#apart from like self-defense where the point is to protect yourself more than hurt another person

[chaoswithstars]

I think I'm one of the only three people on earth who actually quite likes Paimon (barring some... interesting situations) and her voice.

So many people say she's annoying but I'm like. But I love her, your honor. She's so supportive and empathic, your honor. She's excited about everything and feels a bit like a little kid and I want to protect her, your honor.

Like idk. I like her. I think her voice direction is pretty neat. I'm in the minority, but I'm also pretty set on it, so.

(I'm playing Ei's second quest and just... Paimon's voice is killing me. I'm having cute agression feelings and nowhere to vent them so)

[emeraldiis]

Double Vision

A/N: this is so self indulgent i should be ashamed of myself

AO3 Link

Pairing: Loki x Reader, President Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary:  You and your boyfriend, 2012 Loki, are trapped at the end of time. But you're not alone. President Loki just got two new toys to play with.

Warnings: threesome, DUBIOUS CONSENT, dom/sub, sub!Loki, bondage, name calling, rough sex, mild knife play

You had been pruned seconds after Loki had in the battle in the TVA’s headquarters. Strangely, it didn’t hurt like you had expected. Just a faint sensation of completely and utter emptiness, and then everything went dark. Just like falling asleep. When you came back to your senses, it was just as gentle. You awoke in a bed of grass, staring up at a cloudy sky. A wave of relief calmed the rising panic in your veins when you turned to see Loki lying next to you.

You took in your surroundings slowly. The clouds looming above you looked threatening, like an impending storm, and far off in the distance was what looked like a ruined city. Crumbling skyscrapers pierced the horizon like jagged teeth. Heart speeding up in fear, you quickly shook Loki awake. “Wake up,” you hissed. “I have no idea where the hell we are.”

Loki grumbled and raised a disoriented hand to bat yours away, but still cracked open his hazy eyes to squint at you. A smile lit up his face when he saw you staring back at him, and you’d have been touched if it wasn’t important that he wake up right now. Upon seeing the anxiety written clearly on your face, he furrowed his brows and sat up, shaking his head to chase away the lingering confusion. You could tell the moment he realized something was very...wrong with the realm you found yourselves in, as his eyes widened and he was instantly on guard.

A deafening roar shook the ground, alerting the both of you to a looming danger, and you turned around to see a purple mass bearing down on you. You’d seen your fair share of fucked up things to know that this was not something you wanted to stick around for. Around you, small, bird-like creatures fled from the shadowy monster. In a flash, you were on your feet, tugging on Loki’s arm to pull him up with you. “Come on,” you yelled, raising your voice to be heard over the wind that had suddenly picked up speed.

Loki whipped his head around, desperately searching for shelter, then pointed at the city. “There, run!” He took off in a sprint towards the buildings, with you stumbling along behind him. The head start you got seemed to be enough to out run whatever was chasing you, but you didn’t dare slow down as you ran full tilt to safety. As the city drew closer, a sense of dread crept into your limbs, but you pushed it down. Better to race towards the unknown when the known was actively trying to kill you.

Your legs burned and your lungs were screaming out in protest, but Loki’s panted encouragements kept you on your feet and moving long enough to reach what looked like a half-collapsed hotel. Loki rushed inside the dilapidated building, holding the door open for you to scramble inside before slamming it shut. Another roar made the building tremble, and you bit your lip. As the ceiling shook and spat dust into your hair, you prayed that it would hold. Out of the frying pan, you thought to yourself.

Fortunately, it seemed as if the monster had moved on in search of easier prey, and you took the moment of fragile peace to sink against the wall and finally catch your breath. You dropped your head into your hands, trying to force your breathing back into a normal rhythm and figure out what the hell was happening. You’d just about calmed down when you heard Loki chuckle. “What’s so fu-funny?” You asked, still panting.

“That wasn’t me.”

“Huh?” You looked up, then felt your newly regained breath leave your lungs as another Loki emerged from the darkened hallway. He was dressed in what looked like a suit tailored after your Loki’s Asgardian armor, and he wore his horns proudly. A “Vote Loki,” pin sat crooked on his suit jacket. The flickering lights above him illuminated his grin, making him look like, well, a villain.

“You’re a variant,” your Loki said, stepping in front of you and eyeing his twin warily. The only ever Loki variant you had encountered was Sylvie, and she was questionable at the best of times. Loki was right to be on guard.

“I suppose you could call me that,” President Loki drawled, tracing a finger along the dusty wall as he stalked towards you. It left tracks on the wallpaper.  He leaned to the side to peer around you Loki, and you felt naked under his predatory gaze. You shrank further behind your boyfriend.

“My, what do you have here?” He asked, eyes lighting up in a way that made your hair stand on end. “What a pretty toy, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I had a turn?”

Your Loki groweld protectively, and he took a step forward. “Do not lay a finger on her.”

President Loki frowned. “That’s no way to treat the superior version of yourself.” He continued his march forward, then slowed to a stop inches from your Loki’s defensive frame. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen a beautiful woman.”

You were horrified to find a confusing sort of arousal settling into your stomach. This was, after all, just another version of Loki, the man who’d spent so many nights taking you apart and putting you back together again. You’d seen those same hooded eyes so many times, seen that same smile as Loki made you squirm. Despite trying your hardest to fight it, you could feel a dampness soak into your panties, making you shift uncomfortably.

Just as perceptive as your own Loki, President Loki seemed to sense your growing interest. His frown broke out into a wide smile. “Oh, you want it, don’t you? Go on, tell your guard dog to back down, so we can play.” He nodded towards your Loki, who had turned around to look at you with perplexed, hurt eyes. 

“Really?” He asked, flicking his gaze from the blush on your face towards your tensing thighs. He instantly recognized the arousal he’d seen so many times before, and his expression grew bewildered. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you whimpered, trying to defend yourself. “He looks just like you, I mean, he is you, and I…” you squeezed your eyes shut. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

This was all so fucked. Just minutes ago you were running for your life in a strange new world, and now all that adrenaline had shifted into a violent desire to be broken to pieces. Just so you didn’t have to think about the horror that was your current situation. President Loki was still staring at you, pupils now blown and tongue running across his bottom lip in blatant want.

“Oh, love. There’s nothing wrong with you,” the variant purred. His voice was a bit deeper than your Loki’s, but it still had that velvet smoothness that always made you weak in the knees. A bright flash of green shot out from his fingertips, ensnaring your Loki in glowing rope.

He gasped in surprise, and immediately began to struggle against the magic, but it was in vain. You cried out and reached for him, but President Loki was faster. He grabbed your Loki’s arm, then began to drag him away from you and down the hallway. With a sharp whistle, he motioned his head for you to follow, and found yourself standing and trailing behind the two Lokis like an obedient dog.

President Loki pulled yours into the depths of the hotel, you following anxiously. Your Loki shouted threats and harsh words, but the magic bonds kept him nearly immobile as he was guided by President Loki. You didn’t dare try anything stupid; you weren’t a fighter, and you suspected that this variant far outmatched both you and your lover in combat. All you could do was obey and hope he showed mercy.

You were led into a suite that seemed more put together than the rest of the hotel. Everything looked much cleaner, especially the bed, and most of the walls appeared to be stable. President Loki shoved your Loki into an armchair at the back wall of the room, and then positioned it so that it was facing the bed. “Well?” He asked, lazily gesturing towards the bed.

A gush of wetness seeped from your core at the same time as fear gripped your chest. Two conflicting emotions warred within you, and you felt hot tears stinging your eyes at the confusion of it all. On one hand, you loved your Loki. There was not telling how trustworthy this variant was, if he was going to hurt you or your boyfriend. On the other, this was the once in a lifetime chance to experience a threesome with only Loki. A fantasy that most likely no other person had gotten the chance to experience outside of their dreams.

You cast a helpless glance over at your Loki. When you weren’t looking, President Loki must have gagged him, because there was now an emerald piece of fabric stuffed between his lips. Your pussy throbbed in appreciation at the sight while your heart ached at the terror in his eyes.

President Loki rolled his eyes. “I can’t say I’ve ever met a version of me quite this soft,” he said, walking to his clone’s chair. “Let me help you relax.” President Loki straddled your Loki, chuckling at the muffled whimper that spilled from behind the gag. The variant brought his head down to bite at Loki's neck, and your mouth dropped open.

To your surprise--and hesitant delight--your Loki seemed to be almost enjoying the treatment. His head had fallen back against the chair, and he was breathing in that strained way that he did when he was turned on and trying to hide it. Kinky bastard, you thought to yourself.

President Loki paused his assault on your Loki’s neck to look back at you. “See? He likes it, dear. Now be a good girl and get on the bed,” he commanded. The growl in his voice let you know that he would not tolerate being disobeyed again, so you nodded and clambered on top of the bed. 

Sliding off Loki’s lap, the variant gave him a quick pat on the head and then made his way over to you. “Mmmf!” Loki mumbled, earning a sharp look from President Loki.

“I won’t hurt her. If you stay quiet like a good boy, I may let you have a turn.”

That sent chills down your spine. The thought of both of the Lokis having their way with you was almost too much, and your shaking knees finally gave out to send you sprawling onto your back against the pillows. Seemingly amused, President Loki snickered and crawled onto the bed. He crept forward until he was hovering over you, dark blue eyes raking across your trembling form.

You squirmed under his piercing gaze. The shivers making their way up and down your spine were unrelenting, no matter how hard you tried to keep still and quiet. “What happens now?” You squeaked out.

President Loki’s mouth opened in a wide green, revealing stark white teeth that almost looked sharp. “Now, we play.” Green light appeared at his fingertips again, and your hands shot up uncontrollably. You yelped in surprise and tugged on the rope that had appeared on your wrists. You were bound to the headboard, completely at the mercy of this variant. And fuck, it was exciting and terrifying and arousing all at the same time. What a mess.

There was that green light again. This time, it revolved around itself until it took the shape of a jet black dagger. President Loki ran his thumb along the handle, eyes leaving you to gaze lovingly at the knife. Your breath quickened in fear. “Stay still,” he purred. With deft fingers, President Loki raked the tip of the dagger down your shirt, cutting it open at the front. You let out an embarrassingly high pitched squeal as cold metal came in contact with your bare skin. But, as he promised, the variant did not hurt you. He made quick work of your pants as well, abandoning the knife in favor of simply yanking them down your legs along with your panties.

The cold air hitting your bare skin made you gasp. You tugged uselessly at your wrists, wanting to cover yourself in embarrassment at your sudden nakedness. Your frantic squirming made President Loki chuckle, and he leaned down to nip at your ear. “Don’t worry, sweet thing. I’ll warm you up.” His hot breath against your ear sent shivers of pleasure down your spine, and you couldn’t suppress a soft moan.

Suddenly remembering your restrained boyfriend, you managed to peer around President Loki to make sure he was alright. Your Loki was still bound and gagged, but now his face was alight with a crimson blush. Your eyes drifted downwards to the prominent bulge in his pants. When he caught you staring, Loki dropped his gaze away from yours, ashamed.

President Loki watched the silent conversation, amused. He trailed a thin finger up your thigh, then sat back to straddle your hips. “He’s enjoying himself,” the variant said confidently. He grinned at you. “I know because he’s me, and he likes what I like.”

All you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes, naked and defenseless underneath his weight.

“Oh? Surprised, are we?” President Loki drawled as he waved his hand casually. His suit faded away with his gesture, leaving him bare as well. His long cock mirrored your boyfriend’s, and it was swollen and dripping. You licked your lips. “I’ll take it you two haven’t fully...explored his interests. Us Lokis crave dominance, to be left at the mercy of a pretty thing like you.”

“So why aren’t you-”

He cut you off with a gentle slap to your inner thigh. When you sucked in a harsh breath, he chuckled. “Because there’s something else we love. Power.” WIth that, President Loki moved to place his legs on either side of you. He grabbed your ankles roughly and pressed your legs back until they sat atop his shoulders. You groaned at the stretch, then sighed heavily as he titled his head to the side to mouth at your ankle. “Ready, slut?” He growled.

You didn’t get a chance to answer. The air was stolen from your lungs as the variant plunged his hard cock into you, the stretch burning. You screamed out in pleasure and pain, listening to what sounded like both Lokis moaning in unison. The version that was currently buried deep inside of your heat rolled his eyes back in pleasure at the feeling of your pussy flexing around him.

“Oh, it’s been so long,” the variant moaned. “I want to make this last.” He began thrusting his hips lazily, more grinding into you than anything. You whimpered as you got used to the size of him. It felt like you were dreaming with how overwhelming it all was. Your core throbbed again and again as new gushes of arousal spilled from your cunt, and your head was spinning with the knowledge that just feet from you, your boyfriend was being forced to watch another version of himself tear you apart. And he loved every second of it.

From behind President Loki, your Loki whined, and you could just barely see him twitching his hips up into nothing. “Please,” he begged, and you noticed that he had managed to slip the gag from his mouth. You weren’t sure what he was begging for. To be touched, to touch you. Probably both.

President Loki looked at you with lidded eyes, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he ground his cock deep inside of you. “Should we let him play, too?” He asked, voice ragged.

