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have cared for she often had to be in such proximities with others as she was a healer. But this wasn’t anyone else, it was him.

“You—you should be fine now,” (Y/N) whispered. She cleared her throat and stepped backwards. “I will have to check on it every day and redo the bandages. And I advise you: no sudden movements, and no lifting heavy objects—like the hobbits.”

Legolas cracked a smile at that last comment. “Thank you, (Y/N). I truly appreciate your skill.”

“That is what I’m here for, is it not?” She adverted her eyes and kept her hands busy by gathering her supplies for she feared her expression would betray her.

Legolas put his tunic back on as he spoke, “I suppose it is, but nethertheless I thank you.”

......

As the days went on she continued to check Legolas’s wound. (Y/N) tried to make it more private by dragging him off to the side or away from the group, given that she suspected it was uncomfortable for him to undress everyday in front of inquiring eyes (aka the hobbits).

It was dusk when she crouched down to examine it once again.

“It is healing nicely,” She said. “A lot faster than I suspected, but I suppose that is because you are elven.” Her nervousness caused her to continue speaking when she did not wish to do so. “I mainly treat men....and dwarves. It is not often that I have a wounded elf at my door. Do you know an elf named Feren? I recall he said he was of Mirkwood Kin. I treated him once years ago for a busted leg when he strayed into northern territories.”

A small smirk crossed Legolas’s face, “Ahh so you are the beautiful healer who patched him up so well?”

(Y/N) felt heat creep up her face, “I—I would not say that—“

“Nonsense! He spoke of your beauty and skill many times, and he was not mistaken. I am just surprised that I have been lucky enough to gaze upon you and have you heal me.”

These words made (Y/N)’s gauze wrapping motions falter. “It—it is my job, Legolas.”

“Yet you go beyond your assignment and duty everyday. I see how you take care of us all, especially the hobbits. You truly have a noble heart.”

(Y/N) smiled softly and spoke in a teasing tone, “Well I suppose you are right—all you boys would be lost without me.”

A deep chuckled hummed in Legolas’s chest and the healer joined in with a bright laugh.

The giggles settled soon enough and Legolas spoke, his sentence quite abrupt. “How would you feel about coming to Mirkwood and living there as a healer once the ring is destroyed?”

Shocked, (Y/N) stuttered. “I—I am unsure. I don’t know if—“

“(Y/N)...” He interrupted. “I do not wish for the end of this journey to be the end of our acquaintance.”

The young woman looked down, “As I agree, but—“

“(Y/N),” he whispered.

Something about his tone made her freeze.

Ever so gently, he lifted her chin to force her to look at him. His voice was quiet as he spoke, “I—I don’t think you understand what I am trying to convey.”

Oh....

Now she understood.

The healer glanced at his lips which hovered near her own before biting her bottom one and locking gazes with him. Legolas of course noticed this and waisted no time. He pressed his mouth against hers and she instantly responded. Her hands slid up his bare chest, careful to avoid the wound on his torso, and then tangled themselves in his blonde locks. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist tightly as he focused on the taste of mint tea and fresh honey. The two moved their lips in sync and the world around them melted away. Suddenly, there was no quest, no fellowship, no responsibilities—only the two of them and the thudding of their hearts.

.......

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @wellfuckmyexistence

Legolas tag: @dark-angel-is-back

If you want to be tagged lmk!

[bureowo]

skinny love | stray kids headcanons

skinny love: term used to describe a romantic relationship between two people who are unable to communicate their feelings for each other.

genre: fluff, slight angst bc i can’t escape my roots.

word count: ~2.8k total.

warnings: none.

chan

› chan looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars in the sky. he stares at you a lot, sometimes you catch him and you both pretend you don’t notice the way you start to blush or how his ears turn red.

› he always smiles when he sees you and asks you about your day because he genuinely wants to know. he loves to hear you talk about anything and everything, and could listen to your voice for hours on end. but as much as he enjoys the chitchat, nothing compares to the deep conversations the two of you share. you trust each other, so much, you tell each other things you wouldn’t even dream of saying aloud otherwise. and chan’s heart swells when he thinks about it, it means the world to him.

› chan can be very charming, and when he’s in a confident mood, he can be so flirty. the compliments are relentless and he smiles at you with a teasing gleam in his eyes. he holds your hands, and if he’s feeling reckless, he might even place his hand on the small of your back, or maybe even your thigh.

› he loves spending time with you. you’ll always remember the first time he invited you over to the studio. you arrived mid-afternoon, thinking you’d only be there for a couple of hours, only to find yourself well past dusk, still sitting besides him. you tried to be mad at him, really, but his bashful smile and the promise of a quick food run quickly tore your resolution to shreds. that night, after a nice, warm meal and a myriad of giggles and murmurs, the two of you fell asleep wrapped up in each other’s embrace, the armrest of the studio’s couch digging uncomfortably into your neck. but just as you’d been about to drift off, you could’ve sworn you heard the faintest whisper of “i love you.”

minho

› minho stares at you great deal as well, but the way he looks at you is much more pensive, his expression hard to read. (but, oh, if only you knew the thoughts that spin through his mind like a whirlwind). he doesn’t blush or make a big deal out of it when you catch him staring, instead he just keeps looking at you, straight into your eyes, as if he can see right through your soul.

› he’s not one to be lowkey, really. he tries to get your attention from across the room, deliberately smirking or even winking at you if you happen to land your sight upon him. minho relishes in making you laugh, it’s like music to his ears. whenever you hang out with the rest of the boys, he tries his hardest to elicit the melodious string of giggles out of your mouth, throwing witty comment after sarcastic joke your way, his gaze focused on you and a smug, complacent grin on his face.

› minho is so soft for you, he’d never admit it out loud but he doesn’t need to, everyone can tell. he’s always much more lenient with you, much gentler, than he is with anyone else. you’re at the forefront of his thoughts at all times and even the slightest shift in your demeanour or the smallest change in your expression makes alarms go off in his head.

› he’s so affectionate in such subtle ways sometimes. you’ll never forget the first time he made your heart flutter. it was such a simple action, truly, he was just trying to get an eyelash off your cheek, but the softness of his thumb as it brushed across your skin and the tender way in which he held your face made you shiver. his face was so close to yours, you could feel his breath fanning over your skin. his body so near to your own, you could feel his chest heaving with  each breath he took. he was so close, and there was nothing you’d wanted more in that moment than to kiss him, kiss him deep and hard, kiss him with everything you had. and he was so close that maybe you could have, and maybe you did.

changbin

› changbin radiates a glow so warm and blazing it could even put the sun to shame. he compliments you so much, a slightly lopsided grin permanently etched onto his face whenever he talks to you. and the way he looks at you sometimes, with half-lidded, dreamy eyes. he’s effortlessly charming, and you just can’t help the way he makes you feel, like your heart is going to burst into flames.

› he wouldn’t admit it even if somebody paid him to, but he dresses up extra good when he knows he’s going to see you. the amount of time he spends rummaging through his closet and checking himself out in front of the mirror almost makes him feel embarrassed, but he just truly wants to impress you. he wants to show off in front of you, and if that means having to flex his arms a little and then get flustered when the boys tease him over it, then so be it. because, really, it’s all worth it the second words of praise and flattery begin leaving your mouth.

› changbin wants to know everything about you: the good, the bad and the ugly. he’s always asking things about you, and he tells you a lot about himself in exchange, too. he wants you to know that you can trust him, and that he’ll always be there for you, no matter what. he is so generous and giving, he tries to help you with everything he can, from the small things, like handing you the utensils as he watches you cook, to the more grievous matters.

› he remembers the day he came into your apartment only to find you completely broken, falling apart on your couch. the memory still nicks at his heart, it makes him grimace every time he thinks back to the endless stream of tears flowing down your face. he held onto your shoulders, trying to get you to speak, to just talk to him, tell him what was wrong, though you could do nothing but sob. his mind went haywire, panic quickly filling his entire body, so he did the only think he could think of: he held you. he held you firmly and securely in between his arms, head tucked under his chin. he held you for hours on end, until your tears ceased and you both fell asleep. and then, he held you some more.

hyunjin

› oh, sweet little hyunjin, it’s so obvious he adores you. sometimes, when he’s looking at you, he gets so caught up in your beauty he forgets what he’s doing. and when you smile at him or laugh at one of his jokes? it’s like his brain short-circuits, he messes up his words, stammering and fumbling to get out any sort of wordage. as senseless as it may come out, he always manages to make it sound cute.

› he talks to you a lot, he brings up small details about himself and tells you about the things he likes in hopes that you’ll remember them, and also, as a subtle way to get you speaking about yourself without having to ask you directly. but hyunjin also tells you other things, things about himself he’s never told anyone. he trusts you wholeheartedly, so he lets his walls down and opens up to you.

› he loves spending time with you. he texts you as you’re about to fall asleep, asking if you want to go get food with him. he’ll randomly show up at your doorstep with facemasks and a tub of ice cream, claiming it’s ‘self-care day’. you’ve grown accustomed to having to cancel plans because a spur of the moment adventure with hyunjin sounds that much more enticing.

› hyunjin is very soft and affectionate with you, he holds your hand gently and likes to smooth his fingers over your hair. there’s nothing he enjoys more, however, than cuddling on the sofa with you on a foggy afternoon, with a blanket draped over the both of you and a movie playing quietly on the background. he sighs in contentment a lot, holding you close to him, and he looks at you so fondly. he gets so incredibly shy if anyone catches you, though. like that time chan walked into the living room to find you and hyunjin in the midst of a cuddling session, limbs tangled and blanket almost laying on the floor. chan cleared his throat awkwardly before scurrying off to his room, but by then, hyunjin’s face was already smooshed against your neck. he groaned, wrapping his arms around you a bit tighter as his cheeks turned rosy.

jisung

› jisung’s feelings for you are so inconspicuous, sometimes you’re even left wondering if he feels anything for you at all. if he even thinks of you the way you think of him, because your heart has a special place set aside and it has his name written all over it. but, oh, if only you knew what you mean to him; you are a beacon of light shining in the dark, luring him in like a moth to a flame.

› he gives you so much attention, really, he can’t keep his eyes off of you. he smiles whenever you enter the room, face brightening immediately, before greeting you with a soft ‘hi’. jisung always stands by you in crowds, eyes alert and hand attached to your shoulder, as if he’s afraid he’s going to lose you amongst the people. sometimes, you take his hand from your shoulder and hold it, intertwining your fingers with his, afraid you might lose him, too.

› jisung tries so hard to impress you. he wears the type of clothes he knows you like and he does his hair in the styles you’ve complimented him for. he tends to wear your favourite colour quite often, as well, in hopes it’ll catch your eye. jisung just wants you to tell him he looks good, honestly, because he can be rather hesitant at times, insecure even.

› it still makes your guts churn when you recall the tremble in his voice, the night he’d asked you: “am I good enough?”. your hands felt as gelid as the night draught as it brushed across your faces. you weren’t all too clear on what he’d been alluding to, in which way could he possibly deem himself not good enough, but you knew without a shadow of a doubt that jisung was the best person you’d ever come to know. white puffs left your mouth, dissipating into the air above you as you described him from your viewpoint, listing all of the attributes and virtues that compose the essence of what’s truly him, someone who is so good. and the way he looked at you afterwards left you feeling bare in a way you never had before.

felix

› you and felix’s feelings are so palpable and so glaringly reciprocated, everyone around you two is left scratching their heads, wondering how the both of you can be so oblivious. but then again, how could you really know for certain?

› felix is, by nature, quite an affectionate, touchy person. so how are you to deduce that the way he hugs you just a bit too tight, or how his hand rests warmly and comfortably over yours for just a tad too long, or the manner in which he oh-so-gently strokes your back when he can tell you’re nervous, mean anything other than that: touches? and how are you supposed to know that his skin tingles all over every time you as much as graze a finger over it?

› he invites you places, and introduces you to all his friends with an arm thrown over your shoulder, as if he’s trying to show you off. he takes you to restaurants and coffee shops, never the same one twice. “it’s so we can know new places” he always says. and he loves going out for walks through the park with you, he holds your hand whilst smiling toothily, and when you get tired you both sit on the grass and watch the sun go down.

› it’s preposterous, really, how daft you two can be. or maybe you’re both bluffing, pretending neither of you can see the signs. you pondered over this thought one afternoon, felix was animatedly telling you about his day, but you’d only been picking up a few stray words here and there. it’s not like you meant to not give him your full attention, you just couldn’t help but get lost in his features. by the time you realized he stopped talking, you’d been staring at his lips long enough for him to notice. if you’d been a little less enthralled, you would’ve anxiously waited for an awkward chuckle, or perhaps even a teasing remark, but instead he leaned a little closer to you, and your heart skipped a beat.

seungmin

› seungmin is subtle, like the rays of sunlight shining through the trees on a midspring afternoon: tepid and in view, but not in the fulgent way that leaves you blinded and stunned. he’s sweet and friendly, always talking to you with a big, fond smile on his face. he pays so much attention to you whenever you speak and he’s very responsive, sometimes you can’t help the blush from creeping up your cheeks.

› he tells you things about himself, and you love how excited he gets when you ask him questions about his interests, you can’t help but find the way he rambles on and on, looking at you with starry eyes, utterly adorable. he always tries to sneak in little comments or jokes to make you laugh too, and if he manages it, the broad and full smile adorning his face doesn’t clear out until he’s well and deep into sleep.

› he cares about you a lot. he checks up on you rather regularly, and you’re not quite sure when it started, but ‘hey, have you eaten yet?’ has become his way of greeting you. he just wants to make sure you’re taking proper care of yourself. he sends you texts often, letting you know how he’s doing and what he’s been up to, so you don’t worry too much if you guys haven’t been able to meet for a while. because even if he doesn’t see you, you live in his mind night and day.

› sometimes seungmin get shy, head tilting downwards bashfully. other times, though, he gets gutsy, dauntless. like that day that time stood still. he’d been talking to you merrily, holding your wrists in between his hands and swinging your arms around lightly. your head was buzzing, you felt lighter and lighter with every word seungmin spoke, and before too long, you felt as if the two of you were floating, suspended in mid-air. you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, afraid that if you did, it would all end and you’d both come crashing down. yet when he had finished speaking, his grasp on you lingered, and he gazed at you so longingly. and the two of you stayed like that, defying gravity for just a moment longer.

jeongin

› jeongin tries to be tenuous, he truly does. he likes to think that his feelings for you are as nebulous and impalpable as the clouds in the sky. though they are more like the rain, washing down upon you and impossible to ignore. he wonders why the boys tease him about you, but that’s only because he can’t see the way his eyes gleam any time he looks at you.

› he’s so friendly and sweet with you, nicer than he is with anyone else. he’s affectionate without even realizing it, he holds your hand to pull you along when he wants you to walk faster, he drapes his arm over your shoulder when he sits besides you, he clings to your arm for balance whenever you make him laugh. he’s so charming, you just can’t help but melt into his touch and become putty in his hands.

› he is so attached to you, honestly. at first, he’d just invite you places every now and again, yet slowly but surely it turned into him showing up at your place and announcing what the two of you would be doing for that particular day. it’s habitual now, for him to text you an address, soliciting your immediate arrival. the boys don’t even question it anymore, it’s fact, a stability, the sun rises every morning, and you’ll go wherever jeongin asks you to with a pep in your step and a smile on your face.

› jeongin delights in playing around with you and teasing you. there’s a moment in particular that you can’t help but replay over and over inside your head. he’d been teasing you unremittingly throughout the entire day, throwing sarcastic after witty comment your way about anything that popped into his mind and, truthfully, he was getting on your nerves. he wasn’t often like this, usually he’d stop after a pout and a bat of the eyelashes, but that day he seemed bolder, adamant. it only took a peculiar remark for you to completely lose it, although not how he expected. you jumped into position, fully ready and willing to fight him to the best of your capabilities. he took every punch and kick, pretending they actually hurt and letting out fake crying noises. not too long after, you both collapsed on the couch, laughing and slightly out of breath, you turned your face towards him only to find him already looking at you. you stared at each other and begun to feel breathless once more, although this time, it was for completely different reasons.

[starleska]

when Logic twists: an analysis of Logan, cognitive distortions, and a future Side

spoilers ahead! this is a little deep-dive into some foreshadowing in the latest Sanders Sides episode, and what i believe the team are going for in terms of Logan’s arc. just some thoughts i had after the episode - i hope you enjoy, and would love to hear your thoughts too :) tw for discussion around mental illness, trauma, abuse, intrusive thoughts, therapy, etc. 

so, we all know that Thomas does a marvellous job portraying difficulties with mental health. he uses interactions between his Sides to carve out fun stories that dramatise the the internal struggles which come with facing complex situations, including those which arise from your specific history and mental illnesses. the writing behind Sanders Sides often uses consideration of real symptoms and therapeutic techniques in order to impart useful advice to the audience who may be struggling with similar issues. with all of this in mind, i thoroughly believe that a good chunk of you are correct about this new Side (foreshadowed in Logan’s eyes) being Wrath, or some variant of Stress or Anger, and here’s why: 

Logan is the side of Thomas which is constantly needing to pick up the slack. not only does he spend a good deal of his time de-escalating conflict between the other Sides, he is constantly letting his own dreams (and consequently, needs) fall by the wayside to comfort, validate and assist Thomas' overall desires. we even literally see him benched during the court case with Janus - his input is considered unimportant unless he is deemed as the voice of reason. with this understanding, Logan is viewed by the other Sides as a Side who doesn’t need help. He’s Logic, so they believe he always knows what is appropriate, and how to control himself - or even that he doesn’t need to control himself at all.  yet i don’t believe this to be the case, and i think ‘Working THROUGH Intrusive Thoughts’ foreshadows this in an intriguing way: by utilising the dynamic between Logan and Remus. for context, i am speaking as an individual who suffers from Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), a form of PTSD. whilst the Thomas we know in the Sanders Sides universe is of course somewhat sanitised and simplified for the easier imparting of moral lessons, we know that this Thomas suffers from issues with intrusive thoughts, low self-esteem, and high anxiety. whether or not these can all be attributed to an underlying condition is irrelevant, but what is intriguing is whether these symptoms are being exacerbated by traumatic, triggering or otherwise stressful events affecting Thomas’ life - which, based on the direction ‘Working THROUGH Intrusive Thoughts’ went (using the relationship with Nico as a conduit), i think is true. when you experience a number of traumatic events or an acute amount of stress, your Logic can become faulty. let’s think about Logan not as a super-genius who just knows what is the correct thing to do all of the time: his knowledge comes from a bank of information and experiences, which he constantly uses to provide a ‘rational’ stance next to the more ‘emotional’ traits of each Side. yet Logic relies on evidence in order to build up this ‘rationality’. let’s think about a scenario wherein you are told every day by someone that you are ugly. now, if this occurred later in life, your Logic might have already rationalised that this is not the case - that you are beautiful just as you are, that this person is seeking to hurt you, that they are projecting, etc. your Logic would make those reasonable counterpoints based on past experience. however, if you were told by multiple people throughout your life, every day, that you are ugly - say, from caregivers, or close friends - you would internalise ‘i am ugly’ as part of that internal Logic. in the first scenario, you would be able to accurately evaluate the thought, ‘i am ugly’ as a cognitive distortion. however, in the latter scenario, you may be unable to, because you have this bank of ‘evidence’ that other people perceive this as reality. even if those people are abusers, or have an ulterior motive, the notion will be internalised and become your reality - so your Logic will say, ‘i am ugly, based on all of the evidence.’  i find this interesting because in this latest episode, they specifically had Logan call attention to cognitive distortions. we must remember that Logan is a part of Thomas. this is Thomas attempting to rationalise with himself, to implement mindfulness and CBT techniques which he knows to be successful, because they have worked in the past and he has it on scientific authority that they help with intrusive thoughts. but this leads us to a question: what happens when you experience so many traumatic events, or so much stress, that your Logic turns against you and begins to validate your intrusive thoughts?  imagine for a moment Logan’s awesome rational power - but levied in support of all of Thomas’ deepest fears. in my own experience with CPTSD, a horribly thorny mental trap is the one you fall into when you start down the path of ‘i must be a horrible person, just like they said. i must have deserved everything done to me. look at all of the evidence.’ these thoughts often appear rational due to the intense nature of the sufferer’s pain, particularly if that pain is repeated or prolonged. i believe that Logan’s outburst, paired with Thomas’ fretting over not receiving a call back from Nico, are supposed to represent the building stages of this mental trap. such thoughts are difficult to emerge from, but they become even more difficult to deal with when met with a powerful emotion: Rage. if you have cause to think thoughts of the ‘i am a disgusting human being’ variety thanks to trauma, stress or similar negative events, often there is a good deal of pent-up Rage stored alongside. justifiable Rage, one might say - it certainly feels so in the mind of someone who has suffered so terribly. if one is prone to hating themselves, feeling inadequate or other fertile breeding ground for intrusive thoughts, they may also sometimes snap into the opposite extreme - becoming infuriated by everything that has happened to them, and that they are still needing to deal with yet more pain in the present. this is something i have suffered from personally: when mixed with trauma, it is equal parts emotional dysregulation, and being triggered by something. you might be enRaged by the idea that you were ever ‘passive’ as a victim of something terrible, and want to ‘fight back’. in other words, the emotional state of your Rage will feel justified - and this can cause you to engage in some deeply destructive behaviours. this is why i believe this new Dark Side will be Rage (or an equivalent). Logan’s ‘STOP IGNORING ME!’ speaks of a breaking point brought on by years of fixing other people’s problems, only to receive very little in return. there’s a misconception that people who are ‘good’ at handling stress or fixing other people’s problems (i.e., not showing much of the strain) are simply less stressed as a whole, and therefore should be saddled with yet more stress. Logan’s screaming at Remus, and Remus’ delight at Logan’s response, shows us that Logan is exhausted from all of the hard work that he’s had to do in order to fight Thomas’ intrusive thoughts and cognitive distortions, alongside the massive amount of stress in his life. likewise, by giving into his impulsivity and opening up more opportunities for further stress, Thomas has allowed Logan - and his Logic - to become vulnerable to Remus and intrusive thoughts. Logan may have successfully been able to dispel the intrusive thoughts which had no basis in reality (for instance, a murderer hiding in Thomas’ closet) - but what happens if Thomas is given validation for an intrusive thought? in other words - what if Logan feels he has reason to listen to Remus? i believe this Rage has been simmering within Thomas for a long time, and his debut is going to be explosive. there are lots of ways this debut could be written; some have theorised that Logic and Rage will be a kind of antithesis to the Creativitwins, wherein the two are fused as Thomas has internalised his Rage as having a Logical root. this would have Rage not as a separate side, but a kind of version or alternate mindset for Logan, a bit like how he was when in Virgil’s room. i would not be surprised at all for this episode to include both Remus and Janus - Remus, revelling in the intrusive thoughts which Logan/Rage is now allowing to fly free, and Janus, delighting in Logan/Rage’s validation of destructive behaviours, which may well include Deceit. i could also see Virgil being drawn in by this irresistible combination of Anxiety-fuelling thoughts - intrusive thoughts inspiring inadequacy, Deceit inspiring fear of being found out, and the terror of Logic being twisted to validate every fear Virgil has ever had for Thomas. you know when someone has hurt you really badly, and so in your head you come up with countless (awful, unrealistic, hurtful) ways to ‘get back at them’? that’s what i think the next Sanders Sides episode is going to be like.  of course, like Anxiety, Intrusive Thoughts and Deceit, Rage will have his uses too. i believe, if any of this theorising is correct, that the next Sanders Sides episode will follow a narrative discussing if Rage is justified when one is hurt to a massive extreme, and what Logic can one follow when it backs up every destructive impulse. are you being Logical if you are full of Rage? basically, i think Logan (influenced by a breaking point and giving over to Rage) is going to do everything in his power to be destructive, under the idea that it is the only Logical thing to do. i believe he will fall to the horrific power of cognitive distortions and mental illness, and that the other Sides will need to use their strengths to bring him back. anyway, that’s all my thoughts! my apologies for any inaccuracies, or if anything in here was upsetting. i’d love to hear what you think about this, and your own theories! :D take care 💏

[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Two

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Smut (DUBCON), Somnophilia, Injuries, Dark Themes, Language,

Word Count: 3.2K

A/n: Here you go! Pissed this out in like, an hour because I’m starting to really really like this series already lol. Hope you enjoy!

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

Part One!

~*~

You pace around the kitchen of the small house, fingers stuck in your hair, pulling it at the roots.

You've been here for four hours. Alone. The Captain gave you few words before pushing you into the house and closing the door behind himself, leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts and the worst-case-scenarios that your mind has been conjuring since leaving Fury's office.

There's no way for you to leave the house. That much you gathered quickly. After bruising your fingers trying to pry the door open, and wracking your brain trying to figure out a loophole for the DNA keypad, you gave up. The windows are all made of the thickest glass you've ever encountered, and nothing you’ve thrown at them made them crack in the slightest.

So you brought yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find a weapon to use to defend yourself, only to be disappointed. All the cabinets and drawers are locked. Why everything is locked and reinforced so much, you have no clue. And it only makes you more nervous.

Now you pace, back and forth and back and forth in the kitchen, trying desperately to figure out what they have planned for you and why they're doing this. They're supposed to be heroes, for god's sake. 

Protectors. And yet they lock you in a strange place, with no contact with the outside world and no chance of escape. You find yourself wondering if they're really any better than the people they fight.