You nodded frantically. Words escaped you, but you desperately wanted your boyfriend here. You longed for his touch, wanting to feel them both. President Loki nodded and waved his hand back towards the chair. Loki’s bonds vanished, and he was scrambling onto the bed as soon as he was free. 

He crawled up to the top of the bed, hands outstretched to grab your face and pull you in for a kiss. Your Loki gasped desperately as President Loki grabbed him by the hair, pulling hard so that he stopped just short of reaching your lips. Your Loki whimpered and went nearly limp in submission.

The variant let go of Loki’s hair, tsking at him like he was scolding a child. “You may not touch her without my permission.” His voice was surprisingly even, given how he was still thrusting into you. “Are we clear?”

Your Loki opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it and nodded obediently. President Loki grinned wolfishly. “Good boy. You may kiss her.”

In a flash, your lover was leaning over you, pressing his mouth clumsily to yours. His tongue sought entry, and you let him in enthusiastically. You could practically feel the desperation seeping from his every pore. You’d never seen him this worked up, and silently wished you had discovered this kink of his a little sooner. “You look beautiful like this,” he panted into your mouth.

When you began to reply, it was cut short by a yelp as President Loki’s hand dropped down to play with your clit. Your Loki kissed you again, drinking in all of your moans as his variant brought you higher and higher with those deft fingers. With a growl, President Loki snatched your Loki’s hair again and dragged him away from your lips. Loki’s pitiful whine matched yours as you both gasped for air.

“Fuck her mouth,” President Loki commanded, increasing the pace of his thrusts with a growl of pleasure. His fingers kept up their assault on your clit, and you fought to crane your neck up and open your mouth to be ready for your boyfriend’s cock.

Loki hastily yanked off his pants and pulled out his weeping dick. He shuffled over to you, then leaned forward until he was close enough to guide himself onto your tongue. This was familiar, the heavy weight of Loki’s erection stretching your jaw. You closed your lips around him and began to suck, gritting your teeth against the cries of pleasure that threatened to break free from your throat.

President Loki let go of the other Loki’s hair and instead gripped your hip roughly as he began fucking you an earnest. “So tight,” he hissed. “Cum for me, little slut. Cum for your god.”

Helpless to do anything but obey, you felt your back arch up as your entire body convulsed. Pleasure ripped through you and left you a whimpering mess, drooling around you Loki’s cock. Your boyfriend cursed at the sight of you cumming, and began to pump himself in and out of your mouth. “I-I can’t help, fuck, help myself, darling. Ah, oh gods.”

“Such a good girl,” President Loki praised. He groaned at the tightening of your walls, then removed his hand from your clit to wrap a long arm around your Loki’s neck. Your Loki was forced to lean back against President Loki’s chest, only able to keep his cock in your mouth because of his lanky body.

Your Loki cried out, the sound broken up by his variant cutting off his oxygen. His hips stuttered violently, and you felt thick cum spurt into your throat. Somehow, you were able to force it down instead of choking, and you heard Loki whimper at the feel of his sensitive length being constricted by your throat. “Love, fuck,” he keened.

Seeing the two of you cum proved to be too much for the variant. “Oh, Norns, I can’t,” he groaned out harshly, then slammed himself into you and held his hips there as his cock pulsed within you. As he came, the magic binding your wrists dissipated, and you brought your arms down to rub at the sore muscles. Hot seed spilled out of you, running down to your ass. President Loki watched his cum drip from your swollen pussy in appreciation, panting softly. 

Your Loki had collapsed next to you, and was now snuggled up against your side. The variant frowned at the sight, and you could almost detect a rueful look on his face. You hissed in a pained breath as President Loki slowly lowered your aching legs from his shoulders. He sighed as he pulled out of you, a rush of liquid gushing out and wetting the bed. Most of the dominance gone from his demeanor, he shifted awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure where he fit in this dynamic.

His sudden insecurity didn’t surprise you. After all, he was a Loki, and they were notorious for their false confidence. It tracked. After a moment’s hesitation, you reached up and grabbed his arm to pull him to lay down next to you. He stared at you in slight confusion, but obliged, leaving you sandwiched between the two Lokis. You turned to your boyfriend, who was already drifting off, too fucked out to keep his eyes open. With a soft smile, you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

President Loki cleared his throat, catching your attention. “I, uh. It’s a bit sad. Seeing what I could’ve had. I can’t help but be envious.” He chewed on his bottom lip and looked away, bravado completely gone.

You rolled your eyes and threw a tired arm around him, feeling a rush of satisfaction when he purred happily and cuddled against you. “I think I have room in my life for more than one Loki,” you whispered. And it was true. If Loki was born to be a villain in every timeline, then you were born to love each one of them.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (10)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.9k warnings: smut (18+), angsty angst, this time I dont leave you with a cliff hanger 😉 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“Come on, Bucky! I know you’re in there!” 

You hit your fist on the door again. Perhaps you would have been more mindful of the the hour, but you’d heard glass shattering as you raced up the stairway just moments ago. You’d heard him shouting himself hoarse and heavy footsteps as he paced inside his apartment. You’d heard the cracks in his voice – the consumption of grief and fury and shame swallowing him whole.  

One of Bucky’s neighbors had rung Sam the first time Bucky’s screams could be heard through the thin apartment walls. It was the fifth time in as many nights and Sam promised Bucky would get it under control before they went to the landlord with noise complaints. He made no such promises that he would be the one to do it. 

An elderly woman in a nightgown peeped her head out into the hallway, scowling at you as you continued pounding on the door. Her beady eyes narrowed and you only spared her a moment’s glance before you returned to the door. 

“I’ll wake up the whole building! I swear to—” 

The door was pulled from under your fist. In its frame, stood a ghostly version of the man you knew. Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes. His hair was disheveled, blood dripped from a cut in his palm. Behind him, furniture was turned on its side, glass on the floor, magazines and unopened mail littering every surface. He'd torn his place apart.  

“What are you doing here?” 

You swallowed, forcing your voice stronger than you felt. “Sam called me.” 

Bucky’s grip on the doorknob tightened. “Of course, he did.”  

He paused only for a moment before he turned his back to you and walked inside the apartment. The door was left open in his wake and you took it as permission to enter. 

Cautiously, you took your first steps into his apartment. You tried to ignore the dust lining the curtains and the fleeting thought wondering when the last time he’d allowed the sun to touch his skin. The latch clicked behind you and you winced at the intrusion to the silence.  

Bucky meanwhile was staring out into the mess of his living room. His gaze rested on the couch turned on its side, then to the box of trinkets spilled on the floor by the mantel, then the broken glass by the window. His shoulders sagged; his expression unreadable. Slowly, he knelt down to the edge of the couch to flip it back on its legs.  

You watched him carefully, not uttering a word or daring to move closer until he finished. Once the couch was right side up again, he exhaled a tired breath and leaned against the edge. Exhaustion flickering through his eyes, though you suspected it had little to do with the exertion of moving furniture.  

As Bucky moved to throw the cushions back to the frame, you realized suddenly how he was dressed. Plaid blue pajama pants hung low on his waist. Bare feet prodding over hardwood floors too close to where broken shards of glass waited. His chest was exposed; skin glazed in the dim glow of moonlight as it peered through the small slit between the curtains.  

You could see his shoulder blades move along his back as he tensed. The lines of his spine and the dips along his hipbones. When he turned to face you again, your eyes were drawn to his shoulder and the frayed mess of scar tissue and burns. It was mesmerizing, the intricate patterns and the markings on his skin. Pink and red and faded with time. You wondered if it still hurt, if he could feel the nerve endings there or— 

Your gaze flickered back to Bucky’s. He was watching you, barely taking a breath. So vulnerable as he stood in front of you and he had no time to prepare for it. He probably didn’t realize how exposed he was until he noticed you staring. You’d imposed on his home, on his space. He couldn’t have known he’d be confronted with this tonight. 

All the effort it took for him to simply remove his jacket and now he was left standing before you without a single layer to protect him.  

You could see the doubt swimming behind his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to pretend like this connection between you was something he could easily push away, like he could let go of it without much of a second thought or a single word in his own defense, you could tell he was ripping himself apart at the seams, wondering whether you found him as repulsive as he saw himself to be. 

He shook his head, his features hardening over again. He gripped at the side of the couch until his knuckles turned white.  

“You should go home,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was thick as gravel. “Sam shouldn’t have bothered you.” 

“Shouldn’t have—?” You scoffed, stunned. “Bucky, look at this place!” 

“I’m fine,” he replied flatly and you almost laughed if it weren’t for the deadpanned look upon his face.  

“You’re clearly not fine!” You dared to take a step closer, aching to remind him of the lightness he carried weeks earlier, only for him to retreat. He rejected the contact on instinct – a flinch throughout his whole body. Your heart clenched as if a hand had slipped in past your ribs and squeezed until it burst.  

Your breath was tight in your lungs as you tried again, a little softer this time, “you’re not fine, Bucky. You’ve kept yourself held up – alone – in this apartment for days on end. You’re pushing away the people who care about you. You’re not sleeping. You... You look like you’ve been through hell.” 

Bucky’s jaw was clenched so tight, you wondered if it might shatter. His gaze was unfocused, staring down at the floor by your feet.  

“You don’t have to put yourself thought this,” you eased, though the tension would not fade from his muscles. They remained locked as stone. You inched forward, a hand extending to him, an anchor to ground him. “Bucky, please... let me help you.” 

Something snapped – as sudden as a rubber band pulled taunt until its breaking point – and Bucky’s cold eyes met yours.  

"There is NO helping me!” he roared, startling you enough to flinched back a few paces, your hand curling back against your chest protectively. He curled his shaking hand to a fist. “I can't escape this shit! Even when I thought I could—when things were finally bearable again and I had a reason to get out of bed in the morning and I actually wanted to live through the fucking day— it all came back anyway! One word and I’m right back to where I started! I’m a fucking nightmare to be around! Don’t you get that?!” 

His breaths were coming in ragged, too quick. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes red. He hit his knuckles against the edge of the couch, on the wooden frame under the spine. Bucky barely took in a full breath.

“I can’t keep my shit together and I’m -- I’m only going to hurt you, okay? You shouldn’t want anything to do with this. I—I mean, look around you!” He kicked at the glass near his exposed feet, angry tears burning on his cheeks. “This is what my life looks like! Is this—is this what you want for yourself? You really want to sign up for this? This—this fucking endless parade of night terrors and panic attacks and anxiety? Huh?” 

He was brimming with pain. It was spilling over the surface and coating the floor. You were drowning in it and all you wanted to do was cross the room to him, to hold him, to soothe even an ounce of that suffering away because it would consume him whole if he let it.  

Bucky’s right hand was shaking so badly, tremors wouldn’t cease even as he clenched his fist. His body betrayed the stone he etched into his features. It was crumbling under the weight.  

“You really want to throw away your life for that? For me?” he spat as if the very idea itself carried venom in its implication, as if it were nothing more than a fool’s errand to spend a lifetime by his side, as if choosing him would be choosing to tie a noose around your neck.  

You’d never seen the evidence of his self-loathing before—not in full view and smothering the man you adored. He was expecting you to recoil, to run, to fight and argue and ultimately accept that you could never love a man so broken. It was a reaction he could wait a century for and still never find even a glimpse of hesitancy on your features.  

You steadied your breathing. Focused on the heart of the man standing in front of you, determined to push past the destructive fog he’d surrounded himself in. You took a step toward him, and this time, he did not run.  

“You’re not going to scare me away, Bucky.” 

Shame quickly spread through his body, replacing the threads of anger with something much crueler. His eyes fell to the floor, his chest rising unsteady and he stumbled back a few paces to give you space from the rage he wasn’t able to control. He looked about a decade younger as his features softened again, cowering back into the shadows. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you eased, daring another step. 

Bucky shook his head, reflective lines along his cheeks. His lower lip was chewed raw.  

“You don’t deserve this mess. You should—You should be with someone whole. Someone who can give you a better life than I can.” He could barely choke out the words.

“I don’t want someone else.” You took another step closer, determined to close the space between you. “I want you.” 

The tips of your fingers brushed against Bucky’s hand and a shiver cast up his spine. His eyes were transfixed on your touch as you slowly encased his hand in your own, easing the tension through his body and crumbling the stones in his chest with a gentle slide of your thumb against his palm. He started to sink against it, his whole body caving in to the very thing he’d been keeping at an arm’s length. He was suffering withdrawal.  

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Bucky whimpered, tears slipping past his eyes as he shut them tight, as if he could cast away his demons if he were blind to their shadows over his shoulder.  

You tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down to the couch. He followed you easily, his body moving of your accord as if he were made of clay. When you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, you felt the slight tremble along his spine, the shakiness in his bones. His head laid against your heartbeat, his right arm snaking around your waist in fear of letting go.   

“I don’t need to know what happened. I don’t need the details,” you sighed against his ear. “I know you. I know you’re a good man, Bucky.” 

Bucky was quiet for a minute. The silence hung thick in the air. 

“What if I’m not?” 

You tried to ignore the twist in your chest. “Oh honey, please don’t say that.” 