The front door beeps twice then opens, freezing you mid-step.

You stare at one of the two hallways leading to the kitchen, each hallway meeting in the front foyer and leading to the front door. The fact that there are two ways to access the kitchen puts you at ease and on edge at the same time. You won't know where the intruder is coming from, but you'll have an escape if they mean to harm you.

You strain your ears, listening intently for whoever is in the house. It's futile, however, because anyone entering the house would be a highly trained spy and would know how to stay quiet and be undetected.

"Jesus Christ, they really did it," A male voice whispers from behind you. You spin around, facing the hallway behind you. You stare up at him and instantly recognize him as the Winter Soldier. 

He's wearing a casual outfit, black fitted jeans and a black hoodie, hands shoved into his pockets. His hair is long and unkempt around his head, and his eyes are a striking blue that seems to stare straight through your body and into your soul.

He remembers seeing a picture of you, one picture among thousands of others of women that fury deemed 'replaceable'. His lack of regard for human life made the metal armed soldier uneasy, and seeing you here in front of him makes him feel sick to his stomach.

"A-are you gonna hurt me?" The words fly from your lips before you can stop them, and you flinch away from him, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate a hostile move on his part.

He sighs, the sound bordering on a scoff, and shakes his head, metal fingers coming up and raking through his hair.

"No. I'm not gonna hurt you. Not on purpose." You peak your eyes open at that, curious about his intentions.

"C-Captain Rogers and Commander Fury said that I'm here to 'personally help you' and to 'take care of you'... what do they mean by that?" He looks at your frightened eyes then down to the ground.

"I uh... it..." He shakes his head and groans.

"I've been... falling back into old habits. At night... I get triggered into the soldier. And I've been trying to... hurt my female companions lately. The Captain thinks that having a woman to help satisfy my... primal desires will make me less of a hazard on the field." The words roll over in your mind and you look up at him.

"So I've been taken as some sort of sex slave?!" He winces at the way you spit the ugly words, not wanting to think about it like that.

"Well... no... I don't know! I was opposed to it, but they insisted. So... I picked you out of everyone. You've got a pretty face... and your body..." He trails off, eyes roaming up and down your figure then returning to your eyes. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nods. "Out of everyone, I'm glad it was you. You're... perfect." You ignore his compliments and shake your head.

"Do you realize that I've been taken against my will here?! I've been brought here to service you in a way that I don't want to. And now I'm going to be forced to have sex with you? None of this is consensual! None of this is right!" You shake your head angrily, trying to come up with a solution.

"You said you're against it, so tell them to let me go! I didn't agree to any of this!"

"Did you or did you not willingly come meet with me?" You jump, spinning around quickly as Fury walks into the room, arms crossed over his chest. Your hands tremble, anger and fear chasing each other through your veins.

"You willingly came to the tower to meet me. You accepted the job by coming in for the meeting. You cannot by law say that that was against any of your human rights. You accepted a job then came in to learn about the requirements. That is your own fault." You shake your head, hands clenching into fists.

"I changed my mind during the meeting. I told you I didn't want to do it. I signed no contract, I made no legally binding agreement." The man in front of you grins.

"There's fine print in everything I send. The email specifically said 'by going to this meeting I am accepting the position and all it entails'. It's not my fault you didn't read it. Now I advise you to stop complaining. Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy this position, and any others he decides to put you in."

You grimace and glance over your shoulder at the soldier. His cheeks are pink and he's staring at the ground.

"Now, I came to drop off your belongings. They're being put into the bedroom as we speak. I took the liberty of throwing in a few things I thought the two of you may need. Now, Barnes, any questions?" 

You turn around and look at the brunet, eyes pleading with him to tell the other man to call this whole thing off. He stares into your eyes for a long silent moment then looks over your shoulder.

"I think this arrangement will help my performance on the field and in the office. I want to get started right away." Your heart sinks and you shake your head.

"Alright. By all means," Fury gestures towards you and you turn away from the brunet, tears prickling your eyes.

You go to push past the dark-skinned man when he grabs you by the wrist, staring at you with hard eyes.

"I can be a very patient man, but even my patience has limits. You agreed to this position, you chose your fate. Don't blame anyone else for your lack of attention to detail." You tear your arm from him and level him with a hard glare.

"Barnes, bring her upstairs. If she can't be talked into submission, maybe other methods will work better." An arm is wound around your waist and you start thrashing immediately.

"No! Let me go! Stop!" He ignores you, scooping you up in his arms with ease and taking you up the stairs.

"Let go of me! Help! Please! Someone Help!" He pushes into a huge bedroom and tosses you onto the bed, arms crossing over his chest as he stares at you.

"No one can hear you," Fury says, coming into the room shortly after. Tears streak down your face and you glare at both of them.

"Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be out ruining another innocent person's life?" He chuckles and looks over at the soldier.

"You've got a fiery one. Have fun with her." He turns and leaves the room, the beep of the lock letting you know that he's left the house.

You and James have a staredown as you sit on the bed and he stands by the wall, not moving, simply staring at you.

You finally give in, looking down at your hands, fingers trembling. "Please don't do it," you whisper, desperation dripping from your words. He sighs heavily and you feel the few shards of hope you have left glue themselves back together.

"Please. I just... please don't hurt me." When you look up he's directly in front of you, making you gasp.

"Why are you so against it?" He asks suddenly.

"I just..." You don't want to confess your fear to the man in front of you. You don't want him to know that he haunts your nightmares already.

"If you can't give me a good reason then why shouldn't I?" His voice is harder than before, stern, with an aggravated edge to it.

You take a deep breath and clench your hands into fists.

"Because you scare me," you finally whisper. "I've heard so many stories... seen so many things... and you scare me. I don't want to believe them but... this makes me wonder if they're all right about you. If you're truly the monster they say you are." The air is still and heavy with the weight of your words, and you find yourself regretting them instantly.

A metal hand is suddenly around your throat, pushing you and forcing you back on the mattress until your back hits the headboard.

You grab his wrist fruitlessly, struggling to drag in a breath as you look up at him. His eyes are dark with anger, and his chest is heaving.

"A monster? You think I'm a monster?!" He chuckles lowly without humour, shaking his head as he kneels on the bed. "I'll show you a fucking monster." He lets go of your throat and you gasp, coughing as the pressure gets released. You're definitely going to have finger-shaped bruises in the morning.

He grabs your knees and tears them apart, ignoring the scream of pain that leaves your lips as you feel a muscle in your thigh get pulled.

"Do you know how easy this is for me?" He demands, grabbing the fabric of your shirt and tearing it down the middle.

"Overpowering you is nothing to me. I could break you so fucking easily if I really wanted to. If I wanted to be a monster. I could make you cry and scream and wish for death." You sob loudly, fighting to free yourself as he presses his half-hard length against your centre through the layers of clothing separating the two of you.

"If I wanted to fuck you, I would. If I wanted to show you how much of a fucking monster I can be, I would. Because I can. And there's nothing you can do about it. You'll never be strong enough to fight back, strong enough to run. You belong to me now. Realize it. Embrace it. And don't fucking get on my bad side or you'll regret it."

He pushes off of you, kneeling between your legs and glaring down at you where you lay. You're shaking and sobbing, but he gives no indication that he cares.

"You haven't seen a monster yet, but test me again and I'll show you what a monster really looks like." You hiccup another sob, eyes staying trained on him. He glares at you for a moment longer before spitting at you. You flinch, humiliation pumping through your body as he chuckles.

"You're pathetic," he whispers, pushing himself off of the bed and leaving the room without another word.

You stay trembling and crying on the bed for what feels like hours after that, not moving for fear of aggravating your captor and your injured leg.

Meanwhile, Bucky sits in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand and regret swimming in his mind. He didn't mean to hurt you so bad, but you calling him a monster when you have no idea what he's been through? He won't tolerate that. He needed to put you in your place. To show you who you belong to. If you cooperate, you can enjoy yourself but if you misbehave, you'll be punished.

~*~

You're not sure when you fall asleep, but you're slowly roused from your slumber by a warm tongue sweeping itself over your clit.

A soft moan leaves your lips and your roll your hips gently, sleep clouding your thoughts.

The mouth disappears only to be replaced by something hot and big. Your eyelids flutter before slowly opening, and you feel confusion fill you as a big body hovers over you.

"Wh-what...?" You trail off, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as the man pushes his cock inside of you, stretching you out in the most perfectly painful way.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" He asks, voice thick and husky, the slightest twinge of a Russian accent decorating his words. Your hands find his shoulders and you blink a few times, the events of the day rushing into your brain.

"Wait... s-stop..." He doesn't. Instead, he cradles your head in his hands and presses gentle kisses to your face.

"You're okay. It feels nice. You like it. It feels good when you listen." His voice is so deep and perfect... you can't help but nod.

"This is what you're here for," he grunts, pumping into you harder. He grabs your hips and pulls out of you, only to flip you onto your stomach.

"This is why they brought you here. You're here for me to fuck. For me to have." He pushes back in and you gasp as he hits deeper than before.

"Yeah... feels so good... you were made for me, weren't you?" You find yourself nodding to his words again. He fucks into you hard and fast, his mind focused on his own release.

"Your cunt is so nice and tight and wet. So perfect for me. Waiting for me to fuck it, destroy it." You mewl in response, arching your back as he pounds into you, the slap of his hips against your ass making you even wetter for him.

You block out the shame of it all, ignore the fact that a few hours ago, this man was hurting and humiliating you.

His thrusts stutter for a moment before he picks up the pace again, this time reaching his metal fingers around to toy with your clit. "Gonna make you cum on my cock. You might not admit it, but you fuckin' love getting used like a dirty little whore. You like having your pussy fucked full of my fat cock. You fucking love it." 

Your body starts convulsing, pussy clenching hard around him as he pushes you over the edge into an orgasm. Your eyes roll back, head spinning at the intensity of it.

"Fuckin' feel that... fuck... Fuck!" He spills inside of you, warm white filling you up then spilling out over your swollen cunt.

He pulls out and collapses on the bed beside you, panting hard. Your body aches, pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing while his seed spills out of you, staining the sheets.

You lower your hips and stretch out on your stomach, catching your breath and riding the aftershocks of your climax.

He rubs your back gently and you're surprised by the intimate and kind gesture.

"You only get punished when you're bad," he whispers. You don't acknowledge him and he sighs.

"I'll probably come to you again tonight, and I'll probably be rougher. I can't control myself when he takes over. If you fight back then it'll only be worse for you. Just lie back and take it, okay?" You still say nothing, yelping when his hand comes down hard on your ass. "Okay," you finally whisper, skin burning where he hit you.

"Good. Now, I'm gonna go make dinner. I expect you down in half an hour." He climbs off the bed without another word and leaves the room.

You stay there, silent tears sliding down your face at the fact that this man just fucked you, but worse, you liked it.

~*~

Dinner is silent, you limping to the table and wincing every time you shift your weight. Your ass burns, your pussy aches, and you definitely tore something in your thigh.

But Bucky seems to be in good spirits.

You only manage to force down a few bites before you push your plate away, stomach flipping uncomfortably.

“Eat,” he says, staring at your full plate then looking up to your eyes.

“I’m not hungry,” you whisper, voice rough and scratchy from the way he crushed your throat earlier. He sighs heavily and tosses his fork onto the table, leaning forward to look at you.

“My goal wasn’t to hurt you. Just to show you that I’m only a monster if you want me to be. I can be nice to you. I made you cum twice while you slept.” 

That explains the deep throb in your pussy.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I think they’re right. I need you. More importantly, the soldier needs you. I think I'll be able to control him better. I know you’re not the biggest fan of this, but you’ve gotta admit that you enjoyed it.” You say nothing, but the way you shift in your seat makes him grin.

“This can be good for both of us. Just relax and accept it. I won’t hurt you again, not on purpose. And not unless you give me a reason to.” You simply nod, not wanting to be having any type of conversation with this man.

“Hate it all you want, but you can’t deny your body’s reaction to me. Just give in.” You glare at your plate, the word ‘monster’ bouncing around in your mind as he resumes eating as if he isn't holding you hostage here.

~*~

You can’t sleep. Your body aches too much and you’re far too terrified of him visiting you in the form of the Soldier.

It’s a little past two in the morning, and you’re fighting your heavy lids when the door to what he deemed as ‘your’ bedroom opens.

His eyes are dark and distant, and you know that this isn’t the same man as before.

He’s naked, cock hanging freely between his legs. An impressive nine inches of thick, hard flesh, waiting to abuse your cunt yet again.

He climbs onto the bed and pulls the blankets away from your body. You try to relax, you really do, but with the rough way he strips you of your clothes, it’s hard not to panic.

His hands come beside your head as he situates himself between your thighs, his huge frame making you feel even smaller and even more intimidated. He nudges his hard cock at your entrance and you wince as he pushes in with little preparation.

It stings. The stretch and pull off his cock dragging against your walls.

He gives you no time to get adjusted before he starts a fast and borderline brutal pace, not giving a single fuck about the way he’s abusing your pussy. You whimper, hands coming up and instinctively pushing against his shoulders to try and get him to slow down.

He mutters something in Russian, then grabs your hands and pins them above your head, squeezing your wrists together tightly in his metal hand. You yelp in pain, trying to twist into a more comfortable position. He doesn’t let up and you accept the pain, allowing it to distract you from the vicious way he’s fucking you. His other hand grabs your legs and pulls them up over his shoulders, leaning down so his body is hovering just above yours.

His hips slam into you, cock hitting your cervix painfully with each thrust.

“Ow! S-slow down, please! I-it hurts!” You beg him to have mercy, and he quickly grows tired of hearing your voice. The hand supporting his weight comes up and presses hard on your throat. With no free hands, he presses harder against your wrists to keep himself upright, the pressure on your neck growing with each savage thrust of his hips.

The edges of your vision start to get spotty and black, your mouth parted in a desperate attempt to drag in a breath of air. Your body starts going numb, and soon you can’t even feel him inside of you. Your ears start to ring and after a painfully long moment, the world goes black.

The soldier continues fucking your pliant body, even after you’ve passed out. He fucks you hard and fast until he finally finishes.

He cums hard, filling you up with his seed and leaving his mark on your abused walls. He pulls out of you with a soft grunt, then leaves you alone and unconscious in the middle of the bed, cum painting your swollen pussy white, and bruises already forming on your wrists and neck.

~

[avversiera-writes]

touch your heart [senju tobirama/you] - chapter 7

Summary: Hashirama might go down as the worst matchmaker in history, but he thinks he might be on to something. Tobirama sees through his brother's schemes and is determined not to fall for it. Or fall for you.

Word Count: about 4k

AO3 LINK TO TOUCH YOUR HEART

AOR SERIES LINK TO ‘TIL DEATH DO US PART

[<<<CHAPTER ONE] [CHAPTER TWO] [CHAPTER THREE] [CHAPTER FOUR] [CHAPTER FIVE]  [CHAPTER SIX]

You wake up with a fog in your mind, but you think nothing of it as you pull yourself out of your bed. Your limbs are heavier than usual, and your stomach is screaming for a crumb of nutrient, but you power through, thinking nothing of this since tiredness and hunger are nothing new to you. 

 You freshen up and pull your hair away from your face, and put on clean clothes. After a moment of perusing your laundry, you make a mental note to do them soon. 

 You slip your feet into your sandals and grab your weapons in a hurry, not even sparing a glance at the parchment on the floor containing your house bills. You do not want to be late, especially when Tobirama told you in the beginning to always be early. Tobirama has told you to meet him at the market since he wanted to look for new weapons and to commission people into making ninja tools for Academy students to train with. You run outside, only stopping when you see Tobirama standing in front of your building with his back to you. You stare at him a little longer, not meaning to linger on the space on the back of his neck, or the muscles of his back moving in and out as he breathes. 

You slowly walk towards him, ignoring the way your heart falters and stops. 

“Took you long enough,” Tobirama greets you roughly. 

 You roll your eyes and bump your shoulder against his. “I thought we were meeting at the market.”

 Tobirama glances away, and you follow his gaze. You find nothing out of ordinary in the direction he is looking at. 

 “Are you hungry?” Tobirama asks suddenly. 

 “Huh?” 

 “Are you hungry?” Tobirama repeats, this time his tone is insistent.

 You stare at him in bewilderment. It’s not like he knew you skipped breakfast. “Y-yeah.” 

 “Let’s go,” Tobirama says, and he starts to speed walk down the street. 

You lightly jog after him, a chuckle bursting out of your lips. You do not know what has gotten into Tobirama today, but you admit that this is a new side to him that you have not seen yet. He is not being pissy, but rather, he seems to be holding out a light for you to get closer. He is more lenient with your antics. You try not to think too much about it, as it makes you feel weird and queasy in your stomach. 

 You reckon it’s the hunger. 

You walk beside him as he leads you to a small eat-in store, where they are selling fresh baked bread, porridges and drinks. Tobirama stands to the side as you peruse the menu outside the store, and when you have decided, the two of you slide into a table, with Tobirama sitting in front of you.

 A moment later, someone comes in to take your order, and when they leave, you frown at Tobirama.

“What?” Tobirama scowls. 

 “Why didn’t you order for yourself? Green tea is not breakfast.” 

 Tobirama looks uncomfortable as he loosens his shoulders. “I already ate. You, on the other hand…”

Your mind blanks, coming up with nothing. Not even a teasing remark. 

  This is surprising, you muse to yourself. 

You shrug, and Tobirama’s eyes narrow at you. 

“How is your training going?” Tobirama inquires in the tone you deem casual for him. 

 “I’m making small progress,” you tell him. You fold your hands and rest your chin over them. “Your notes really helped.”

 Tobirama nods. 

 For a moment, you thought that he was going to brag about it, but he did none of that. 

“I have some new books for you to go over,” Tobirama suddenly says, not even easing you to its idea. 

 “More books?” Your brain hurts at the thought of new material to consume. 

 Tobirama glances at you affably. “I think you’d like them.”  

Huh?! You exclaim to yourself. Since when did your interests matter to him? 

Thankfully, your food arrives quickly, and you do not waste time to shove them in your mouth because Tobirama does not get you to talk when you are eating. However, he is looking at you strangely and he looks almost horrified at the speed you are inhaling your food. 

“Slow down,” Tobirama warns. “No one’s going to take your food.” 

You cough and bits of food spray out of your mouth. You turn away from him to compose yourself, and when your chest is no longer spasming and you are able to swallow down a big chunk of food, you grab his tea cup without thinking and down the tea in it. 

 Tobirama is not sure whether he is astonished or disgusted. 

“Thanks,” you gasp. 

Tobirama nods, feeling half of his face grimace. “It’s fine,” he tries to convince himself. 

 He gestures at the person by the counter for the bill, and you are suddenly embarrassed that he is paying only for your food and not even for himself. 

“Wait, can’t I pay half?” You ask him, stopping his hand from putting the money on the small tray. 

Tobirama glances at your hand on top of his and he stiffens. “I got it.”

 “Tobirama…” You start, doubtful.

Tobirama raises an eyebrow. “Really? You choose now to have some shame?” 

You sigh, and you give him a playful smile. “Be careful what you do for me, Tobirama. If you’re being nice today, I will be taking advantage of that.” 

Tobirama knocks your hand off of his and he places the money down. “You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

You cackle. “The honor is mine.”

 “It’s not a compliment,” Tobirama immediately shoots back.

You let the moment pass, and then, you lean forward to gauge his reaction. “How’s the search for future partners going? Any special women or men you have your eye on?”

Tobirama suddenly looks indignant. “No.”

 “Aw, why not?” You think about it. “I mean, it shouldn’t be hard. Look at you, you’re so handsome.” 

Tobirama is not sure how to react, so he stares at you instead, forgetting to scowl or even frown. His words form in his mind, but they end up being scrambled as they reach his mouth. 

 “You don’t believe me?” You challenge him. 

 “What?!” Tobirama harshly snaps.

You call the person behind the counter and gesture for them to come closer. 

“Yes?” 

 Tobirama manages to gather himself to glare at you. “What are you doing?!” He hisses under his breath. 

“Tell me honestly,” you begin, trying to sound thoughtful, like this is the most important discovery. “Isn’t he handsome? Sexy, even?” 

 Tobirama feels like there is a cauldron underneath him and he is hanging over it to be boiled alive. 

The person glances at the two of you with shock. 

“Um…” They nervously glance at Tobirama, who is glaring daggers at you, his face red. 

You laugh, and you hand the money to them. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Have a good day!”

The person bows to Tobirama, squeaking out my lord and they scuttle away from your table. 

You glance at Tobirama, noticing the coloring on his face almost matching the three stripes that frame his face perfectly. 

 “Are you angry?” You ask, taking note of the redness of his skin. “Or hot? It is summer.” 

Tobirama stands up abruptly and walks out, his fists clenching by his sides. 

 You chuckle to yourself, and you follow after him. 

“Come again, er…” The person calls out. “What is your name?” 

 You see Tobirama standing just a few feet away from the door. 

“Y/N.” You smirk. “Senju Y/N.” 

Tobirama feels his knees give up on him and he sways a little. 

//

While Tobirama walks straight ahead with purpose, you make a point of stopping by each stall to look at their items and try out free samples. While you mile around, Tobirama makes a point of slowing down to wait for you even though he does not stop for anything. You try to pull him towards a stand that sells little toys and trinkets, but he does not budge until you tell him that you found a drawing that looks similar to him. 

 Tobirama sighs and lets you grab his arm towards the paintings. A man sits on a stool underneath an umbrella, painting away. 

 “Where is this painting?” Tobirama grounds out, entertaining you instead of brushing you off. 

 “Here!” You point at a snowman overlooking a snowy mountain range. “Pale and cute.” 

 Tobirama scowls and he immediately marches away but you see that his eyes are warm, almost brown and you feel like you are staring at a hearth. You pull his arm back before he can make it far. 

“I’m kidding, that’s not it,” you tell him. “It’s this one!” 

 You gesture at a portrait of him, and Tobirama stares at it in wonder. It is him, yet in the painting, he looks older, his eyes wild and desperate, and his shoulders heavy with burden. Something in him aches and he turns away from it, feeling like the portrait is trying to speak to him.

 “What, too ugly for you?” You tease him, and you duck a little to meet his eyes. 

 “The nose looks a little big,” Tobirama replies vaguely and you roll your eyes. 

 “You’re popular!” 

 “I am popular enough,” Tobirama states and he starts to walk away. “Let’s go.” 

The morning sun is now reaching the center of the sky. The heat is starting to rise up, and it burns the back of your heads, but the two of you power through it and finally, you arrive at a school of blacksmiths. Tobirama enters in, and you follow him, the sight making you misty-eyed. The sound of metal clashing against metal, of the fire being started and water sizzling, it all hits close to home. 

“Lord Tobirama,” a smith greets him. When he turns to you, a flash of recognition lights his face. 

 You keep your face neutral, not knowing what the smith’s intention is. You go towards a table of freshly made blades to hide your face, letting Tobirama do what he needs to do here. 

Your eyes go to the kunais hanging on the wall, the length of their blades varying. You approach it and take the sheathed kunai and weigh it in your hands. The weight feels weird so you unsheath it, completely surprised that it falls apart to become two kunais, splitted in half. You put it back, and go back to the table of blades to run your finger on their surfaces. 

“Lovely, isn’t it?” The same smith from earlier approaches you. Tobirama is nowhere to be seen. 

 “Yes,” you answer. “Though I have seen better.” 

 “I bet you have,” he says and hands one of the blades to you. “I am Nuga.” 

You accept the blade with both hands and you behold it. In its reflection, you study Nuga, making mental notes on his body language and the way he is positioned, formulating a plan to escape him in case something goes wrong. 

 “What do you think?” Nuga inquires. “It is yet to be attached by its hilt, but it is one of our best works so far.” 

“The blunt curve of this tachi is perfect,” you murmur. You set it down and look into his gray eyes. “What do you want?” 

 Nuga smiles. “I have a job for you, Man-Killer.” 

You grit your teeth, and suddenly you feel cold washing all over you and you lose feeling from your face and hands. A shiver runs down your spine.

 “I haven’t heard that name in a while,” you coldly say, letting the ice drip in your words. 

Nuga raises his chin towards you. “I heard you have been out of commission for a while. Some people are looking for you.” He folds his arms. “Though I did not think that you’d be hanging out with Konoha’s echelons.” 

 “It just happened,” you snap.

 Nuga nods. “So, this job–”

 “Sorry, I don’t do that anymore.” You shoot him a dangerous look, your hand itching to draw your own sword. “I’m clean now.” 

“Will the price persuade you?” Nuga asks, stepping closer to you. “You are one of the best–”

 “Enough,” you interrupt Nuga. “Stop it. I am not doing it. Find someone else.”

You make a beeline towards the exit, but Nuga’s words stop you cold. 

“No matter how clean you think you are because you have stopped killing for the money, it does not erase the bodies you have murdered,” Nuga calls after you. “They are forever dead because of you.”

You bow your head slightly and clench your fist. 

“If you change your mind,” Nuga starts as your foot steps forward. “You know where to find me.” 

//

Tobirama watches you as he walks you home. All the jokes and the playful remarks have stopped, replaced by a serious look on your face. He rarely sees you this serious, and he waits for you to divulge your thoughts with him or even get angry and spew some shit to deter your thoughts, but you do none of those. 

 The two of you are reaching your home, and you have not even spared him a glance. 