“I lost eight people, Y/n,” he muttered out, holding onto you a little tighter. You could feel his heart pounding as you raked your fingers through his hair, hoping to ease him if only a little. “Eight of my unit. My friends. If I... If I had said something sooner... We were sitting ducks and... and...” 

It was impossible to draw the pieces together. You couldn’t see the vivid image he held in his mind, but the details of that day weren’t necessary. He trusted you enough to outline the frame, to provide glimpses into the worst day of his life, even if they were messy and blurred. His body shook as he spoke, like maybe it was the first time he was saying the words aloud.  

You ran your fingers along his spine, drawing patterns along his shoulder blades. He shivered. 

The gentle glow of the moonlight caught the reflective edge of something on the floor. A medal. A Bronze Star. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, remembering what Natasha had told you about its merit for exceptional bravery.  

“Were there any survivors?” 

Bucky held his breath and slowly he nodded. “He was... He was just a kid when it happened. Peter. I think... I think if it wasn’t for him, I would have died out there. I would have given up. Woulda been easy enough. My arm would have bled out pretty quick and the sky... the sky was so beautiful that day. I don’t know why I remember that. Not a cloud for miles. It would have been a nice last thing to see, you know? I would have been okay with that. But Peter... Peter was so young and I... I wanted to bring him home.” 

Tears were openly streaming down your face and you were thankful Bucky couldn’t see them as he laid against your chest. You tried to stifle the sob as it broke through. You kissed at his hairline again, holding him as tight as you could manage. 

“You saved his life,” you stressed, hoping he might be able to hear it.  

Bucky swallowed, tears brushing against the thin fabric of your t-shirt. “I lost eight others.” 

“Yes, you did.” There was no disputing that. Eight lives had been lost and he was grieving his friends, his team, blaming himself for each life he didn’t save. His body tensed and you were mindful to draw pressured lines along his back to ease the rigidity there.  

“You did everything you could, honey.” 

Bucky shook his head. “No, I could have... I—I should have...” 

“Some things are just outside of your control.” 

“But I—” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

Bucky froze, the recognition present in his body as he slowly lifted his head from your chest. “That’s....” He blinked a few times. “That’s what Sam always said. Those exact words.” 

You smiled, brushing the hair from his eyes. You wiped your thumb along his cheekbone, drawing away the tracks of tears on his face. “Sam’s a smart guy.” 

Bucky searched your eyes and you could tell he was wondering how you’d come to know Sam’s mantras, how they’d become words you often repeated to yourself in your darkest moments, but he couldn’t quite find a way to ask. He pulled himself from your lap and propped himself up beside you, your hands intertwined. He squeezed it lightly and an aching smile pulled at your lips.  

"Sam used to have to write it on paper for me,” you admitted at the bittersweet memory. “I couldn’t say it to myself and he figured if I could read it in his writing, maybe I’d believe it if it were coming from him. After a while I started to say them out loud and hearing it my own voice... I don’t know. Sam kind of tricked me into healing, I guess.” 

You laughed under your breath and you felt Bucky ease slightly beside you. He squeezed your hand again, a silent reminder that he was there. You focused on the feel of his grip, the callouses on his palms and the warmth of his skin. Real and tangible. Your Bucky.  

“Sometimes I think Sam’s the only reason I survived after I lost Riley.” 

A slight pinch formed at Bucky’s brows, his eyes narrowing—a subtle sort of curiosity, though he waited patiently for you to continue. The silence didn’t seem to frighten him as much as he focused on you, his eyes darted to your lip as you dug in your teeth.  

You hadn’t let yourself be vulnerable next to Bucky before, afraid to take away from his own suffering in favor of your own. But you had known pain of a different kind. 

You knew what it was to crave comfort, to silently beg to be held. You knew how it felt to be rejected by a man too shattered to offer any piece of himself away without breaking apart entirely.  

The way Bucky was watching you, even through the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion pulling him in... it settled the twists of nerves in your stomach. His thumb traced at the edges of your palms, gentle sweeps to ease the tension away. His back straightened, a determination returning to his features, a sense of belonging – of purpose – in his comfort of you.  

“He was a pararescue in the Air Force,” you continued after a moment and a flash of realization crossed over Bucky’s features. You pressed out a sad sort of smile as you said, “you remind me of him a little.” 

You thought of the t-shirt you’d lent Bucky the evening you’d gotten caught in the storm together, how it clung to his chest. Bucky’s shoulders where broader than Riley’s had been. It was slightly bigger on your frame the next night you wore it. The logo had faded with constant washing, the soft green of the fabric muted to a grey. You’d worn it to sleep nearly every night for weeks after Riley left for his final tour, longer after he’d been killed.  

It was the most cherished thing you owned. Lending it to Bucky that night had taken a strength you hadn’t allowed for yourself in years. It brought back memories you’d left untouched and an ache in your chest you’d forgotten. But somewhere, under it all, it had released you. 

Riley would have liked Bucky, you thought, might have considered him a friend. You hoped he wouldn’t mind being the bridge that allowed you to move onto a new sense of peace, a new comfort. Even in Riley’s darkest moments, he only ever wanted you to be happy. You desperately hoped he meant that.  

“I loved him so much,” you told Bucky, your mouth feeling suddenly dry at the admission, “but the war had hurt him beyond the scars on his body. Most nights, he woke up screaming. I tried... I tried to comfort him, to ground him back to what was real, but Riley was always so stubborn. He insisted he was fine, as if I didn’t notice the dark circles under his eyes or that he started drinking coffee in the evening before bed. He never told me what happened. I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me, that he was just doing what he could to hold himself together, but... the truth was, I lost Riley long before the officers showed up at his parents’ house.” 

Bucky nodded, watching you intently, though he didn’t say a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you kept your stare ahead, focusing on the imperfections laced into the brick of the fireplace across the room. You studied the curve of the cement, the nicks in the mantel, the divots of the stone. It was the first time you’d uttered Riley’s name in years. 

“I know you think I can’t handle this stuff, that it’s too much for me, but this isn’t the first time I’ve been around someone with nightmares, Bucky, or panic attacks,” you said, memories flashing over Riley sinking to the floor with his hands pressed to his ears, tears streaming down his face, images of him turning his back on you and disappearing for days on end. You had hoped he’d open up in enough time, but he never did. He couldn’t, he’d said, or it would consume him whole. Even years later, you still wondered whether it was under the weight of his pain that he suffocated, not in the prospect of its release.  

“Riley struggled after his first tour,” you continued, a lump burning in your throat. “He... He came back different. He couldn’t adjust to civilian life. I could tell from the second he got home that he was itching to go back. Despite all the pain he endured, all the nightmares and the guilt, all he wanted to do was go back.” 

You glanced over at Bucky to find his jaw clenched in understanding. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling, for soldiers who waited so tirelessly to be reunited with family and friends to feel isolated and insignificant when they returned home, to want to return to the one place they felt like they belonged.  

“I tried to stop him,” you continued, wiping your eyes as unshed tears started to blur your vision. “I begged him to stay. He was out of his contract. He didn’t need to go back but...” You sighed. Bucky’s hand gripped yours and you drew on the ounce of strength he was offering. “The worst part was that he was better when he was over there. He was smiling again and laughing and making jokes like he used to. He was promising things for our future I hadn’t even allowed myself to consider before then. Being over there... it offered him something I never could and I was... I was glad for that. I was thankful he’d gone. I was... relieved. I’d missed him so much and I was just happy he was himself again, even if he was a world away, even if it broke my heart. Seeing him happy again... it was enough.” 

You brushed at your eyes, the calloused touch of Bucky’s palm sliding along your jaw to gently wipe the wet from your cheek. His breathing was even again, the shakiness in his hands subsided. He waited for you to gather your thoughts again, not uttering a word in favor of the crickets chirping outside the window – unparalleled kindness in his patience.  

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, urging yourself to continue. Your eyes met Bucky’s, finding comfort in the warm shades of blue and the encouraging glimpse of a smile that barely rose at the edges of his mouth.  

“When Riley died, I blamed myself for a long time,” you said. “I told myself I could have stopped him from going back. I could have done more to convince him to stay, to get him the help he needed. I could have fought harder for him—for... for us. But Riley was his own person. He made his own choices and I couldn’t have done a damn thing to stand in his way. Sam helped convince me of that.” 

Bucky’s face slacked. “That’s why you started volunteering at the VA.” 

You nodded. “Sam and Riley were partners. They had some sort of pact to take care of the other’s family if something happened. Sam held up his side of the bargain whether I liked it or not. He dragged me to the open house that year and I haven’t left since. I do it for Riley, but... I don’t know... I think I do it for myself, too.” 

You exhaled a heavy breath, turning away from the fireplace to face Bucky. His eyes weren’t as red as they had been, a frown no longer etched into his features. His gaze full, though heavy, and he watched you as if you carried the entire world in the palm of your hands.  

“So, you have to understand... I can’t lose you to this war, too,” you choked out, squeezing at his hand to feel the firmness of it, to remind yourself that he was real and sitting right beside you and not an ocean away. “I won’t survive losing you, Bucky. I need you, okay? Please.” 

He looked as though he was about to argue, but he quickly held his tongue as he watched the tears slip down over your cheeks. Reflective in the dim light from the window.  

You took in a long breath, straightening your spine as you met his eye, your voice stronger than it had been since you started. “Not everyone comes home, but you did. You survived and you wandered into my life and somehow, you made me believe in love again. Even on your worst days, just being near you is the best part of mine.” 

Bucky’s lips parted, a semblance of shock flashing over his eyes. You smiled at him through your tears, a hand sliding along the side of his cheek. He sighed against the touch of it, sinking into your embrace as if hadn’t ever expected to be held like that again. Your sweet Bucky, still so surprised that you could adore him as much as you did.  

“So, I will take your nightmares and your panic attacks,” you told him, smiling through the trembling in your lips. “I’ll take your bad days and share the weight you carry on your shoulders. I’ll take every ounce of shame and self-loathing you have until the day comes you can hardly feel it at all. I’ll take the empty side streets with you and we’ll drive so far out into the country side we’ll never hear a firework again.” 

Bucky chuckled at that, a smile pressing up along his cheek until you felt it under your palm.  

“I will take anything you throw at me,” you sighed, your thumb brushing over his lips, “as long as you’re mine. As long as I’m yours. That’s all I want, Bucky. It’s all I ask. Just you.” 

Bucky stared at you, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief on his features. You could see the hope burning behind his eyes, how badly he wanted to believe you, but doubt crept in and sunk its talons into his spine.  

His smile sank. “You’ve... you’ve already been through so much. I don’t know if I’m worth all that.” 

“You are.” You slid both hands along his cheeks, holding his gaze, until you leaned in closer, inch by inch, and pressed your lips to his forehead. Slow, lingering, you kissed his temples, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his jawline, pausing only when you found yourself a breath away from his lips.  

“You are, Bucky,” you said again, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks and catching a tear in its path. He bowed his head, a slight trembling in his jawline. It took everything you had not to collapse into him.  

“Honey, I promise you, it won’t always feel like this and I’ll convince you every day that you are enough, if you need me to,” you told him, your voice shaking as you held back tears. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever again.” 

You leaned forward to kiss the crown of his head and his whole body seemed to sink in response, lightening, as if he’d let go of a boulder strapped upon his shoulders. His muscles softened, the tension slipping from his spine, until slowly, he began to lift his head, hair parting away from his eyes. Though they were strained and red, a crystalized ocean current stared back at you.  

You could feel the ease in his body taking over, a realization and a determination present in his stare, in his body.  

His lips parted, a steady breath in. “I love you.” 

*** 

It was the easiest thing he’d ever said; slipped from his lips as if the words had simply tumbled out on their own. Lost in how tenderly you touched him, how your hands never once left his body even as he held himself firm as stone, how you entrusted him with the most painful parts of yourself, how you gently coaxed him away from the shadows threatening to drag him back into a darkness he’d never recover from – he’d never been so certain of anything in his life.  

“I love you,” he said again, just wanting to hear it one more time. His voice was stronger this time, steadier, and he could feel his cheeks curving up into a smile. It ached from disuse, but it was a pleasant feeling. A kind one.  

He slipped his hand to rest on yours as it laid against his face and gently pulled it back just enough to kiss at your palm. It wasn’t often he found you at a loss for words, but it he didn’t mind the silence, not like he did before. He could still hear the slight hitch of surprise in your breath, the nervous laughter carrying in your exhale. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it were even possible to love you more than he did in that moment.  

“Really?”  

God, you were so beautiful when you looked at him like that. Starry eyed and so full of hope.  

He nodded. “Yeah. I do.” 

You kissed him then, full on his mouth, arms thrown around his neck, and he had to stifle a laugh against your lips. He could feel the smile growing against him, laughing in between every kiss as the tears dried on your cheeks.  

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you beamed, drawing him in to kiss him again. 

He shouldn’t be surprised after all you’d said to him tonight, but it still fluttered in his chest, still caused butterflies to swarm in his stomach, still cast a blinding light deep into his heart that pushed out the remaining darkness lingering behind. His arm snaked around your back, holding you as tight against him as he could manage. He was breathless by the time you pulled away.  