While he was talking to the master of the blacksmith school, he overheard a little bit of your conversation with one of the blacksmiths there. The word Man-Killer sticks to his mind like a persistent stain, and it makes his stomach turn. He wants you to ask him for help if you are in trouble, or better yet, tell him everything, but how can he ask you that without condemning you? Do his brother and Madara know about this?

 He is not even sure if you took the job or not since he was pulled away at the last minute about prices and delivery of the commissioned weapons. 

Tobirama is a second away from doing what he should do: take you and hold you in a cell to interrogate you. 

 However, he wants to trust in you. He should. The least he can do is to give you the benefit of the doubt. You deserve it. 

You did say that you do not do that anymore and that you are clean.

Tobirama thinks that he is becoming ridiculous. 

 He propagates enough chakra to feel you out. 

 He reaches forward and catches your arm, and you whirl around. He feels that you are upset. 

“Are you okay?” Tobirama asks, hating how vague he is. He is always so straightforward that he does not know how to move away from that extreme. 

“Yes,” you reply coldly. Your voice is too detached. 

 A lie. 

Tobirama searches desperately. How can he ask this? Of all the times he is smart, why is he incapable of saying the right words? 

 You wrestle your arm away from Tobirama, and you stare at him. “Why are you asking?” 

 “Will I see you tomorrow?” 

You regard him cautiously, and Tobirama sees a sliver of you. The one you tried so hard to mask. He is only beginning to scratch the surface and he wants to keep peeling each skin to get to the core. He feels like he is on the tip of something here, like the rush of adrenaline before the success of an experiment. 

Who are you? Tobirama wants to blurt out. He wants to know. He badly wants to know. He has never desired something this bad. 

“Of course,” you tell him, and your eyes move to search his face. 

 You are telling the truth. 

The tension in Tobirama’s shoulders releases, and he watches you walk away from him. His skin itches where he has touched you, and for a moment, he almost follows after you. 

 He stops himself and shakes himself out of it. 

 You are telling the truth. 

The moment you stray, he will be the one to stop you. 

//

You wake up sweaty and feverish. Your mind feels foggy, and you just do not feel right. You feel cold and your head hurts, and the light coming in from your window makes it worse. You let out a long sigh, and relax into your bed. Your limbs feel like there are anchors attached to them, dragging you down to the bottom of the ocean. 

 You give yourself a minute to come to, breathing in and out to brace yourself to move. 

 Then, you count from one to three. 

  One. 

  Two. 

  Three.

Red flashes under your eyelids, and you let out a cry as you attempt to roll out of your bed. You fall to the floor, limbs splayed like a newborn foal. You bite your lower lip to stifle another cry, but your chest begins to heave, and you are unable to control the sob that breaks out of your mouth. You clench your fist, cursing the world. 

 You should have known that your old nick-name would come back and bite you in the ass. You never took pride in it, for you, it was always a job. The people chose to name you that because when you were young and desperate to live, you killed a man who had assaulted you in self-defense and fled. 

 Maybe you should have not fled. Maybe you should have faced the consequences, but back then you were running away from your family. You had no morals, and you only cared for yourself.

Your breath comes out shakily, and you press a hand to your face. 

 More flashes of black and red flashes in your vision, and for a moment, you see vials of medicine surrounding you, all wrongly-labelled. A woman appears above you, pouring poison into your mouth as you fight her with all you have got. You are weak and so small, and she holds you down until all the fight leaves you and she is forcing your mouth open to make you swallow more of the medicine. 

“Drink, sweetheart, it will make you feel better, ” she says. 

  “Mother…” You gasp out weakly, your lungs unable to fully support you. “What...have you done?” Your voice fades into a whisper. 

The woman brushes your hair from your forehead. “I’m making it better. Don’t worry, love, I will keep you safe. You know why?” 

  You stare at her weakly, trying to fight the grogginess from your eyes. 

  “Because I love you the most.” 

You push the flashback from your mind and force yourself up. You hated being sick. 

 You know that this is probably fever from fatigue, but you cannot bear it. It feels like you are young again, and you are helpless and dying. 

 A fever is a fever, but to you, it is a death sentence. A slight sniffle or a light cough is enough to send you panicking.

You let yourself cry, but when it is time to get out and back to work, the traces of your tears are gone and you put up your walls that you have spent so much time making. Nothing will come out. 

//

Tobirama feels relieved when he sees you come in, but you look worse for wear. You do not spare him your words, but that is fine with him. At least you are here. 

 He gives you your share of work for the day, and he does not say anything as you move away from him and take to one of the corners of the library to settle in. 

 Tobirama is great with silences, but he cannot stand yours. 

But he bears it because it seems like it is what you need today. 

When it is time to leave, he finds you asleep in the corner. He does not dare wake you, and he crouches in front of you to study you. His eyes go to the strands of your hair splayed on your sweaty forehead, and the frown etched upon it. He expects you to open your eyes and draw your blade to stab him, but you do neither. 

 He slowly puts the back of his hand on your forehead, and he realizes that you are sick. He studies your chakra, and he finds that it is a lot better than before. Though you are very exhausted to the bone. 

 He sits beside you, debating on what to do next. He knows he cannot leave you here, but he also does not want to alarm you. 

The new clock in the library ticks away loudly, and Tobirama looks to the waning light on the floor. 

 A sudden weight presses against his side and he feels his heart beat pick up as your head rests against his shoulder. 

He does not know what to do. Your weight on him does not bother him that much. 

He glances at you, and finally, he makes up his mind. 

//

“Brother, are you sure you are not pushing her too hard?” Hashirama asks with concern, his voice sounding both far away and near. 

 “Are you serious?” Tobirama defensively retorts. 

You open your eyes to the bickering Senju brothers, and you let out a groan. Their voices make your head throb. 

“Hey!” Hashirama chirps. “Welcome to our humble abode, again!” 

 You are dimly aware of Tobirama assisting you to sit up. “Uh…” You croak out with uncertainty.

“You are sick,” Hashirama announces. “And we’ve done all that we could, but your body is very exhausted. You must rest.”

You bring a hand to your forehead, remembering that you were in the library last time you were awake. 

 “Eat,” Tobirama commands, bringing a bowl of soup into your sights. 

Hashirama looks offended. “Tobirama! Be nice.” 

 You take the bowl of soup from Tobirama’s hands, briefly touching his warm fingers with your cold ones. 

Hashirama sits by the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping from his weight. 

“So,” Hashirama begins. “I took a look at you.” 

 You glance at the Hokage, wary. 

“Tobirama says there is an improvement in your chakra pathways, but last he checked, you were worse off,” Hashirama continues. “I undid some of the damage to make it easier for you, and we will have to do more gradually. I did not want to overwhelm you. With a lot of training along the way, you should be able to use your chakra with ease and be in top shape.”

You glance at the Hokage, feeling like the two Senju brothers have just invaded your space. Nonetheless, you thank Hashirama. 

  “I owe you one, Lord Hokage,” you tell him seriously, like you are taking an oath. 

Tobirama catches this and he frowns.

 Hashirama pats your knee. “Do not worry about it. I am happy to help.” He glances at Tobirama. “Though you should also thank him. He carried you all the way here and insisted that you are to be a priority.”

“Elder brother!” Tobirama scolds indignantly. He looks at you. “I don’t want your thanks. I just did what any other person would do to help someone who does not know self-preservation.” 

 “Tobirama, stop it.” Hashirama glares at his brother. 

You nod glumly, the fog in your mind still there. You stare at the soup and you take the spoon to scoop some. 

“Please take your time and stay here,” Hashirama heeds. “Do not worry too much about the work for the curriculum right now. Focus on your health.” 

You snap up to meet the Hokage’s eyes. “I don’t want to–”

 “Please, I insist,” Hashirama firmly says, squashing any room for questions or rebuttals. 

 You sigh, and you stare at the soup blankly. “Alright,” you give up. 

Tobirama’s eyes are on you, his stare burning through your head. Then, he walks out of there without another word. 

 Hashirama gives you a look of sympathy, and you look away, unable to bear it. 

 “We will see you later.” 

You set your bowl aside when the Hokage has left, and you lie back down. You pull your legs towards your body and close your eyes, willing away whatever is ailing you as if it is that simple. 

//

Tobirama refuses to even let you touch any of the work the next day, even though you did your best to prove to him that you are feeling well. The two of you hurl insults at each other, until Hashirama is coming in to break the two of you up, saying that the two of you are waking his children up so early in the morning. He mitigates by suggesting that you can do some light reading, and by sending Tobirama outside the house for errands. He is the Hokage’s right-hand man, after all. 

 For the most part, Tobirama leaves you alone, except he appears when it is time for you to eat. He stares at you intimidatingly until you finish every last drop and crumb of your food, and when you do, he stares at you some more, like he wants to sock you in the face, or as if staring will have some help to drive away your exhaustion. 

It is getting annoying by the end of the day, so you adamantly ask him to leave you alone. 

 Which he refuses. Stubbornly. 

 “Tobirama, please, I cannot do this right now,” you beg him. 

Tobirama’s jaw flexes. He walks over to you, but then he stops short, his movements twitchy and not at all him. 

 “Give me your arm,” Tobirama commands. 

 You scowl at him. “What now?” 

 “Just give me your arm!”

“Okay, okay!” You raise your arm towards him. 

 His fingers wrap around your wrist, and your eyes widen at the sight. It suddenly feels like your fever is back and you loathe it. 

“Tch,” Tobirama murmurs. “You’re an idiot. Why did you push yourself this hard? Couldn’t you have taken breaks?”

 You snatch your arm away from him, and you stare at your toes. 

Tobirama stares at you some more, and it is honestly creeping you out. What does he want? 

“What?” You snap. 

 Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Shut up and rest.” 

“I am not tired,” you stubbornly reply. “And I do not want to accumulate too much debt from the Senju brothers, so I should go.” 

Irritation flares in Tobirama’s eyes. “Stop it.”

 “Tobirama, give me a break.” 

 “No.” 

You want to scream, as this situation is becoming worse and worse. Tobirama is so overbearing, and it seems like he wants to keep track of everything you do. Your panic over being sick pales in comparison to how he is acting. 

The door opens to reveal Hashirama. 

 “Tobirama,” Hashirama calls, exasperated. “Leave her alone.”

 “Brother,” Tobirama chides, barely sparing his brother a glance. “I am talking to her right now.”

“No, no you are not,” Hashirama walks over to tug Tobirama away from you. “You are bullying her.” 

Hashirama manages to drag him to the threshold. “Why are you acting like this? Get a hold of yourself!” 

Tobirama tugs his arm away from his brother harshly, and he glares at his brother. Then, he glances at you. There is a lot of turmoil manifesting on his face–his lips are pulled into a straight, taut line, his jaw is tense, and his eyes, his red eyes are on fire, like coals burning in a forge. 

 The air tenses and becomes thick, but then he abruptly leaves and the air becomes calm again.

 Hashirama gives you an apologetic look and leaves you alone, and you are plunged into the dark again. 

 //

 Tobirama knows that he is being impossible, and it really is ridiculous, but when it involves you, it agitates him and there is this itch in his throat that he cannot alleviate. He thinks about what you will do next, and he wants to take it up to his brother, but he does not want you to get into further trouble. He would rather fix this himself and do what he needs to do to make sure that you are not a threat. If you are, then this is a matter he will have to take care of himself as well.

 He goes back to the school of blacksmiths and demands for Nuga, and when he gets him alone, he corners and questions him. 

“Talk,” Tobirama demands. 

 Nuga’s gray eyes regard the Hokage's younger brother. “About?”

 “Man-Killer, ” Tobirama grits his teeth. 

Nuga shakes his head and holds out a palm. “Be careful, Lord Tobirama. This is not a can of worms you’d like to open, though everything comes with a price.” 

Tobirama narrows his eyes, fishes out money and slams it on the man’s palm. “Talk, or I will see you in a cell.” 

 “You can’t hold me against my will without proof,” Nuga says. “And I only hold information, nothing criminal.” 

Tobirama keeps his cool and raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“She is an assassin,” Nuga starts. “Though she’s only killed corrupt lords and other rogues, robbers, and the like.”

 “Why is she here?” Tobirama asks.

 Nuga shrugs and smirks at the incoming pun. “Beats me. She says she’s turned over a new leaf.” 

 Tobirama remembers his hand on your wrist and your words. You are telling the truth. 

“Why Man-Killer?” Tobirama inquires. 

 Nuga holds out his palm. 

Tobirama sighs and presses a few more bills. 

Nuga leans forward as if this is some taboo to never be spoken of. “Rumor is, when she was a teenager, she killed a feudal lord’s son, who was a rapist. She has been on the run ever since. The feudal lord has a bounty out for her, but of course, no one wants to mess with a reputation preceding hers. She is quite the fighter, even I desire to someday see her in action.” 

Tobirama has seen her in action, and he believes this man. His head spins from thinking. So many pieces are falling into place and even if they fit, more questions start to arise. 

Nuga shrugs and he turns away. “That is all I can tell you. She seems very sincere about her clean slate though. Back then, I heard that if the price was right, she would do anything. She must have grown some morals.”

Tobirama stares hard at Nuga, and it does not take long until the room is thick with his power. The forge where fire runs hot and wild fizzles into nothing. 

“If you ever speak of this again, I will have your head,” Tobirama threatens. 

 “Of course, I would not want to mess with the people who protect her,” Nuga smiles coldly. “I’ll tell you one thing for free though.” 

Tobirama regards him coolly, squashing the mess that is cooking in his mind.

“If you are so ready to defend her and kill for her, you are way in too deep, Lord Tobirama,” Nuga warns. “She has got you in her palm, and she will crush you. She is not called ningen satsujin-sha for nothing.” 

Tobirama grits his teeth, but he says nothing back. His mind turns to think ahead, but his heart beats in protest. 

 However, he is not the kind of man to take the easy way. There is no such thing, in his life. 

.

.

.

[CHAPTER EIGHT >>>]

[disastermages]

chapter four of this: 1 2 3

[ao3 link]

--

Try as he might, Meng Yao can’t ignore the tiredness or the burning in his eyes anymore. His reading glasses have long since been laid to the side by the time he stands up and walks towards the door. He tells himself that he’ll only take a small break, just something to rest his eyes, but when he opens the door, Jiang Yanli’s voice stops him, his grip on the doorknob tightening.

“That wasn’t very nice you know,” She’s scolding whatever she’s speaking to, and Meng Yao feels something cold wrap around his wrist as he leans out of his doorway, “it was dark, someone could have gotten hurt.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Meng Yao forces himself out into the hallway, the coldness at his wrist stubbornly trying to pull him back into his office. He would shake it off if he could, but no matter how he shakes his wrist, the cold grip remains. The only thing Meng Yao sees as he rounds the corner, is Jiang Yanli kneeling before the open closet he and Lan Xichen had hidden in two days ago, a stack of boxes to one side of her, and a half filled garbage bag on the other. She frowns as she holds up the sleeve of a black coat, and as Meng Yao drags himself nearer still, he sees that it’s moth eaten.

“Miss Jiang?” Jiang Yanli starts before she turns to smile at him, pulling the coat more firmly against her chest, even after she’s realized Meng Yao is the one speaking to her. Meng Yao can only offer the smallest smile in return, dropping down onto one knee, but leaving the garbage bag between them. “Were you speaking with someone just now?”

For a moment, Meng Yao thinks he’ll be chided for calling Jiang Yanli so formally again, but she skips it this time, shaking her head and folding the coat against her chest before she unfolds it again. “A-Cheng told me that there were moths in this closet, so I thought it would be best if I checked.” Jiang Yanli sighs and runs her thumb over another hole mournfully before she holds it up for Meng Yao to see, “Look what they’ve done to A-Xian’s coat!”

It’s either the memory of the moth flying at Jiang Wanyin’s face, or the mix of frustration and sadness on Jiang Yanli’s face while she holds up the coat that makes a grin pull at the corner of Meng Yao’s mouth. He’d never expected to see such genuine upset over a coat that didn’t even belong to Jiang Yanli.

Meng Yao holds the garbage bag open as Jiang Yanli sets the coat inside it gently, her fingers running over the fabric one more time. Neither of them say a word while she pulls a stack of shoe boxes out of some far corner and opens each of them to run a critical eye over their contents before she deems them passable and sets them next to the boxes.

He nearly stands up and returns to work, like he knows he should, but a set of three taps against the closet’s wall stops him, his gaze snapping to it instead of Jiang Yanli. “Miss Jiang,” Meng Yao says quietly, swallowing down lingering fear that clings to his throat, “could you tell me what’s on the other side of this closet? Your brother mentioned that you would know best.”

“This closet?”

When he looks at her again, Jiang Yanli is no longer focused on her task, a coat so brown that it’s nearly purple hanging in her hands as she stares back at him. This coat has been spared by the moths, but Meng Yao can’t imagine why, it’s far too ugly to leave the closet ever again.

“It’s a sickroom.” Jiang Yanli pales with the words, her grip tightening on the coat. She nearly looks ashamed, and Meng Yao forces himself to push down a line of questions, his lips pressing together in a fine line, even as Jiang Yanli releases the coat and turns her grip onto her own hands. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you, I don’t like going in by myself.” It isn’t an invitation so much as it is a plea, Jiang Yanli’s voice becomes a whisper, dark eyes staring straight ahead, past the closet, possibly already in the sickroom.

He shouldn’t, but Meng Yao agrees, watching as Jiang Yanli rises to her feet, slowly but steadily, and pulls a ring of keys out of the pocket of her soft green dress. She waits until he stands sto start walking, her movements nearly mechanical as they turn a corner and stop in front of the first door they reach.

Jiang Yanli has to fuss and fight with the lock, but the coldness that had been wrapped around Meng Yao’s wrist is clinging to his shoulders now, unseen fingertips digging into him hard enough to bruise if they had been human.

The lock finally relents to Jiang Yanli, pushing a blast of cold air out at them despite the warmth of the day, leaving the both of them shivering and staring inside.

“Could you go in first, please?” Jiang Yanli asks, and she’s still not looking at him, her hands gripping her elbows tightly. The room is plain, there’s a bed against one wall, and a tall wardrobe and a vanity on either side of it, anything and everything that had once been personal has long since been removed, leaving only the outlines of framed pictures behind as evidence.

Meng Yao turns round and round in the room, trying to take in more than what was there while Jiang Yanli watches him from the doorway. She looks like a smaller version of her mother when she lingers that way, though not physically.

“This is where they brought me when I first got sick,” Jiang Yanli confesses softly, and Meng Yao almost doesn’t hear her, his fingers pressed against the railing of the bed, “I always hated this wallpaper, but Mother wouldn’t allow anyone to change it.” Jiang Yanli’s hand reaches out, but she stops herself short of touching the wallpaper, a frown gathering on her face, deeper than the one she had shown the moths for eating Wei Wuxian’s coat.

“Were you here for a long time, Miss Jiang?” Meng Yao asks, but he already knows the answer. He and his mother had avoided Jiang Manor as much as they could when he was young, but that hadn’t stopped the rumors from reaching them.

“Poor little thing, trapped in a house like that.” Meng Yao can hear the voices of women in the grocery store as if he were still young, caring to speak about Jiang Yanli’s health without ever actually being concerned with her.

But this Jiang Yanli, the Jiang Yanli who stands behind him and is mostly healthy, flashes him a wan smile as she takes a small step into the room, her arms still locked around herself. “I would have to pound on the walls if I ever wanted anything and no one was in the room with me. My mother was supposed to hear me, but it was always either A-Cheng or Aunt Cangse who came running to me.” The smile drips away from Jiang Yanli’s face slowly, but then she shakes her head and allows her arms to drop by her sides. “I’m grateful that A-Xian never had to spend a minute in here after the accident, he would have been too scared.”

Meng Yao knows exactly which accident Jiang Yanli means, but he still breathes in sharply. Jiang Fengmian had been driving the night Wei Changze and his wife had died, with Wei Wuxian in the backseat between them. It had been a scandal big enough to pull attention away from Jiang Yanli’s illness.

“Meng Yao,” Jiang Yanli says his name quietly, and suddenly she’s standing right in front of him, “Aunt Cangse wasn’t trying to scare you the other night, she’s… she gets confused looking for XianXian sometimes. She wanted me to tell you that.” Meng Yao is gripping the railing of the bed tight enough to turn his knuckles white, his mouth falling open, but Jiang Yanli looks earnest enough that Meng Yao knows he can’t argue with her, even as her warm hand around his wrist disperses the worst of the cold that had been gripping him.

He allows Jiang Yanli to lead him out of the room, though he still pulls both of his hands behind his back while she locks the door behind them and checks it twice over. The color has returned to her cheeks now, and her smile is easier as she turns it onto him.

“Xichen is planning on taking A-Xian and A-Cheng on a walk through the woods today, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited along, if you like. He was going to ask you this morning, but you took breakfast in your office.”

Meng Yao should have known that he wasn’t going to get any more work done today, but the thought is much more forgivable as he comes to stand in the doorway of Lan Xichen’s classroom. Both Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian’s heads are bowed low to the desks in front of them, pencils moving quietly while Lan Xichen talks as if he’s teaching a full classroom.

He doesn’t notice Meng Yao right away, he’s too focused on their lesson and the diagram he’s drawn on the portable chalkboard, but watching him fills Meng Yao’s chest with something soft and warm that he won’t name. Not yet.

Meng Yao has to step further into the classroom to be noticed, both Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian looking up at him quickly, but then back down at their papers, only Lan Xichen truly stops to look at him, the piece of chalk in his hand snapping in half. It’s hard not to be flattered when it happens, and Meng Yao only barely succeeds. “Miss Jiang mentioned that I was invited on a walk this afternoon, I hope I’m not too late.” He allows himself to smile as he speaks, trying his hardest to ignore the way the other two are watching him and Lan Xichen. The broken piece of chalk is laying on the edge of the chalkboard now, and Lan Xichen is wiping the dust from it onto his pants, only to brush them off a second later.

He’s smiling back at Meng Yao, making that warm, softness in his chest feel like it’s about to come spilling out of his throat. “We were just about to leave after this lesson,” Lan Xichen says, taking a step closer to Meng Yao, but just as mindful of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin pretending as though they weren’t listening. “I thought that we should take advantage of the weather while it’s nice.”

This was their third sunny day in a row since the storm knocked the power out. On the second sunny day, Meng Yao had discovered Jiang Yanli’s vegetable garden, but only when he’d nearly tripped over her while she was pulling up the weeds, and she’d felt badly because she didn’t have anything to send him away from the garden with.

Meng Yao hadn’t minded, because Lan Xichen had waved at him from underneath the shade of a willow tree growing beside the pond. He doesn’t want to think of the kind of fool he would make of himself just for the sake of that smile.

Luckily, Meng Yao doesn’t have to, Lan Xichen hurries the brothers through their lesson, and soon enough they’re leaving, cutting past the greenhouse and it’s shattered panels as they make their way into the woods. They start on a well worn path, with Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian at the front, and Meng Yao and Lan Xichen trailing behind, their knuckles brushing every few steps. Neither of them mention it, though they both look at each other and look away again as they smile.

It doesn’t take long for Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian to run ahead of them, disappearing over a hill, the former chasing after the latter in some made-up race. Meng Yao half expects Lan Xichen to take off after them, but he only shakes his head fondly and wraps his hand firmly around Meng Yao’s own. “Those two know these woods better than you and I combined, I’m not worried about them getting lost.” Lan Xichen confesses when Meng Yao looks up at him through his eyelashes.

“You were planning on them running off.” Meng Yao accuses softly, allowing his fingers to curl just a little possessively around Lan Xichen’s hand.

Lan Xichen chuckles, and it’s a warm sound, warmer than the sun above them, and far more welcome than the humidity that wraps around them like soaking wet blankets. “Am I really so obvious to you, A-Yao?” Lan Xichen doesn’t sound angry that he’s been caught, not in the slightest bit, he sounds glad for it, and Meng Yao allows himself to be led off the path. “Are you angry with me?”

Twigs and long dead leaves crackle and crunch under their shoes, Lan Xichen leads him around a decaying tree stump, and Meng Yao only holds onto his hand tighter. “No.” Meng Yao answers finally, truthfully, because he isn’t. He allows himself to be backed against a tall, wide tree with rough bark, his head tipping up to look at Lan Xichen.

It would be easy to kiss him now, without Wen Qing to glower at them, without Jiang Yanli to hover and fuss in the corners of Meng Yao’s vision, without either of the Jiang brothers there to pick a fight with each other and interrupt them, and without Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian’s presence looming over them, whether they were physically present or not.

Lan Xichen’s free hand slides up Meng Yao’s arm and comes to rest in the junction between his neck and his shoulder, his thumb sliding over the column of Meng Yao’s throat. Meng Yao feels his lips part and a breath get sucked into his chest as Lan Xichen crowds in closer, bringing a coolness with him that makes Meng Yao forget all about the humidity.

“I only wanted to be alone with you, can you forgive me?”

“I’m not angry with you, Lan Xichen.” Meng Yao whispers, trying and failing to make himself taller than he is, “There’s nothing to forgive.” He can’t help but squeeze Lan Xichen’s hand. He’d lift Lan Xichen’s hand to his mouth and kiss it if it didn’t mean putting distance between them, Meng Yao might break into pieces if that were to happen, though.

“Lan Huan.” Lan Xichen says, letting his hand slide up the length of Meng Yao’s neck before putting it on his cheek, his thumb stroking back and forth underneath Meng Yao’s eye. “You can call me that when we’re alone, A-Yao, I want you to.”