“Will you stay?” he asked, suddenly feeling nervous as his eyes flickered over to the bedroom door. “I know it’s a mess out here, but—” 

Your lips were on his again and he swore he’d never talk again as long as you kept kissing him like that. Slowly, you began to stand from the couch, tugging him along with you. He pulled away from your lips just long enough to navigate his way to the bedroom, stepping over broken glass and the remnants of his nightmare on the living room floor.  

His bedroom was untouched, at least. The sheets were thrown haphazardly off the bed, but other than that, it was pristine in comparison to the damage he’d done out there. A shame tried to work its way deep into his chest, but he felt your hand slip into his, carefully drawing him close to the bed, and it released him to your care.  

His back bounced against the mattress in tune with the sweet sound of your laughter as you crawled over him. Thighs caging his hips, you straddled his waist and he looked up at you, certain he’d find a glimmering shine of a halo behind your head. The moonlight touched over your shoulders as you leaned down against him, kissing his lips. 

He’d missed you so much. Those two weeks left him in a hole he couldn’t possibly dig himself out of on his own. He was scraping at the bottom, nails filled with dirt, digging himself deeper and deeper until he could no longer see the sunlight as it touched over the surface. It wasn’t until you jumped down into the pit with him that he noticed there were notches in a wall once perfectly smooth, allowing him to crawl his way back up to the top.  

You leaned back a little, breathless, as your hands slid along his chest. It was the first time he’d been so exposed in front of you, the scars and burns on full display, and he was surprised that there was no hesitancy in your touch, no reluctance as you brushed your fingertips over the corners of the damage to his skin. But you paused, eyes flickering to him.  

“Can I?” 

Bucky sighed, his heart aching. You knew how difficult it was for him, for you to see this part of him. He hadn't even taken off his jacket once in the first few weeks of knowing you. But now, he nodded eagerly, wanting to feel the tenderness with which you handled him upon the broken remains of his left side.  

Your hands slid up over his shoulder, brushing along the bumps and ridges in his skin. Hardened tissue and raised edges. The way you touched him, like he was something beautiful and adored, made his heart swell. It wasn’t until you leaned down to press a feathered kiss to his shoulder, just over the burn marks and the glimpse of what he’d lost, that he choked back tears.  

“Is it too much?” you asked, noticing the trembling in his lower lip, but he quickly shook his head. 

“It’s perfect,” he replied breathily, drawing you back to his lips. “You’re perfect. I don’t deserve—” 

“Hush,” you warned, kissing him to cut him off, “don’t talk about the man I love like that. You deserve every ounce of love I can give you, you hear me?” 

He stared at you for a moment, studying the sincerity on your features until the gravity of what you said sank in, and slowly, he nodded. It would take time to believe that, but he hoped the more you said it, the easier it would come. He’d believe just about anything if it came from your voice.  

“Let me show you.” 

Bucky stilled; his throat suddenly dry.

“Let me show you, Bucky,” you asked again, your lips against his neck. He shivered. You sucked at his skin, drawing a map along his collarbone. You tongue licked at the indent by his neck. “Please.” 

When you met his eyes again, Bucky wondered if maybe you saw him with the same wonder and enchantment with which he saw you. It only took the slight tilt of a nod before you crossed your arms over your waist and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head. Your bra came next and Bucky shifted uncomfortably, realizing you were still straddling him, his hardening length prominent against your thigh. 

He stared up at you, studying over the curves of your breasts, the dips in your hips, untouched and exposed – so incredibly beautiful.  

He stopped himself as the thought entered his mind, the wondering whether he deserved such beauty in his life, wondering how he’d managed to trick the cruel twist of karma to allow him to love a woman like this – to love you like this. 

He cast away the doubt, forcing it back to the shadows where it belonged. It was easier to do that when you smiled at him like that, like he was truly worth something.  

You laid down against his chest as his hand slid up along your spine, feeling for the slight dip in your back and the goosebumps following in his wake. You shivered under his touch and for the first time, Bucky remembered what it felt like to be wanted.  

He couldn’t stop kissing you, even as your hands slipped to his waistband. It was like you breathed new life back into him; reviving him with every touch.  

He helped you push down the band of his pants until you could easily drag it down his legs and drop it to the floor by his bed. It had been a long time since he was so vulnerable in front of a woman, but he didn’t mind when you looked at him the way you did. There was no ounce of judgement in your eyes, no cautious glance to his shoulder and the absence there. There was only love.  

You slipped the remaining clothes from your body and Bucky held his breath as you climbed over him again, straddling his waist, bare. 

Bucky was trembling as he reached for the drawer at his bedside. Blindly digging around for a box in the back of the drawer, he felt for the edge of foil wrapping. He brought it to his teeth, careful to rip the packaging, though as he held it in one hand, he let out a heavy sigh.  

“Would you...?” he asked, a blush creeping up into his cheeks.  

He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed, given that you were both naked, but this was one of those things he couldn’t do for himself. It would have felt emasculating if it weren’t for how eagerly you nodded and how good it felt as you placed the condom on his tip and slowly rolled it down his base. He closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillow at the feeling, wondering how he was going to survive this. 

“You alright there, honey?” you called, giggling under your breath and, damn, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.  

“I won’t last long,” he admitted, his hand sliding up along your waist, thumb brushing over your breast. He tried to catch the whimper as it left his lips to no avail.  

You smirked. “I think we’ve waited long enough. Don’t you think?”  

You sank down on him and he choked back a moan, embarrassingly loud, but it only seemed to spur you on as you rolled your hips, giving him little time to adjust. You were so tight, squeezing around him, and – holy shit – when you dragged yourself against him, using him as you sought out the angle you were looking for, he’d never felt anything like it. 

He held his breath, focusing on the ceiling as he listened to the sweet sounds you made as your hands curled against his chest, hair falling down into your face. He knew he wouldn’t last as long as he wanted— hell, he would have stayed in you like this for hours if he could have – and it was taking near everything he had to hold out long enough for you to finish.  

Thankfully, you were just as riled up as he was – high on missing him, aching in the distance – and Bucky gasped as he felt your walls clench around him with the rushed circles between your legs. You picked up in pace and Bucky found himself meeting you half way, thrusting up into you as he braced himself on the headboard.  

“Oh God – Bucky,” you whimpered, your chest falling down to his, unable to hold yourself up. He kissed your neck, his hand sliding from around the wooden of the baseboard to grip your hips.  

If he could, he would have had a hand on your breast, teasing at the nipple, the other sliding down to the space between your bodies, rubbing circles on the nerves that left you so breathless you could hardly hold yourself up. But he was learning again, getting used to his body and his limits, and all he could focus on was holding you, guiding your hips, giving him leverage to fill you whole.  

Judging from the sounds you were making, your body molding like puddy against him, you didn’t mind at all. 

“I’m close,” you gasped, breath hot against his neck. “Ah, God, Bucky... I’m-- I’m--” 

He could feel it before the words left your lips, the clench in your walls, the spasms in your muscles that left you weak against him, overstimulated as you pulled your hand away from your clit. Your cries gave him the permission he needed to let go, only a few more thrusts was all it took, and he shuttered as he came.  

Breathless, hardly able to control the laugh as it bubbled in his chest, Bucky could hardly believe that he started this night in the darkest place he’d been in months, only to end up lying here with you, so full of light and love he could hardly stand it.  

He didn’t let you go at first, just wanting to hold you a little longer. He felt the sweet touch of your lips as they trailed along his neck, smile brimming against his ear. Then slowly, you rolled off of him, gently removing the condom and tossing it to the bin. A shiver slipped up his spine at the touch.  

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” Bucky confessed as you laid against his chest, curling up to his side. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “Don’t let me do that again, okay? I can’t stand to go another day without you.” 

You smiled against his chest, your fingers tracing along the lines on his shoulder, touching over old scars and burns. You traced them as if they were simply lines on his body, just another piece of him worth loving, worth memorizing. He wondered if the next time he saw them in the mirror, he might remember this moment and see them for something more than the evidence of his loss that day. Maybe, he might see them the way you did – as evidence of his survival.  

“I love you,” you sighed and Bucky felt his heart swell; it grew and expanded so wide inside his chest, he wondered if his bones might bend to make room as it split him so lovely at the seams.  

“I love you, too.” He curled his arm tighter around your shoulders, drawing you close to his side. Over your shoulder, a cast of moonlight seeped in through the windows, touching over your skin, illuminating the room in a gentle glow. He closed his eyes as sleep drew him near, comforted by the patterns you drew against his shoulder. 

When he fell asleep, he fell willingly – protected in your embrace, safe, from the nightmares laying in wake.

[silversatoru]

HOHO💖THANK YOU 💘 I was thinking one very Angst with Gojo, like.. He realizes he loves his best friend, but when he confesses they heavily reject him saying they could never trust him that way due to his womanizer self(?) and bc they love nanami,, like,, when they see him they're like 🎇💘MMHH YES, I feel awful but I love seeing gojo in pain for somewhat reason

Im so sorry😂🙏 if you don't want to write this, it's okay👌😌 thank you dear💖

too late

a/n: my past like 4 gojo asks have all been about him being a whore,,, y’all love to slander this man and see him in pain (me too)

synopsis: gojo loves you, you love nanami, things are messy 

t/w: angst, gojo is very sad

w/c: 1.4k

you’ve been gojo satoru’s best friend for as long as you can remember — two brainless jujutsu sorcerers who could never take anything seriously. the two of you together were simultaneously the biggest annoyance and also quite a force to be reckoned with. your abilities were no where near those of satoru, but you complimented him perfectly and no one stood a chance if the two of you were together — and you were always together.

in fact you were together right now, grabbing some food after effortlessly taking out some curses a few cities over. satoru enjoyed the sweeter things in life, downing a package of powdered-coated dough balls while you stuck to your savory bowl of spicy rice cakes. this was tradition for the two of you, sitting on a random bench somewhere in a random city munching on snacks and debriefing on the mission you’d just completed.

you loved it, and you loved satoru — like a brother, like a best friend, like a favorite teammate. you loved satoru but not in the way he loved you.

it was a recent realization, that he loved you in a romantic kind of way. he’d always just seen you as his best friend, but recently your eyes have sparkled a little more, your skin glowed a little brighter, and your voice sounded a little smoother when it flowed into his ears. it was right now, while he watched your sauce-covered lips suck down another rice cake, that he realized he wanted nothing more than to kiss you — right here and right in front of everyone. 

the only problem was, he had quite the history of being a womanizer. satoru went through women as if they were a one-time-use disposable product, and you were very aware of this. but none of those women were you, and he promised himself that he’d give you everything you deserved when he finally confessed. 

“can i have one?” you pointed to his near empty package of sweets and shook him out of his thoughts.

satoru wasn’t much for sharing, especially his desserts, but you were an exception. he plucked out a powdery ball (one that he knew was your favorite flavor) and popped it into your mouth. him hand-feeding you should have been weird, but you’ve been friends for so long that you didn’t think twice about it. you bit the sticky dough down between your teeth, a cheesy smile stretching across your face when you noticed he got your flavor right. 

“th-aanks,” you mumbled, mouth stuffed full of sugary confection. 

in the midst of your chewing, you felt a napkin swipe across your mouth to remove the excess powdered sugar. you eyed satoru suspiciously, starting to catch on to how overly-touchy he was being today. but he just shrugged, making snarky comments about how messy of an eater you were.

it wasn’t until the two of you finished your snacks and were walking through the city that you finally questioned him. he’d wrapped his arm through yours, pulling you close so you were walking right next to his side — his weirdly intimate actions today were starting to stack up. 

“what are you doing?” you peered up at him, giving your arm a small yank as you attempted (and failed) to put some space between the two of you. 

“that guy over there was checking you out,” he shamelessly pointed to a dark-haired man further up the street, his voice defensive. 

“okay, and? that bothers you-?” you yanked again, finally pulling your arm free of his embrace.

“no, but he looks like a weirdo, you deserve someone better than that,” he insisted, an evil grin on his face as he turned his pointer finger so it was facing himself. 

“like me!”

“oh, like nanami” 

your voices came out at the exact same time, but the content of your words could not have been more different. 

“nanami!?”

“you!?”

the two of you froze in the middle of the street, faces covered in equal amounts of shock and confusion. satoru had finally confessed his feelings to, and you’d just accidentally and unintentionally shut him down with one word — nanami.

“nanami?” he repeated again, an edge to his voice as he tried to protect his ego and mask his jealousy. 

“yeah, i- uh, i planned to tell you soon that we’ve been seeing each other recently. i had no idea that you-” you scrambled to explain the situation, trying not to let the hurt on your friend’s face get to you, “you’re with other women all the time satoru, how was i supposed to know?”

he winced at the unintentional insult, his history with women weighing heavy on his shoulders as he realized it was a prominent factor in your rejection. 

“ah - it’s fine! nanami beat me to it i guess. i’m happy for you guys,” he attempted a genuine smile, and anyone else may have been fooled by it too, but you knew him better than to fall for his shitty fa��ade. 

you noticed the tiniest twitch of his eyebrow, and the smallest quiver of his lip as he continued to hide and protect his true feelings. it broke your heart in half, having to watch him put on a show like this. 

“i’m sorry,” you let the apology spill from your lips a few times, but he was very quick to remind you that none of this was your fault. 

“we’ll still be friends, right? i don’t know what i’d do without you,” you gave him a somber look, imagining a future without him by your side. 

satoru and nanami were good friends as well, and you’d never forgive yourself if this tore their friendship apart. 

“of course,” he gave you a cheeky smile and then continued walking down the street with a quick wave of his hand, instructing you to follow him. 

you jogged a couple steps to catch up to him, and he immediately started making jokes about a weird-looking man who was selling street food to your left. in a matter of seconds he was back to his typical self — so much so that it seemed as if your conversation had never happened. 

and that's exactly how satoru tried to imagine his life — as if that conversation had never occurred. he knew how important he was to you, but he also saw the way you looked an nanami with stars in your eyes. he knew that you needed them both, and so he stayed and watched you fall in love with someone who wasn’t him. 

whenever you asked, he told you that it had been a weird one-time thing and that he didn’t feel that way towards you anymore. he’d listen to your stories about the ex-business man and force smiles and laughter to make you happy. because that was all he ever wanted, for you to be happy, and if that meant you had to be with someone else, so be it. 

you and satoru were one in the same, so incredibly alike that maybe you would never have worked out anyway. you were raging with energy, energy that satoru only fueled stronger — where as nanami was gentle, peaceful, the opposite of you and your silver-haired counterpart. nanami cooled you down and and kept you centered, and that was what you needed, but it was something satoru would never have been able to give you. 

so when years had gone by and nanami asked him to be the best man at your wedding, he was crippled. he knew how important it was to you but he could hardly stand the thought of watching you vow yourself to the blonde-man. but despite his feelings, he didn’t even hesitate to say yes. you’d be so disappointed if he hadn’t.

and so he threw on his mask one last time, standing tall in a sleek, black suit as he watch you spill your feelings to nanami in a beautiful vow. you looked perfect, so stunning, and it tore him up that he wasn’t the one standing across from you. 

but he laughed and smiled all night, because that’s who he was. gojo satoru was always expected to be the life the party, and it was a heavy burden to carry. he was so tired of keeping up an act for you and for everyone else; all he wanted was to bury his head into your neck and rest. but he’d never have that, he’d never have you, and tonight made it official. 

[wattpadscapcons]

Staying Sane (Tsurugi Kinjo x Fem!Reader)

tw: mention of dra's killing game, Tsurugi pushing himself to the brink, mentions of death, reader and Tsurugi act like a married couple sometimes, implied intentional starvation , Tsurugi having relationship insecurity, FLUFFLy FlUFF

Word Count: 2253

=

Living with Tsurugi was somewhat difficult at the beginning, but you've got used to his in and out personality. You told yourself over and over that he had the right to be how he is now. He'd suffered through so many traumatic events, his body has deteriorated to the point where he has to use a wheelchair, and he works one of the most demanding self-appointed jobs that could exist. It's very clear how and why he can come off as being a cold and cruel individual to everyone who didn't know him before Utsuro's killing game.

=

He gets so stressed out that sometimes he unintentionally snaps at you. You have to fight him to get him to stop tearing out his own hair on some of his worst days. He can try to hide, try to fight you, scream all he wants to, and yet you'll still stick with him. You comfort him the best you can during the time he's home with you, letting him rest his head in the crook of your neck while rubbing circles into his back.

This is the only escape he gets, the one person who's keeping him from snapping completely. You don't look at him any differently than back in high school and if he's being honest, he has no idea how you manage to deal with him at this point. He acknowledges that back then he was a lot more open with you and that he's changed for the worse. You never say an ill word towards him though, reassuring him that you'd stay with him until death due you part.

=

There are times when his brain is so clouded with doubts that he tries to give you an out. To reason with you, in an attempt to keep you from getting hurt just like everyone else he's become close to. It's just another part of him not wanting to get hurt again and you always assure him that you know the risks. During these times you set what you're doing aside and try your best to comfort him.

=

"Y/N."

"Yeah?"

"Why haven't you left yet?"

"My trip isn't going to be for a long while, Tsurugi."

"That's not what I meant."

".....We've talked about this already dear."

"I just don't get it...."

"You've had a lot of bad things happen to you so I can understand why you're still expecting a disaster to occur between us. Do remember what I've told you though."

"....Can you tell me again?"

"If I have to repeat it until the end of time, I will.... I will always love you no matter what you do and there is nothing you can ever do to change that. I will never let anyone come in between us because I know there is no one better for me than you. I will never abandon you, even when you fall apart, I will still be here to help you. I know that you've changed but that doesn't change a thing for me. You're still the man I fell in love with no matter how many times you try to deny it and I will believe that until the moment I take my final breath."

"........"

=

He's hanging his head low. At that point you can tell he's becoming too overwhelmed, but he needs to hear everything you're saying. You won't accept for him to just dismiss it when he's the one who asked you to pour your heart out to him once again.

"Tsurugi, look at me."

He found it rather difficult to meet your eyes until you placed a hand under his chin and tilted him just enough to see his eyes again.

"Y/N..."

"Breathe sweetheart."

".....I don't deserve you."

"Yes you do. I understand that you're in a lot of pain and I never look to make it worse for you. I'm not staying out of pity. You are the most important person to me."

=

"It's not safe anymore."

"Tsurugi."

"...?"

"Who was it that taught me self defense again?"

"Me..."

"I know you're not around a lot to see me practice anymore. I assure you, I can protect myself. The gun you left here for me helps too."

"You chose-"

"I chose you. As much as that should be the end of discussion, I know how difficult it is to believe me still."

"I'm trying."

"I know you are. I know just how scary that can be though. Your past still haunts you. You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened to them, there was nothing more you could've done. I will never allow myself to become another victim, and I know you won't allow it to happen either."

=

Not the best choice of words. You move to entangle his hands with yours before a panic attack has the chance to start.

"I'm safe and I'm going anywhere."

"......."

Unsatisfied by the lack of answer, you moved to remove on of his glove which protested for a slight moment.

"What are you doing?"

"Proving to you that I'm fine. Stay still for me for a second."

=

After ridding him of his glove, you folded his hand and placed it against your neck. He kept it there even when your grip loosened, understanding almost right away what you were wanting him to do. To check your pulse, something that has brought him comfort in the past. He'd admit that laying against your chest to listen to your heartbeat was better, but this was better than nothing.

"Can you feel it?"

"......Yes. Thank god."

=

A small period of silence ensued as you continued to hold his hand hostage. It wasn't until he moved to set you in his lap and wrap his arms around you that you decided to speak up again.

=

"I know you don't actually want me to leave dear, you don't have to play it tough for me."

"I try to picture myself without you....but I just can't. I don't get why I just try to convince myself that I could ever live without you."

"You don't have to. Please don't hurt yourself like that."

"I'm sorry for making you worry about me."

"Its ok, your mind is just being mean to you."

"It's always like that."

"I'm glad you aren't."

"You don't think I'm mean?"

"No, just a bit bossy. You do run an organization though so I get why."

"Well that's a relief."

=

How it is that you can remain sweet towards him after all of the bitter things he's said when he was angry completely stuns him. He knows that he couldn't be closer to anyone else like this. You are the only one who knows and has survived through all of his struggles with him. You are the only one he allows his guard down around and makes him feel at ease.

The times people have overheard your conversations he almost lost it, and you had to keep him from hurting them. He stopped having those talks with you while at work after one of his co-workers remarked about him "getting soft". He was sure to make sure to show all of his workers just how sharp his tongue can be in response.

=

He knows that he'd lose it if you left him alone. He already did when his friends died but he doesn't think he could come back from it a second time. You've tried to get him help to sort out some of his issues but it seems his pride keeps from actually seeing someone until he can't take it anymore.

He gets so worked up with his job that he often thinks about quitting like you've suggested he should do. His morals often are the reason that he keeps going though and you have to psychically have to get him to take a break or simply get someone to help you drag him home to rest. Despite his protesting, you don't really give him a choice when he's on the edge of fainting.

=

"I can still-"

"Tsurugi, you've been awake for three days. It's time for a break before you burn out."

"I can't-"

"Yes. You can."

"Y/N-"

"You can do whatever you want when we get home and you get some sleep, ok?"

"......You're not open for negotiation are you?"

"Nope. I'm taking you home regardless. I'd hate to put you under house arrest over something like neglecting to take care of yourself."

".......Just take me home already."

"Thank you for making this easy."

=

He doesn't realize just much he actually needs you until you leave him alone to go visit family for a few days. He passed out on the job, and a trainee of his had to call you. You were not pleased when he did manage to wake up.

"Y/N?"

"You passed out at work. Again."

"Dammit, how long have I been out?"

"Two days."

"I'm supposed to be monitoring the trainees. I need to-"

"Oh no. No no no, you're not going back to work. You're staying home with me the rest of the week since I can't seem to leave you alone to take care of yourself."

"You can't do that-"

"Oh like hell I can't! I already called in to get you the week off. My parents are coming in to talk to you as well."

"Y/N-!"

"Not another word about this. Do you hear me?"

"Yes ma'am..."

"Good. Now it's time to get up. I assume you haven't really taken a break to eat so I made sure to cook for you while you were out."

".....Thank you."

=

Years of living with him lead up to this point. It's not the place you expected him to ask but he's always surprised you the moment you had your guard down. Being asked something as big as that in the middle of the night certainly woke you up. You knew he was hiding something important in his nightstand due to the amount of times he's made excuses for you not to open it.

=

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"You're not asleep?"

"I was trying to. Did you need something?"

"I was just thinking..."

"About?"

"Us, my job, life after all of that."

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, honest. I just had a question."

"Shoot."

"Would you marry someone like me?"

"Yes. I would think that would be obvious for just how long I've been in a relationship with you."

"Good. You can have what's in my nightstand then."

=

Your eyes shot open with that and you turned the light next to the bed on to look at him.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing bad, just go look."

"Please don't be messing with me right now."

=

He moved to sit himself up in bed. The small smile on his face told you that he wasn't, along with the lovesick look in his eyes.

"I'm not. Would you rather me show you instead?"

He went to open the drawer in his nightstand to retrieve what he'd been hiding from you after you were too slow to answer.

"I know it's been long overdue..."

He turned to face you with a small box opened in his hand. A beautiful diamond ring sat in the middle.

"Would you marry me-?"

=

You didn't let him finish, tackling him into a hug.

"Yes."

"That was a quick response."

"I literally thought you'd never ask me, dummy. I was ready for this as early as two years ago. I didn't really have to think about it hard."

"You're the reason I manage to stay sane, I swear."

=

"You looked like you were going to faint for a second."

"It felt like that."

"Wait a second..."

"Hm?"

"How long have you had the ring for?"

"......A year...."

"......"

"I wasn't mentally prepared for it yet, but I knew what I wanted. I'm just happy that I didn't buy it for nothing."

"Were you worried about me saying no?"

"No, I was worried I'd never get the chance to ask you."

"Well, you're definitely stuck with me now. I'm not going to let you chicken out of this."

"I expected that..... Can you let me up for a minute?"

"Oh right, sorry. I got a little too excited there."

=

As soon as he was able to sit up right again he asked for your hand. He was happy to slide the ring onto your finger.

“You do know that I’m going to have to take this off so I don’t lose it in the sheets right?”

“That’s fine. I just wanted to be able to do that.”

“I guess I really did make an honest man out of you huh?”

“I guess you could say that…”

“Hubby~”

“Ok, now you’re just teasing me.”

“Maybe so, but you deserve it.”

“I knew I should’ve asked you earlier…”

“Were you ready earlier?”

“I’ve actually been trying the last month to force myself to ask. Every time I tried the words would get stuck in my throat.”

“Well I’m happy that you finally asked me.”

=

“It’s so pretty…”

“I thought you’d like it. I did go through several dozen to find one that looked right.”

“You went jewelry shopping and I didn’t even have to drag you to the shop? Damn. You’re all grown up now.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Thought so….”

=

"And the rest was history."

"You forgot the part where when I tackled you, we both fell to the floor hon."

"Can't you let me tell it my way?"

[hyetiny]

c// fem!reader, superhero reader, villain yeosang, lowkey enemies to fwb, top yeo, bottom reader, bodily scars + showing them to each other, mentions of violence, clubbing, drinking, dry humping, oral (f receiving), knifeplay, pain kink, choking, degradation, dirty talk, protected sex, yeo monster cock

please read the tags carefully, this may not be for everyone!

this is the longest thing i've ever written omfg. also i’m really proud of this, please don’t let it flop :’D

kang yeosang was the root of everything wrong in your life, you had decided.

he was like the annoying fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing around your ear on a hot summer’s day. no matter how many times you were certain that you had vanquished the city of the blight that was yeosang, the supervillain managed to come back unnoticed.

at this point, you were convincing yourself it was impossible to cease him from causing trouble. on shitty nights like this, you went down to the discreet nightclub, hidden away in a dark alleyway. whether you needed a good drink or a good fuck, the club was always there to provide.

“the usual?” the familiar bartender yunho asks, taking in your frustrated expression and slumped shoulders that he sees far too often. 