“A-Huan,” Meng Yao says, mostly just to taste the name on his tongue, wanting to know if it would taste just as honeyed as it sounds, but it makes Lan Xichen lean in even closer, bending down slightly to speak against Meng Yao’s lips.

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like this, won’t you?” Lan Xichen asks, and Meng Yao looks up at him dumbly. How could he not like this? How could he not want this? But then Lan Xichen is kissing him and pressing him against the rough bark of the tree.

It starts gently, pleadingly as Lan Xichen lets go of Meng Yao’s hand to frame his face with both hands, but it becomes deeper and hungrier when Meng Yao wraps his arms around Lan Xichen’s shoulders, whining softly as he opens his mouth to Lan Xichen’s imploring tongue. It should embarrass him, the way Meng Yao opens up for Lan Xichen, but he can’t be bothered to find the feeling between the slide of their tongues and the soft noises leaving the both of them.

The kiss is only broken when both of their chests are aching for breath, but neither of them go far, their foreheads pressed together while they gasp and pant. Lan Xichen’s hands pull away from his cheeks abruptly, catching Meng Yao under the knees and lifting him up against the tree, kissing him hard while Meng Yao’s legs wrap around his waist.

How long has it been since Meng Yao has kissed or been kissed like this? Has he ever? He means to bite at Lan Xichen’s bottom lip, just a little viciously when a shout and a splash somewhere in the near distance stops both of them cold.

For a moment, they both look at each other and consider ignoring it, but then Lan Xichen is letting him down, but still pressing him against the tree as he kisses his forehead. “I think that was the sound of Wei Wuxian pushing or getting pushed into the stream,” Lan Xichen says gently, and his lips are just starting to swell and turn red, “I should go grab them before they both end up soaking wet.” His thumb presses against Meng Yao’s bottom lip while Lan Xichen lingers for just a moment, something animalistic passing through his eyes when Meng Yao takes hold of his wrist and nips at his thumb before letting go of him altogether.

The meaning of it is understood without either of them having to say a single word. They would come back to this later, not immediately, but soon, and it’s all the promise Lan Xichen needs to press their foreheads together once more and walk in the direction of the shouting. They hadn’t heard a second splash in all the time they’d spent looking at each other.

Meng Yao doesn’t watch Lan Xichen climb up and over the hill, but he hears him calling out to Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian, his voice echoing through the woods, full of fond exhaustion that makes Meng Yao close his eyes and lean against the tree, his face tilted up towards the sun.

It’s only when Meng Yao opens his eyes again that he sees him, a boy younger than either Jiang Wanyin or Wei Wuxian grinning at him cruelly, with a wild look in his eyes that makes Meng Yao swallow thickly. He makes a show of letting the knife in his hand glint in the sunlight, but he comes no closer, even as Meng Yao digs his nails into the tree, chunks of bark coming away in his hands.

When he blinks, the boy is gone, and behind him, Lan Xichen is hauling both Wei Wuxian and a soaking wet Jiang Wanyin next to him by the arms. He looks half amused and half exasperated, turning the both of them loose the second he sees Meng Yao waiting right where he left him.

“We’re going to have to cut our walk short, I’m afraid.” Lan Xichen says, smiling once he’s sure neither Jiang Wanyin nor Wei Wuxian can see it, and Meng Yao already wants to kiss him again, but that could wait.

This time, as they walk along the same path back to the manor, Meng Yao allows Lan Xichen to link their pinky fingers together, the both of them still bringing up the rear. He doesn’t stop himself from glancing backward, but he sees nothing.

Meng Yao isn’t sure if he would have preferred to see something instead.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Not That Kind of Movie

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Summary: “They plan a romantic getaway but everything goes sideways and they end up in a dive motel eating cheap pizza but the water is hot and the mattress isn't the worst and...” (prompt courtesy of @fangirlxwritesx67​) 

Word Count: 2590

Warnings: Steve feels sorry for himself, Bucky gets sassy, and innuendo abounds, but there’s nothing particularly explicit happening. Zero adherence to any sort of canon timeline. It’s fluffy as hell. 

A/N: Blame @katwillrise​, who encouraged this nonsense and has been keeping me company in the Stucky hole. Please help us. We cannot get out. Major thanks to @itmighthavebeenintentional​, who a) reassured me that this was worth posting and b) came up with the whole pizza thing and let me write it because she is amazing. 

“I think—” Bucky starts, but he (wisely) stops when Steve lets out a wordless rage-grunt. 

“I got it,” Steve snaps, and seriously considers kicking the motel door in. 

He gets five more beeping red lights before Bucky points out that he’s trying to open the wrong door. 

Bucky opens the right door on the first try and ushers him through. He hasn’t said “I told you so,” but he is radiating it from every smug pore. He’s been pointedly not saying “I told you so” all damn day, about every damn thing. 

“Maybe Mercury’s in retrograde,” Steve mumbles, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sets his bag down on the desk. Then he realizes what he just said and feels himself flush brick-red. 

Steve knows, without turning around, that Bucky is smirking. He can picture it way too clearly. Most people have trouble reading Bucky’s brand of deadpan, these days, but he has an array of specific smirks, and they’re all subtly different if you know what you’re looking for. This one, barely-quirked lips and sparkly laughing eyes, translates to you’re an idiot but you’re my idiot. It’s just a hair meaner than the you’re an idiot but I love you variant and its close cousin, I fucking love you, you idiot. Steve knows it well. 

This particular smirk has had the same effect on Steve for about a century now: he gets a brief, overwhelming urge to punch Bucky, followed by an equally overwhelming urge to kiss him senseless. 

It’s irritating. And after a day’s worth of wildly unfortunate events that could, technically, be described as “Steve’s fault,” he is already irritated enough. He pointedly keeps his back turned and tries some breathing exercises. 

“That’s really what you’re going with?” Bucky says, dry and amused. “We’re blaming this on planets?” 

Steve sighs. “Clint taught me about astrology last time he got drunk.” 

“You do know he’s fucking with you, right?” 

“Of course I do,” Steve says, hoping he sounds disdainful. “I’m going to shower off the dried alien goop now.” He makes a dignified retreat to the shower while Bucky laughs. 

They were supposed to be at a luxury mountain cabin with a hot tub. Instead, the first day of their anniversary trip has been one long series of unmitigated catastrophes, because somehow, Steve’s tactical skills — which have defeated actual evil Nazi masterminds — do not extend to dates. Or romance in general, really. 

Steve has realized, in the last year, that while he is a goddamn national hero and literal superhuman, he is a disaster of a boyfriend. And yeah, sure, “boyfriend” doesn’t seem like the right word, exactly, for everything they are, but they’ve officially been together for a year now, and Steve got it into his head to make an effort. 

So, yeah. Catastrophes. And now he’s trying to scrub off dried alien goop in a sputtering coffin-sized shower that was clearly not built with super soldier proportions in mind. 

The hot water lasts just long enough for Steve to deem himself clean enough, for certain values of enough, but it doesn’t do much for his mood, which is the sort of sulk that really requires a hot tub. He just wanted to plan something nice, for once. Romantic. He’s always so busy running around being Captain goddamn America that romance usually takes a backseat — admittedly, aliens take the front seat in this metaphor, which is fair, but the point stands. 

Bucky is sprawled out on the plasticky motel duvet. He changed into flannel pajama pants and a worn henley, and he is temporarily retired from combat and other violent activities his therapist has deemed unwise, so he isn’t covered in alien goop; in fact, he looks comfortable and somehow totally content. After this kind of day, it doesn’t seem fair that someone should be that kind of attractive. 

Bucky stops channel-surfing to give Steve and his very small towel a flirtatious once-over. 

“Can you just get it over with?” Steve sighs, looking up at the ugly water-stained ceiling in supplication. 

“Hell no. I want to hear you say it.” 

“You were right. About taking the time to shower, and bringing our phones, and checking the radiator a week ago, and… all of it. Happy now? Stop laughing at me, I swear to god, I will — oof.” 

Steve doesn’t bother to resist, because the way his luck is going, that’d end in broken bones. He winds up on his back, towel-less, with Bucky on top of him, but his weight and his heat and his smile are doing a lot for Steve’s mood. 

Then Bucky grins and says, “Told you so, punk.” 

Steve scoffs and scowls and rolls them over — more out of principle than any actual desire to fight back — and Bucky lets himself be pinned. The smirk is back, and this time Steve gives in to the urge to kiss him senseless. 

By the time he pulls away, Bucky’s mouth is red and his eyes are heavy-lidded, and he’s giving Steve a slow blink and a lazy curl of a smile. It’s just as effective now as it used to be on every girl in Brooklyn. 

“You should put on pants,” he says, but the husky tone of his voice is saying the exact opposite, and it takes a second for the words to register. 

“Huh?” 

“Pizza should be here in five minutes. We’re not in that kinda movie.” 

That surprises an actual huff of a laugh from Steve. He slides away and digs around for his sweatpants while Bucky gives a low whistle and ogles shamelessly. 

By the time he settles back on the bed, he’s feeling a little sheepish and he’s ready to apologize. Bucky’s got one eyebrow raised ever so slightly, just waiting — the laugh helped, and he knew it would, and now he knows exactly what’s coming. Damn him. 

“Sorry,” Steve sighs. “About everything. This is not what I had in mind.” 

“Not sure what you mean,” Bucky says glibly. “I can think of worse ways to spend a Friday night.” He wriggles closer, pressing their hips together and giving Steve’s ass a friendly grope. 

“Seriously. I’m sorry, this was —” 

“When’d you turn into such a princess, huh?” Bucky asks, soft and fond even if the words are teasing. 

“Excuse you? I’m not the one with an entire duffel’s worth of hair products.” 

“What I mean—” He punctuates the word with a kiss that’s all teeth and promise. “—is that I’ve seen you grin and bear it through some serious shit, Rogers. You didn’t even get this bitchy when we were trekking around the goddamn Western Front. So what’s with the whining?” 

Steve doesn’t know where to start. For a second he just looks. 

Bucky’s made up of dramatic angles and distinctive shadows, jawline and cheekbones set in a way that Steve’s been trying to capture on paper for as long as he can remember, but up close like this, the sharp delicate lines seem blurred and smoothed-over; all Steve can see is the softness of his mouth and the gentle swoop of his eyelashes. Everything else falls out of focus. 

Christ, he’s gone for this jerk. 

And that’s the problem, really, because of all the things in his extraordinarily strange life, Bucky has always been the most extraordinary, a living breathing wise-cracking miracle even before they both became world-famous scientific anomalies. He deserves fireworks and epic poems and goddamn parades, and instead — well. This is the sort of motel where you don’t look too closely at the stains on the carpet. 

Steve’s spent the better part of a century pining for the guy. You’d think he could manage one romantic weekend getaway. 

“Stop that,” Bucky interrupts, before he can spiral any further. “Jesus, stop with the big tragic eyes already. Just shut up and kiss me.” 

Steve would protest, but there’s a tongue in his mouth and a hand in his hair, tugging sharp enough to make his hips twitch forward and his rational mind switch off completely. There’s kiss after syrupy-slow, brain-liquefying kiss, and for a moment Steve lets himself get lost in it.

Then they’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and he’s so startled he jerks back and rolls off the bed into a crouch, instincts kicking in before he remembers: pizza. Right. 

Bucky is laughing — cackling, more like. 

“Wallet’s on the desk,” he says, and stretches extravagantly, unbothered, while Steve fumbles for some money and goes to open the door. 

“Your total is—” The guy stops, blinking rapidly up at Steve. “You’re…” 

Steve remembers abruptly that he’s shirtless and half-hard, with some major bed head and kiss-swollen lips. 

“Sorry, I’m not — this isn’t —” he blurts out. “Um.” 

Too late. The guy is already glancing behind him; Steve looks back just in time to catch Bucky’s outrageous wink and sly grin from where he’s lounging on his side like a goddamn pinup. 

The delivery guy looks up at Steve again, grinning, and says, “Nice. Get it, Cap.” 

“I — what? No!” Steve squawks. “Not what it looks like!” 

“Totally what it looks like,” Bucky calls cheerfully. 

Steve shoves too much money at the guy. “Keep the change. Thank you!” 

He manages to snatch the boxes and slam the door before this can get any more mortifying, and then he sags back against the doorframe and puts a hand over his eyes for a second. 

“What happened to not that kind of movie?” he sighs, cheeks burning, before collecting himself and making a mental note to warn Pepper about another impending PR crisis. 

They sit on the floor, side by side, leaning back against the mattress. Steve checks the top box and hands it to Bucky at the sight of pineapple. 

“That’s yours. Heathen.” 

Bucky shrugs, unrepentant, and shoves half a slice of his pineapple abomination into his mouth in one bite. Steve does the same with his perfectly respectable mushroom and sausage piece, and for a few minutes they both just shovel food into their mouths. Steve didn’t realize how hungry he was, but… yeah. 