“yep, a slouchy susan.” you roll your eyes at the corny names yunho would come up with, your mind wandering to the silly names he must have had for the other patrons. it was always comforting to have a chat with the friendly bartender after a hard day - plus, you couldn’t deny he was absolute eye candy. 

“top it off, please.” you shift your glass back to him after downing it.

“put it on my tab, yuyu”. a familiar, deep voice comes from next to you.

you turn to see yet another unbelievably attractive man. he has blonde hair that grows just past his neck, his natural black roots starting to show through. from where you’re sitting on your rickety stool, you pick up on the hint of cologne that lingers on him. you’ve never seen him before, yet something about him seems eerily familiar, like you’ve seen him in a dream.

you shake off the feeling, instead deciding to chat him up.

“yuyu?” you giggle at his affectionate nickname for the barkeep.

“we go way back, it’s what his mother would call him when she’d drop him off to school. i guess it stuck”. the man smiles at you, visibly taking in your features and not breaking eye contact with you.

you’re taken aback by him, your heart thumping unusually fast for some reason.

“stop embarrassing me, yeo-”

the man clears his throat loudly. you must have missed something, because yunho immediately goes quiet and wordlessly hands your drinks - your “slouchy susan” and a whiskey for the man.

“so if he’s yuyu, what are you?” you ask him.

“you can call me ryusang.” he says.

“y/n”. 

the two of you lapse into easy conversation. you giggle at his lame jokes, and he does the same. you find common interests, funny anecdotes, blissfully letting the stresses of the day slip away with each word of the attractive ryusang.

soon enough, the dance floor grows crowded and the music gets louder.

“dance with me?” ryusang stands up, offering a hand. you take it gratefully, letting him drag you to the dance floor. it’s a mess of sweaty bodies, but you don’t care as you become part of it with ryusang. his hands find your hips, and you’re both falling into an easy rhythm, completely in sync with the trap music blasting from the speakers.

as expected, the space between you gradually gets smaller and smaller, until it’s practically non-existent. you’re shamelessly grinding against each other, joining the litany of couples who are completely up against each other. you pretend not to pay any mind to his noticeably growing bulge, instead deciding to tease him a bit by intentionally grinding up harder against him. this night was going right where you wanted it to.

“my place is near here.” he whispers right into your ear, making you shiver underneath him.

“then we’d better get out of here quickly, hm?” you say in response.

since you had both been drinking, you decide to take a cab to his place. the sexual tension is rife in the air. you deliberately, teasingly lay a hand on his thigh, oh so close to his crotch, his face glowing red as it clearly riles him up.

when you get up the flight of stairs up to his apartment, and he fumbles with the key for what feels like minutes, you’re all over each other. the first kiss you share is nothing but messy - all teeth and tongue, nothing but complete lust for one another. he’s gently guiding you towards his room, until your legs hit his mattress. you break the kiss, only for him to gently lay you down, straddle you, and get right back to sloppily kissing you.

he undoes the buttons of your blouse without breaking the kiss, impressively with one hand. he breaks the kiss once again to take in the sight of your newly exposed skin. his eyes engulf the expanse of scars on your skin, some older and some looking to be very much recent.

“who did this to you?” he whispers in what seems to be a mixture of awe and anger. hesitantly, he runs a finger across a thin line that spans from your lower belly to your ribcage.

“you did, yeosang.” you say, deadpan.

he pauses, his heart dropping to his stomach.  “excuse me?”

“did you think you were fooling me? seriously, why didn’t you pick a less obvious fake name?” you giggle. despite the vulnerable position you’re in, you clearly hold the upper hand, indulging in his shocked expression. you hadn't missed the bartender's obvious slip up of yeosang's name, and could never forget that deep voice of his that would always taunt you.

“you’re always screwing me over y/n. i didn’t think we’d end up like this”. he says as a smooth recovery.

you roll your eyes. “remember when you gave me this?” you tap at the scar. he shakes his head.

“two years ago. you were trying to get rid of all power in the city. i almost stopped you, so you pegged a knife right here.” 

“if i was trying to kill you, the knife would’ve stuck.” he says defensively. “you got away with a scratch, only because i wanted that.”

“well, thanks for not trying to kill me, kang yeosang. i’m flattered.” you say sarcastically. 

“well, you gave me something worse.” he strips himself of his shirt. to no surprise, his skin is similar to yours. a canvas for an array of marks and scars, most of which you recognize to be your own work.

you point to an especially long one on his collarbone. “that one was definitely me.”

“yeah, and it hurt like a bitch.” he says snarkily.

“well, now we’re both half naked.”

“nice catch.”

“well for convenience’s sake, we may as well get back to-”

his lips are on yours again, effectively shutting you up. you don’t protest - besides, it’s hard to when his tongue is in your mouth. 

what you don’t expect is the cold press of something against your throat, which then trails down to your collarbones. it isn’t pleasant, but not uncomfortable either. it’s sharp against your skin, and your curiosity gets the best of you.

yeosang begins to press open mouthed kisses against your skin, alongside what you now see is a familiar knife in his hand. you begin to feel more vulnerable underneath him, knowing he had complete power over you. yet somehow, you don’t feel afraid of the man who has your life in his hands.

he undoes your jeans, letting out a low whistle at the damp spot forming against your panties. the flat side of the blade presses against your clothed core, earning a whine for him.

"fucking touch me already". you say through gritted teeth, despising that your mortal enemy has you so needy for him.

"am i not already touching you?" he says with a shit eating smirk. fuck him, you think. but that was exactly what you wanted to do.

to your surprise, you hear the sound of fabric ripping, and a sudden cold against your core, as though-

"i liked those." you say frustratedly, finding yeosang pulling away the ripped remnants of your panties away from your core.

"you look far better without them." is all he says before licking an experimental stripe up your already wet hole, earning a breathy moan from you. you don't have it in you to be mouthy when his tongue continues to tease your labia, eventually meeting your clit in what is the most heavenly thing you've ever felt. all thoughts of how much you hate the man currently eating you out are out the window as the pad of his finger presses against your clit, his tongue messily lapping at your hole as if he was just licking for his pleasure rather than yours.

your hips subconsciously grind up in tandem with his tongue, earning small moans from him as well.

"so fucking wet. do you usually get this wet this quickly, or are you just that much of a slut for me?" he chuckles.

it takes every ounce of self control not to flick him on the forehead. the degrading name catches you off guard, yet somehow it makes your hole clench needily. besides, you want what's hidden under the confines of his black jeans far too much to be mean to him right now.

"just... just fill me up, yeosang."

"i like you like this." he says with a cocky smile. it gives you butterflies, even though you know it means nothing more than just a spur of the moment thought. "beg for me a little more, and i'll think about it."

oh, the urge to punch him in the face.

"fuck you."

"that's the plan."

you sigh in frustration. "kang yeosang, my mortal enemy, fill me up with your monster fucking cock until i can't think straight." you say sarcastically.

surprisingly, it's enough for him. it seems you weren't wrong when you said "monster cock" his cock far thicker and longer than any cock you had taken recently. or in general, for that matter.

he must notice the way you gape at it, giggling to himself.

"cond-" you start, but he cuts you off by leaning over to his bedside drawer.

he shuffles around before he finds what he's looking for, sliding on the first condom he finds and coating himself in lube for good measure.

"ready? are you okay?" he asks, lining himself up against your entrance.

you want to roll your eyes, but you know he's just looking out for you. you give him a nod, and it's all it takes for him to push, breaching your wet hole and filling you up perfectly. you can't stop the high whine that leaves your lips. it's embarrassing, but yeosang seems to enjoy it, groaning into your ear.

"you're so fucking tight. expected you to be all stretched out like the whore you are." he whispers into your ear, embarrassingly only making you clench more around him.

you barely need to adjust, needing nothing more than for him to ruin you. his hips set a steady pace, grinding oh so perfectly against you. the tip of his cock perfectly reaches that sweet spot inside you, earning a louder moan for him. you'd be embarrassed with what his neighbours must be hearing, but it's the last thing on your mind when you have such a perfect cock stretching you out.

"fuck, my perfect slut. so nice and tight around my cock, huh? it's like this pussy was made to take my cock." he growls, his thrusts only getting harder and sloppier the closer he gets to his high.

"o-only for you." you cry out, gasping as he fills you up impossibly deep, over and over again. the coil building up in your stomach only gets tighter when his fingers find your clit.

the breaking point is when his lips meet your collarbone, leaving more kisses and tiny bites here and there. the sensations all over are too much for you. you cry out when your orgasm hits you harder than ever before, leaving you breathless. your orgasm triggers his as well, indicated by the long, pleasured groan he lets out.

you can't do anything but catch your breath as he pulls out, taking off the condom, tying it up and throwing it away in the bin next to his bed.

"who knew that all it took was a good fuck to get you weak for me?" yeosang breaks the silence.

"shut up." you say weakly, still too breathless to properly argue back.

"maybe i will, if you make me."

needless to say, he keeps you up for a few more hours until you both fall asleep, the first rays of the sunrise peeking through the blinds of his window.

the next morning, you wake up groggy and exhausted, the drinks and activities from last night finally catching up to your body. to your disappointment, yeosang isn't there next to you, the other side of the bed empty.

of course, the asshole didn't have the decency to wait for you to wake up. reaching out for your phone, you find to your surprise that there's a sticky note on it.

“last night was fun, we should do it again. i've gone out to wreak havoc, so i know our paths will cross again soon anyway.” - your mortal enemy, kang yeosang <3

[ddarker-dreams]

Comfortably Numb. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

warnings: mentions of anxiety, just general uneasiness. word count: 2.6k.

Home is where the heart is. 

It’s meant to be the sanctuary where you can unwind after a long day of work, dress in your most comfortable pajamas, and feel no qualms for the opinions of others. A safe haven of your own making. Granted, there was a time that you felt this way, no matter how long ago it seems. A coveted period of your life that you wish you could return back to. On a surface level, any onlooker might take a glance at you and think you are as normal as they are. If only that were the truth, you bitterly lament. 

Now, what do you need to check on next? Milk is in good supply, not set to expire anytime soon. Hm… can’t say the same for the fruit. You jostle down some of your favorites onto the ever growing grocery list. What else is there? You��ve got to be missing something. Standing on your tiptoes, you open the overheard cabinet, that is now noticeably more barren than it used to be. The bags of tea that had once populated this area have vanished, all but a lonesome pack of matcha. Huffing, you close the cabinet doors, ready to voice your irritation.

Pivoting on your heel, you look over the kitchen counter and towards the occupied living room. “You drank all my tea?” 

“Not at all of it,” your unwelcome guest corrects, much to your displeasure. “Besides, you never said I couldn’t have any.” 

You raise an eyebrow at this conjecture. Who would’ve thought him a stickler for semantics. “Yeah, well, I never said you could have it either.” 

“That’s a fair enough point. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for it later.” Chrollo ends the conversation before it even begins. His attention returns to his original activity of reading, freely helping himself to yet another one of your belongings. An exhausted sigh leaves your lips at the sight. If you somehow make it out of this situation unscathed, you may take on a more pious lifestyle, having survived way more than you should’ve. It’s a wonder that Chrollo hasn’t seen fit to strike you down where you stand. Where you lack self-restraint in the verbal department, you make up for it in your overall composure. Surely anyone else would’ve been crushed under the immense pressure of having a murderer crashing at their apartment. 

That’s just about the best way to describe it, you think. How desensitized do you have to be to no longer shiver at the thought? In all fairness, Chrollo himself is treating this as the most ordinary arrangement in the world. At his own leisure he’ll start conversations with you, inquire about your day, and even offer insight that you never asked for. It’s gotten to the unfortunate point that you’re even starting to do the same. Treating him more as a peculiar roommate than the threat he truly is, though it could be your way of coping. That’s the explanation you’re going with.

Chrollo puts a bookmark into his read, and places it aside. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

He asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your normally schooled expression is broken, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing together. Is he being serious right now? There’s no way to tell for certain. Not on a lack of trying from your behalf, his countenance never hints at his innermost thoughts. You get the feeling what little Chrollo does reveal to you is intentional. How creepy. 

“I was just planning on warming up leftovers,” you accentuate this by opening your fridge. On the shelves sits lentil soup, apples, and some protein yogurts. Shit. “Scratch that. I’ll be settling for yogurt instead.” 

“You had that for breakfast, if memory serves.” Chrollo points out, as if you’re incapable of remembering that yourself. It’s odd that he feels the need to pay attention to every detail about you. How often is Chrollo observing you without you taking notice? You push the thought aside with a frown.

“What are you, my hostage-taker and nutritionist? Besides, this is what I like to call a struggle meal. Or, meals, technically. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to make up for it.” You grimace while picking up the gourmet cuisine for tonight. Strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s better with stuff added to it for texture, but this’ll have to do. It’s doubtful someone who is hiding a stolen merchandise worth hundreds of thousands can empathize with your position. Not that it matters if Chrollo Lucilfer holds you in high regard, with all the blood on his hands. He’s got no room to judge.

“Hm, in the time we’ve spent together, I never considered you as dense,” he gets up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen. You don’t get a word in edgewise before your dinner is plucked from your hands. Chrollo places it back in the fridge, while you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “I’m offering to buy you food, [First].” 

How considerate of him to spell it out for you. 

“Appreciative as I am for your gesture of goodwill, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You make for the fridge once again, scowling as he holds it shut with unnatural force. Damn, he’s strong. Maybe you’re playing with fire by provoking him, considering the power imbalance, but your tongue is faster than your brain. Both a blessing and a curse. Leaning more towards the latter, you muse.

“I insist. It’s only right that I repay you somehow, for allowing me to stay here. You wouldn’t be indebted to me.” Chrollo’s smile never reaches his eyes, you notice. Standing here in close proximity to him, there’s a lot more you can pick up on. Every little detail of his disposition is intentional. From his even keel tone, to his polite speech, and way of acting like you have any say in the matter. You’re all bark and no bite. Both of you are keenly aware of this, and still he talks to you as if he’s none the wiser. It’s demeaning in its own right. 

“I guess it is sacrilegious to turn down free food. Alright, you win.” You throw your hands up in mock defense. This uncomfortable interaction helped you remember the position you’re in, how every breath might be your last. He’s broken into your residence, forced you to hide him from encroaching hunters, and made your past ten days a living hell. It was the threats to your loved ones that ultimately earned your compliance. 

You can’t help the self deprecation that’s followed since that day. The law is what you’re supposed to be protecting, not protecting criminals from. Going to the station everyday with the knowledge that you’re harboring such a dangerous criminal is weighing heavily on your soul. Life sure is full of the worst ironies. Had it not been an A class bounty, you may have stood a chance. 

Chrollo reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out one of his many burner phones. “You’re being more agreeable than I expected, if I’m being honest.”

“What can I say? I become a bit of a yes man when my life is being threatened.” You respond with an empty smile of your own. Instead of earning any ire from him, he lets out an airy chuckle, of dubious sincerity. Whether it’s at you or with you is difficult to decipher. He pulls up a food delivery app, showing you the options. This was all prepared in advance, he must’ve taken the time to download it. So it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision to mess with you? 

“Y-you’re really letting me pick?” There’s no hiding your incredulous tone of voice. This series of events is far too bizarre to fathom, like a nightmare stepping into reality. Just a week ago you were contemplating how to poison Chrollo without him taking notice. Now you’re ordering food together. There has to be an ulterior motive lurking around, your gut won’t tell you otherwise.

He tilts his head at your apprehension, and repeats himself. “That’s what I said, yes.” 

Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or so the saying goes. You’ve suffered enough at Chrollo’s hands, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of it. You take the cheap phone from his hands, scrolling through the options, and realizing now just how wonderful the variety of food sounds. Working up an appetite hasn’t come naturally with your uninvited guest skulking about. He has enough prepaid visa cards to cover what you want, so you hold nothing back. 

After returning his phone to him, you can’t help but throw an additional sarcastic comment in. It’s second nature at this point. “Happy now?” 

“Very much so,” Chrollo doesn’t mention your indignation, eyes raking over your expansive order. It’s not until he gets to the end that he quirks an eyebrow. “... A one hundred dollar tip?” 

“Feel free to add some extra zeros to the end of that. It’s not binary code for ‘help me, there’s a criminal in my apartment’, if you’re worried about that.”

He hums in consideration. “I can’t say that came to mind.” 

“Shit, looks like I went ahead and busted my own master plan.” Your response is notably dry. A headache is already in the works, courtesy of speaking to Chrollo for too long. He never fails to keep you on your toes. For all the sardonic remarks you make at his expense, anxiety has never stopped plaguing you. It’s a miracle that your heart is still functioning properly. You don’t even know why you ordered the absurd amount that you did, other than from pure spite, since your stomach is churning too much to want to eat. Maybe that’ll change when the food shows up. If not, your co-workers are going to be in for quite a treat tomorrow. 

You return to your newfound favorite activity of ignoring Chrollo, busying yourself with anything that comes in sight. Watering your plants, putting mugs from the dishwasher away, menial stuff that keeps you busy. A new feat lies in your wake. Whoever designed this apartment didn’t do so with you in mind, your larger plates just barely out of reach. Not willing to concede to using a chair just yet, you keep up the gallant attempt, stretching as far as your body allows. Your fingertips graze just over the prized handle, only for you to fail again.

That’s when you feel an over looming presence behind you, a shadow encompassing your figure. Chrollo gets the plate you were reaching for with ease, his chest brushing over your back in the process. You feel your face flushing, your body going taut, standing still as a wooden plank. He sets it down beside you with a knowing smile. That bastard…! He’s doing this on purpose. Damn him. 

“It looked like you could use some help.” He tells you. It takes every ounce of your self restraint not to lunge at him, instead taking a deep breath and nodding your head. Why is he so intent on getting a reaction from you? It’s exasperating, serving no practical purpose other than his own amusement. Inundated with your thoughts, you don’t realize how sour a look you’re sporting. This is what he wants, you remind yourself. To get you riled up. You refuse to play into his hands, and manage to get a grip. 

Time passes by at a lethargic pace. After around forty minutes, your front door rings, and you pick up the order. Sitting at your counter, you help yourself to the meal, grateful that Chrollo has seen fit to leave you alone. There can never be anything good in this world, as he eventually joins you. You try not facing him as an act of defiance. The plan that seemed ingenious in theory has a rockier execution. Sitting in silence feels worse somehow, like a ticking time bomb. Shifting in your seat, you decide to strike up a half baked conversation.

“So, uh, about the whole being hunted down thing,” your voice wavers and you hate yourself for it, “Do you have an idea of when it’s going to be over? I’m starting to run out of excuses for why my friends can’t come over.” 

This is true. There have been no more lively gatherings at your apartment since Chrollo’s unwelcome appearance, and you’ve been pestered about it. In between the lines is the prospect of your friends finding this reclusive behavior suspicious. In your optimism, you hope he takes it as a hint to get out of here faster.

Chrollo takes on a pensive appearance, his chin resting on his hand. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about that, so I’m glad you brought it up.” 

How nice it is to be on the same page. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, the last page in this awful chapter of your life. Ten days seems like a reasonable amount of time to lay low. Maybe he’s already packing his bags, planning to leave you far behind, so you can forget any of this ever happened. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to a vacation. From the gut wrenching anxiety Chrollo has inflicted on you, you feel deserving of one. 

“They’ve stopped searching for me a while ago.” 

Wait, what?

You look at him, silverware dropping from your lax hand. He’s never been into joking around. Does that mean he’s being serious with you? That all this time, you’ve been holding out for something that already happened? Fists balling by your side, you don’t bother hiding a sharp glare directed towards him. There’s no playfully wry response, no comeback, only disbelief and abhorrence. The bountiful meal in front of you is forgotten. 

There’s no point in asking, but you still do, voice low. “... How long?” 

“According to my sources, about a week.” comes Chrollo’s response, hammering the final nail in the coffin of your patience. His motivations have never been any less clear. You know you shouldn’t have taken the word of someone like him seriously -- you’re so painfully aware of this that it hurts -- but now leaves a final question. Why? What does he get out of this? You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that it’s going to bad no matter what. Your breathing has picked up, eyes dilating and body threatening to crumble under the tension. Everything feels out of place. 

He responds as if he was reading your thoughts. “You’re an interesting person, [First]. You never cried, pleaded, or anything of the like. Instead you accepted the situation for what it was, all while staying true to your values. I find that admirable. I’d like to learn more from you.”  

“Stop talking to me like I’m a -- a fucking -- science experiment, instead of a human being. How does any of that shit even matter?” You feel the blood draining from your face, every word coming out more forced than the last. Getting riled up here is the last thing you should be doing, but you can’t control yourself. All your negative emotions from your time with him are regurgitating into a final mess.

“I don’t know, truth be told.” Chrollo checks the watch on his wrist, and you gulp at the smile that forms on his lips. It feels like a sentencing, a foreboding omen. There’s bile rising in your throat, and you scramble away from your chair. You need to get out of here. You need to run, to scream for help, to alert your family, this is not going to end well, what is he planning-- 

There’s a hurried knock at your door.

“However, what I do know is that I have no intention of leaving this place without you by my side.” 

[gotnofucks]

Sell My Soul

Pairing: dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader

Summary: You cut a deal with the Sheriff to save your brother

Words: 2k

Warning: non-con touching, sexual harassment, language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: No spoilers for TDATT

Part 2    Part 3

MASTERLIST

 -------------------------------------------------------------

You were shivering in the winter chill, your thin jacket doing little to protect you from the breeze. But then, your shivering was partly due to fear too. You were sitting outside the police station in a rickety chair, hands tugged deep in your pocket and a handknit woolen hat on your head. You were waiting for news of your brother who had been kicked out of the bar again after starting a fight. Seems like he punched someone important tonight which prompted his arrest and so here you were.

“Miss”, a young officer called, and you looked at him. “The Sheriff will see you now”

The Sheriff. Of course, as if tonight couldn’t have gotten worse with you dragging yourself out after midnight in freezing cold to the police station, it just did. You wish you’d worn more than a jacket, but then even if you had ten more layers on, you felt naked in front of his gaze. You entered his small office and the officer shut the door behind you. There was a large window with a view to other officers’ desk outside, so you relaxed a little.

“Y/n, lovely to see you again.” Sheriff Lee Bodecker greeted you with his condescending smirk. His eyes raked over your form with no shame and you crossed your arms across your chest. “Sit”.

You took a seat in front of his desk and twisted your fingers nervously. You tried to hold his gaze but the darkness in those blue eyes scared you.

“Can I see my brother?” You asked.

“Your brother really got himself into a spot tonight, sweetheart. You see, he punched the Mayor’s son.”

The little blood in your face drained as your heard what he said. The Mayor’s son. Your brother was a goner. They’ll have him charged with assault or maybe even attempted murder. This town was the most corrupt place you’d known, and laws were made and broken as per convenience. You willed away the tears in your eyes because he was the last person you wanted to cry in front of.

Lee looked at you with a smirk as you tried to compose yourself. He was always smirking, always amused when he looked at you. Sometimes when he managed to get his hands on you, he would smile. That smile was the stuff of your nightmares.

“How much do you want to drop the charges? I’ve got some money saved.” You said. There was going to be no court or justice here. Law didn’t work like that in this place. Bodecker chuckled.

“Sweetheart, money ain’t gonna do shit for your brother this time round. It’s the Mayor’s son.”

“I’ve got some jewelry if that will do.”

“The Mayor has no use for that. Your brother touched his precious son. He wants revenge.”

You sighed. You could have slapped your brother for his foolishness. After your parents’ passing, his care was passed onto you. No matter how well you tried to raise him, he grew up to be a little shit. You really should have worked harder to curb his drinking habit. You wracked your mind for any way to get him out and when you found none, you softly groaned. You’ll have to swallow your pride and ask for help from the last person you wanted to owe something to.

“What can I do to get him out?” You asked Lee and he grinned.

“How badly do you want him out?” He mused, rubbing his jaw, and staring at you.

“You know how badly. And I know you’ve got something up your sleeve so just tell me what I have to do”

“Now you’re talking. You were always such a quick learner.” He said and got up from his desk. He walked to the door and to your horror drew in the blinds, covering the window. He turned to your shell-shocked self with a cheeky smile.

“Put them back up. The blinds.” You said. You’d hoped that your voice will be firm, but it came out shaky. For the first time tonight, you truly felt alone with him, and that never ended well for you. His eyes often wandered and so did his hands, something that you couldn’t escape no matter how hard you tried.

“Come on, don’t be like that. I only wanna help you darlin’. I know you love that piece of shit brother of yours and losing him would break that pretty little heart of yours. You know how much I care about that, don’t you?”

His hand touched your cheek and you jumped up and away from him. He was blocking the only exit and your breathing picked up as you felt trapped.

“Please don’t. I can’t deal with you right now. I just want to take him home.” You said.

Lee leaned against his desk and licked his lips.

“You see sweetheart, it doesn’t matter to me what you want. You wanna see your brother back under your roof, so you gotta deal with me. Now, come here.” He pointed in front of him and you glared. You hated this fucking town and you hated this man. For months now he’s had those eyes on you and would find ways to get you alone. At times he’d corner you in your own store and run those disgusting hands over your curves. You’d always managed to slip away somehow, but today it seemed like your bad luck had turned into a curse and time had run out.

“How can you help my brother? What can you do to ensure he’ll be fine?”

“Come to me and I’ll tell you.”

There was heat in his eyes along with challenge. He could obviously drag you, but he wanted your surrender. He wanted you to walk to him. For a moment you were tempted to let your brother rot for putting you in this position but then you steeled your nerves. Squaring your shoulders, you walked in front of him and stopped.

“Closer”

You took another step. You were less than an arm’s length apart.

“Closer”

“Sheriff, please”

“Now!”

You took the last step and you could feel his breath on your face. He looked at ease with that annoying smirk in place.

“Ain’t that easy, eh?” He said and casually pushed your hair behind your ear. You flinched and took a step away. His hand shot out and in a second it was around your waist and you were tugged flush to his body.

“Stop, let go!” You said and tried to push him away. He caught your hands in one of his before cupping your jaw harshly.