Maybe blood sugar has been a factor in his mood. Huh. 

“How’sit?” 

“It’s pizza. It’s hot and cheesy, it’s not like it could be bad.” 

“Hot and cheesy, huh? Just like one of my other favorite things.” 

Steve lets out a long suffering sigh, but it’s hard to be grouchy after demolishing half a pizza. 

“You know that guy is gonna tell everyone he’s ever met, right?”

“They won’t believe him.” Bucky counters. “Hey, did you know there’s Captain America porn?” 

Steve almost chokes. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a porn parody of everything these days. The guy’s not a bad lookalike, at least in the face area. The dick area—” 

“Bucky.” 

“I gave them that guy’s name when I paid for the room and ordered the food.” 

Steve actually chokes this time. Then he laughs until his stomach hurts. 

He can’t stop until he’s breathless and red-faced, wheezing like he still has asthma. He wipes away tears while Bucky sits there and looks quietly pleased with himself. 

When the giggles subside he leans over and plants a greasy kiss on the corner of Bucky’s smile. Bucky chases his mouth and nips his lower lip, and for a minute they sit just like that, twisting at an awkward angle to exchange slow scattered kisses. 

With hunger out of the way, Steve’s top priority is getting Bucky horizontal again, so he shoves the pizza boxes out of the way and tugs-lifts-tackles him onto the bed. 

“Feeling better, I take it,” Bucky says, grinning. “Seriously, everything okay?” 

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly. “I just — I don’t know. I wanted this weekend to be perfect.” 

Bucky’s expression clears, suddenly. “God, you’re such a romantic.” 

“I mean, it would’ve been romantic, if everything had gone according to plan.”  

“You know I’ll say yes even if it’s not perfect, right?” 

All Steve can do is sputter for a solid minute. “You — how did you — how did you figure it out?”

Bucky raises one snarky eyebrow, thumbs stroking Steve’s shoulderblades before he surges up for a quick kiss. Then his lips twitch as he tries to hold back a chuckle. 

“You didn’t buy a ring, did you? ‘Cause I hate to break it to you, but… that might be problematic.” He pokes Steve in the side with one metal finger. 

“No! I just — I wanted it to be special!”

Bucky rolls his eyes in a way that somehow conveys an entire lifetime of mingled exasperation and affection. 

“Pal, I’m part robot and you’re Captain America. Doesn’t get much more special than that.” 

“I had a whole speech!” 

“Now there’s something you don’t see often: Captain America making a speech.” 

“Wow.” 

“No, I’m sure it was a good one. Lemme guess, the words ‘til the end of the line’ were involved. Am I right?”  

“Wow.”

He’s laughing too hard for it to be considered a real kiss, but he can’t help it. 

Steve’s about to pull away when Bucky wraps both arms around him and kisses back, and suddenly there’s nothing playful about it; it’s startlingly slow and deep and urgent, with a hitched inhale and an exhale that comes out shaky. 

Steve can’t quite catch his breath either. 

“You really thought you had to ask?” Bucky whispers. Neither of them pull away; their noses brush, and they’re breathing the same warm close air. 

“Told you, I wanted it to be special. You deserve that.” He expects a sarcastic retort, but Bucky’s serious and silent. “Sometimes I worry… I’ll let you down. After all this time — I don’t want you to get bored. Don’t want you to think I take you for granted.” 

“Honestly? The boring stuff is my favorite.” 

“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better, Buck.” 

“After everything that’s happened —” His voice has gone rough, and he pauses to lick his lips and take a breath. “Boredom still feels like a luxury. Getting to muddle through the everyday shit together… I love it. Even when you’re being a goddamn diva.” 

Steve lets out a wobbly chuckle. “Jerk.” 

“We both shoulda died a few times over by now. You know? It all feels special. I’m never gonna get over that.”  Bucky bites his lip, and his expression is wide-open and vulnerable, no trace of the usual laughter in his eyes. “So if you want a piece of paper making it official, that’s fine by me. But as far as I’m concerned… it was a done deal a long time ago.” 

“Yeah,” Steve manages. “Yeah, okay.” 

Then it’s bruising lips and feverish heat, a simmering need that’s so perfect and dizzying that for a few minutes, Steve forgets about the questionable duvet and the sticky wallpaper and absolutely everything else. 

They could be anywhere: crappy motel room, Brooklyn tenement, mountain cabin, Army base — Steve’s never been able to focus on their surroundings or anything else for that matter, not when Bucky’s around. This kind of love’s not just blind, it’s blinding. 

“You can go through the whole thing anyway, if it makes you feel better,” Bucky interrupts.

“Huh?” 

“I know you need to deliver an inspiring speech at least once a week or you get all backed up.” 

“I’m starting to think I should take it all back.”

“No, really. I’m sure it would’ve been very eloquent.” 

“Shut up and get your clothes off already.” 

“Is that an order, Captain?” 

“Yes.” 

“See? Who needs romance when — oh. Oh, hey, do that again.” 

.

.

.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Hello lovely mods! I was wondering if any of you could write a scenario where MC protects Piama from a jerk insult her flowers? And maybe afterwards MC compliments her? Thank you in advance! Love a wonderful week - Aquarius

The sun shone bright over the busy streets of Attadellys. An array of brilliant colors, flawlessly meshing together, as Spring seemed to blossom everywhere. The mood in the Spring Quarter was joyous with the recent coronation - warmly welcoming in their new Spring Queen.

"You'd think some of these people had never seen royalty before." Piama scoffed, holding her hand tightly in mine, as we weaved through the crowded cobblestone streets. "Ruelle, stay close and keep your eyes out for anything suspicious."

"I know how to do my job, Princess Flower Power, thank you." The whispered voice of Ruelle said from the other side of Piama. I laughed as I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. The slight blush to Piama's face only making me laugh harder.

"O-of course." She said, clearing her throat, as she averted her eyes from mine. "I meant no offense, Ruelle!"

She whispered the last part in flustered annoyance. Shaking my head with a chuckle, I placed a small kiss to the inside of Piama's wrist. I knew she would never admit her feelings for Ruelle to me, but I saw the way that they looked at each other. The stolen glances, the blush that spilled so beautifully across her warm skin, every time that Ruelle was close - and I knew I should be jealous - worried, even - but if there was anyone in Attadellys that I would share my love for Piama with, it would be Ruelle.

"Frost, Piama.. where is this place?" I groaned, her eyes cutting me short before I could say another word.

"Has being a Queen taught you no patience at all?" She replied with a smirk. "Does her majesty wish to retire already?"

I rolled my eyes, and gave her an exasperated look - swearing that just for a moment, I could hear a small chuckle coming from the direction of Ruelle.

"You are so very humorous Piama of the Spring. It's not my fault that you put me in the most uncomfortable shoes in all of Lysend!" I replied.

"Ah well, the shoes do make the dress, do they not?" Storm blue eyes tracing me over, as she gave me a heated smirk.

It was not an easy thing, to keep your composure, when dear Piama made you her main focus. The way her eyes seemed to study and learn every inch of you - like there was something just beneath the surface, that she wasn't quite seeing. It never failed to fluster me - to disarm me - to cause me to lose all train of coherent thought. She ran her fingers through the long tangles of her hair. The length of it cascading down her back, brilliant against her warm skin.

"Have I told you how much I like it when you wear your hair down like this?" I asked, taking a strand of her soft hair, and twisting it between two fingers.

"Only about a hundred times, yes." She replied, rolling her eyes - a slight blush rising to her cheeks.

I let out a sigh of relief, making sure to be as dramatic as possible, when we finally arrived at the shop that Piama had insisted we go to.

"Oh hush, Llewellyn! It did not take us that long to get here." She exclaimed, firmly swatting me on the arm before she took off towards a particularly beautiful dress. The sheer, white fabric, almost reaching the floor in the back, while the front would just barely covers Piama's thighs. The purple and yellow flower inlay that adorned the neckline, almost identical the ones in her hair.

"Slush, Piama.. You would look absolutely stunning in that." I said.

"That is the plan, my Queen." She replied with a smirk. "I have been staring at this dress for weeks, it seems like."

As she calls over the clerk, I immediately notice a shift in energy. The tall women's dark eyes, narrowing as they traced over Piama. Her lips almost perched, as she reluctantly made her way over to the dress.

"I would like to get this fitted, if you please."

The tall women just stood there for a minute, staring at Piama.

"In this span, preferably..." Piama added, giving me a look.

"Of course, Miss." The clerk finally answered, taking the dress off of it's stand.

"You might be more inclined to try something like this." A sharp voice from behind me, thick with judgment, rings through. A long arm holding out an extremely chaste style dress in Piama's direction.

"Apologies, but were we talking to you?" Piama snapped back, as I turned to face the person who had interrupted us. A tall woman, with hair as dark as Ruelle’s cloak, and green eyes that could cut their way through a moonless night, stood next to us. Her lips almost twisted into a snarl as she spoke.

"Obviously, you did not, and I am thankful for that, truly." She scoffed.

"Is there something that we can maybe help you with, then?" I asked the seemingly unpleasant woman.

"Yeah, like a stabbing." I heard Ruelle's sarcastic tone muttered under her breath.

"Oh, I was just looking at this dress your friend was planning on buying.. and well, I think we can all agree that this one here.. " She shoved the heavy fabric of the dress in our direction. ".. would suit her, and those unsightly flowers of her, much better. Do you not agree?"

I could feel a blush of embarrassment spilling over Piama's beautiful face without even looking at it. The woman's green eyes boring into her, waiting for a reply.

"And just what is that supposed to mean!" Piama barked back, her emotions starting to run high.

"It means, dear, that you look like a lost garden, that someone forgot to tend to." The woman laughed. "At least this dress, will help with mostly everything.. except for your face, that is."

I could see the tears welling up in sweet Piama's eyes, the vibrant flowers that so perfectly accentuated her warm skin, almost wilting at the harsh words. Anger surged through me like a tidal wave of fire. I clenched my fists, moving closer to Piama, as I took a deep steadying breath.

"Just who the frost do you think you are, speaking to her like that!?" I said, seething.

"Ha.. and just what's so special about her? Hm? Or you, for that matter" She rolled her eyes - her nose sticking straight up into the air, like a physical ailment of her own ignorance.

"Well I, for one, just happen to be Queen Llewellyn of Lysend... " I paused, watching as horror and realization began to paint it's way across the unpleasant woman's face. "And this.. this is Piama of the Spring. The Queen's consort, and my new wife."

I stood a little taller, justice flowing through me like a bolt of lightning.

"Oh.. I am.. so-!" I waved my hand firmly, cutting the woman’s words short.

"I could care less for your apologies, and even less for whatever excuse you'd deem to come up with."

"Y-yes, my Queen."

"And further more.. to answer your question - What makes her so special? The way her voice cracks slightly in the morning, when she's just woken up. How vulnerable she can be, when she’s finally let you into her beautiful soul. The brilliant way her skin flushes over, when I tell her how gorgeous she is. She's incredible - perfectly imperfect, in every way - A fierce and shining light in a world, that you insist on making darker, with your own ugly words."

I could feel my body shaking with anger. Ready to rip this woman apart right where she stood. Only stopping when I felt a shadow of a hand on my arm.

"That is enough for now, my Queen. Let us worry about getting Piama out of here." Ruelle's voice whispered behind me. "If she follows us, I will be more than glad to stab her. "

I gave a small nod, unable to help myself from smiling before clearing my throat.

"Now, I suggest you take you, and your opinions, back to wherever they came from."

"Yes, my Queen." The woman gave Piama one last sneering look, before bowing, and hurrying back to her friends.

"That lady was nothing but a rotting corpse." Ruelle spits out, causing Piama to laugh.

"T-truly."

I took Piama's hand in mine, bringing her attention back to me.

"Hey.. don't listen to a single word that closed minded slush-hole said about you. You are beautiful, Piama." I said, rubbing the back of hand across the supple part of her cheek. Her storm blue eyes slightly averting from mine, as she blushed.

"Th-thank you for saying so, Llewellyn... and thank you for sticking up for me. Ruelle and Lyris are the only one's who have ever done that before."

I placed a small kiss to the inside of her palm, before bringing her in for a hug. My arms wrapping tightly around her, only letting go when I felt her breath start to steady.

"I will always stick up for you, Piama. Always." I replied, as I pulled back, a fond smile on my face. 'Now, let's go buy this dress of yours, and head back to the palace. I'm famished, and the longer we stay out here, the greater chance we have of Ruelle stabbing someone."

"And for good reason." I heard come from the other side of Piama.

"That sounds like a very good plan, my Queen." Piama replied with a laugh, looping one of her arms around my own, the other resting on the empty space next to her. Her smile outshining the bright Spring sun itself, when we exited the shop. Three seasons blended imperfectly together - bonded by nothing more than fate, love, and friendship.