“Listen to me now. I am the only person who can save your brother. If you ever want to see him again, stop fucking struggling. You’ve been a little minx slipping outta my hands every time. But I tell you, even if you go away now, I’ll come back. I’ll keep coming until you’ll have no where to go. And once I have you, you’ll wish you hadn’t made me wait.”

Tears gathered in your eyes and when he saw them, he let your jaw go and wiped them away. Putting a hand behind your head he pulled you closer and then you felt his lips on yours. It was a bruising kiss that left you feeling almost faint. But you didn’t struggle anymore.

“You have no idea how much I want you. I see you trying to find a place in this town. I see you wandering like a lost soul. But that’s because you don’t know where you belong. And where you belong is with me. Under me.” He kissed you again, biting your lips. He released your hands and roughly tugged off your jacket from your shoulder. Your hands shot out to stop his, breath erratic as your eyes darted to the door.

“Please, not here, not now.” You knew you were pleading, but this was the only way. Your brother was the only family you had left, and you weren’t ready to lose him. “Save my brother, please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever?” He was smiling and you felt your stomach churn. This is what it must feel like trying to sell your soul to the Devil.

“Whatever.” You promised and his hands left you. You shrugged on your jacket and breathed deeply after putting some distance between you.

“You know, this town may be shit but it has at least got some semblance of law. I can get someone to confess that your brother didn’t start the fight and only retaliated in self-defense. Even this town can’t ignore an eyewitness testimony.”, Bodecker said with a smug look. You exhaled deeply in relief. You didn’t care to know if the witnesses were true or false or if your brother truly started the fight or not. You won’t lose him.

“Can I see him?”, You asked, and he nodded.

“Of course, you can darlin’. You meet him in that cell and tell him you gonna get him out. And while you’re at it, give ‘im the good news too.”

“Good news?”

“Why, the good news of our engagement of course. He’s your brother so he’s gotta be my family too right. You tell him I’ll make sure they don’t hurt him in there.”

Your legs shook and you sat back in your chair while Lee supported an ear-splitting grin. He laughed a little and came to you, a hand gently combing your hair.

“You said whatever, didn’t ya.”

You looked up at him in disbelief. Why would he want to marry you? At most you thought he’d want to bed you, take you so he could go on to finding another conquest. You thought one night or maybe a couple more at max would be all he asked for. Your body in exchange for your brother’s life. You could do that. But he wasn’t just asking for your body. He wanted the whole of you.

“Why do you wanna marry me?” You whispered and he leaned down to brush a very soft kiss on your brow. You shivered in fear. His gentleness was scarier than his roughness. That Sheriff you could handle. You didn’t know what to expect from him like this.

“Is it so surprising I want a ring on that finger? You know what happens when I think of you in my bed, in my arms? You know what happens when I imagine you cooking me a meal when I come home from work? You know what happens when I think of you, barefoot and pregnant under my roof, moaning my name as you beg me to fill you again and again? You wanna know what happens?” He snatched your hand and pressed it to his crotch over his pulsing hardness. “This happens. This is what you do to me.”

You tried to take your hand away, but he forced you to keep it there, squeezing himself through your hands.

“You’ll take my ring and you’ll wear a pretty dress and vow to obey me. You’ll love me and give me kids, lot of kids with your hair and my nose. And every night you will take my cock in your mouth and that juicy cunt of yours. Every night I want to taste you on my tongue and your softness around me.”

You did not know when he took you in his arms and pushed you against the wall but then he was kissing you. His hands roamed your body, smacking your ass and bruising you. You panted hard, confused, scared and helpless.

“No. No, please.” You cried but he silenced you with a punishing kiss and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Yes. I’ll have you. One way or another it had to happen.”

He took your hands and put them around his neck and spread legs apart by putting his knee between them. One hand cupped your breast while the other cupped you between your thighs.

“You’ll never feel empty down here. I’ll rail you so deep and hard sweetheart.”

Then abruptly he was off you and you almost stumbled off the wall. You held the back of the chair to support yourself, looking up in bafflement. What the fuck just happened here. He was back behind his desk, fiddling with some papers, a very content look in his blue eyes.

“Off you go, I’ll have someone take you to the cell. Then we can go home and celebrate.”

[diofasolia]

{Always}

{Shattered! Dream x Reader}

Shattered! Dream by @shattereddreamsau

Writings by me

Today (8/7) is Shattered! Dream's birthday and I decided to post a writing I did last year—which is also the reason why I eventually join in the tumblr

Because back when I wrote this story, I found Dark Cream comic, which made by amazing @zu-is-here

Her creations give me the inspiration for the writing

The story is long (it has like 2000 words in it) and may be a bit cheesy, but I'll be happy to know if you read the whole thing (◡ ω ◡)

******

Before the story start, I want to ask you a question.

   Do you believe that the worst person can change?

   Oh! How awkward, sorry, I ask the wrong question.

   What I meant to ask is—

   Do you believe that the best person, the kindest person in the world can change?

   Maybe…all it needs is a tiny push?

   The harsh whipping hits in my abdomen again. I kneel on the ground, thinking how deep the scar might be from that blow.

   "What're you doing!? Look at your king when I'm talking to you! Such a piece of useless trash!!"

   "I apologized, My Lord."

   Raising my bruised neck, I gaze at the former guardian of positivity. Those eyes that used to hold the tenderness, now only fill up with hatred.

   "Where're those fricking basters!? I told you to track down my brother and other Sanses!"

   "I'm sorry, My Lord. They escaped. I can't find where their location is–"

   Not even waiting for my sentence finished, another powerful punch land on my face. I watch as a tooth fall out of my mouth. Blood dripping down my chin.

   "Worthless! Can't even do a little task like that!"

   Multiple kicks and insults throw at me. The numb feeling slowly occurs in my torso as I curling up into a ball.

   Closing my eyes, the memories from the past arises in my mind, bringing me back to the day that I seal my fate.

   "Dream? Earth to Dream!"

   "(Y/N)? What's wrong, love?"

   "What's wrong? I've called your name for five times! But you didn't answer to me."

   Dream scratches the back of his skull, looking a bit embarrassed.

   "Is that so? I'm sorry, (Y/N)! It won't happen again, I swear!"

   I cuddle Dream close, letting out a giggle.

   "It's fine! I don't really mind it. But Dream, you tend to space out recently. Is there something on your mind? You can tell me everything, you know that, right?"

   Giving me a kiss on the cheek, Dream smiles gently. He assures me that there's nothing to worry about. It’s just the task of guardian makes him a little exhausted.

   "Well, if that's the case, go on and get some rest! I will inform you if something was up."

   "Okay! Thanks, (Y/N), I'm glad I have you by my side."

   "Me too, my dreams and hopes."

   It's been quiet in Dream's room. He must be very tired. I knock on his bedroom door, telling him to wake up.

   "Dream, I know you're tired. But you still need to eat."

   "Dream? Are you awake yet?"

   There's no answer.

   Guess I’ll have to get into his room.

   Yet no one is there, only an opening portal hanging in the air.

   A portal leads to Dream's corrupted universe.

   "I'll show you, brother. I know what you're feeling…I know what you're going through…"

   "No! Dream, stop!! You don't know what you're doing!!"

    Two vague voices shouting in the distance. I begin to run like my life is in danger.

    What the heck is going on here?

    What is this dreadful feeling?!

   I'm too slow.

    The half bitten black apple lay on the ground. I watch in horror as the small tendrils creeping out Dream's eye sockets. His painful screech rings in my ears.

   "Dream!!!"

    I reach out to him, hoping that I can comfort Dream in my arms. The positive energy…they gotta do something, right?

   "What…? Nightmare! Let go of me!! I need to…to get Dream!!"

   "No! You can't get near him now, (Y/N)! You'll…you'll get hurt!"

    I thrash in Nightmare's hold, screaming at the top of my lungs.

   "Dream!! No! Dream!!!"

   "What's wrong, love?"

   My teary eyes stare up, it's…Dream's voice.

   But it sends an unknown coldness down my spine.

   "Ahh, you're crying! Good, keep doing that."

   A sadistic grin spreads on Dream's face.

   "I love it."

   Nightmare is already sobbing, begging for his beloved brother to come back. I walk step by step to Dream, putting on the best smile I can muster.

   "My love…Dream…please, come back to me…! I love you. I know you're strong enough to resist those negative feelings…"

   Dream cackles loudly. The tentacles wrap tightly around my neck, pulling me closer to him.

   "Go back? To my weak self? (Y/N), when did you become stupid? Why would I do that?"

   "I've already past the point of no return."

   A bucket of freezing water splashes on me. I must have passed out during the abusing session.

   "Wake up."

   "Get clean up, we're leaving."

   I pick up my sore body, stumbling across the lonely hall that me and Dream live in. There's no one here except the two of us.

   "Make a choice, (Y/N). Will you join me? Or will you prefer to disobey me like my coward brother?"

   "I'll go with you."

   I want to weep, yet I can’t even shed a single tear. I shouldn't be upset. After all, it's me who decided to follow my corrupted lover.

   Filling up the bathtub, I submerge myself in the steamy water.

   "Why, (Y/N)!? Why are you side with him!? Open your eyes! Dream doesn't love you anymore. He's just using you!"

    "It doesn't matter, Nightmare."

   "Great job, (Y/N)! You make this AU full of despair and miseries! I always know you're my favorite soldier!"

   "It's my pleasure to serve you, my lord."

   I scrub my blood-stained skin, the wounds sting because of the soapy water. Some of the old gash reopened, making me yell in frustration.

   "We can save Dream! Don't lose any hope, (Y/N)!"

   "How? There are barely things we can do. It's over, Nightmare. Look at yourself! You transfer back because Dream shattered! How are you gonna turn him back? By let someone else eats a black apple again?!"

   The white dirty bandages wrap around my mess up torso. Why am I even bother treating my injures? They sure are going to reopen soon anyway.

   "No matter what you say to me, I won't change the path I've chosen, Nightmare."

   "I've already gone far enough."

   "I don't understand…he's hurting you, (Y/N). Are you still…in love with my brother?"

   I hate it so much.

   The smell won't disappear no matter how many times I wash it over and over.

   I hate it.

   My hair smells like those disgusting goop on Dream.

   Why can't I get rid of this sickening stink!?!

   Throwing the bottles at random direction, I tug my hair till I scream out.

   "What's with all that noises in there!? You better finish your business soon, I'm losing my patience!"

   I hate it.

   "I deeply apologize for making you wait for such a long time, my lord."

   I wish I can understand your pain sooner.

   "Whatever, time to leave."

   I'm sorry I couldn't save you.

   "My lord, where are we going, may I ask?"

   Dream's left eye glows in excitement.

   "I find out where those sneaky scums are hiding."

   With a wave of hand, Dream opens the portal leads to an unknown empty place.

   No one is left out.

   Nightmare, Ink, Blue, everyone's here.

   "And I'm going to give them a pleasant encounter."

   But today is a little different.

   Then all hell breaks out.

   Nightmare's starting to transform. The dark gooey substance covering up his body gradually.

   The same routine as usual. Nightmare pleads Dream to stop his actions while the former guardian of positivity just laugh it off, a bit talks here and there.

   "Miss me, dear brother?"

    The crazy laughter of Dream rings in the air.

   "Yes! Finally, things are getting interesting!"

   While Dream focusing on battling with Nightmare, I have to handle the two other skeletons.

   "I know deep down you don't want to fight us, (Y/N)! Let's just drop our weapons, okay?"

   Ink creates a bunch of arrows, ready to launch them at Dream. I block his charge immediately, slashing Ink's arm with my sword.

   My silence is always my only answer.

   "No one's going to get near Dream."

   I continue to attack Blue. We've already been through this conversation many times.

   "How…how's this possible?!"

   Dream can only defense himself from Nightmare as the latter one keeps on firing attacks. It looks like Nightmare gets more advantage of the battle.

   "Seems like you can't control your tentacles very well yet, little bro."

    Nightmare mocks, resulting Dream to lose his temper. He strikes at Nightmare blindly, only to receive a powerful blow in the guts.

   "Dream!!"

   I rush to Dream, who’s looking more exhausted than usual. From the way how he’s panting heavily, I know he's already losing too much strength to fight.

   "Get away from me! I don't need your help!!"

   The attack is sloppy but I didn't dodge it. Dream can beat me all he wants after I get him to safety.

   Even if it means I can possibly die.

   "My lord, I apologize, but we have to move to another universe again."

   Dream growls at me.

   "It's you who are dragging me down!!"

   They're still following us.

   I'm whacking to the ground in a flash. A heavy boot stamps on my ribs harshly.

   The nasty cracking sound and my piercing shirek fills in the air.

   "You're no longer useful to me."

    I watch as Dream disappears in a portal. He doesn't even spare a glance at me. Leaving me bleeding and slowly dying on the ground.

   "I've told you."

    Nightmare's lurking shadow towers above me.

   "Oh no, Ink! We must save (Y/N)! She's…!"

     Ink put a hand on Blue's shoulder, shaking his head solemnly.

   "We can't, Blue. Remember, our priority is to capture Dream."

   "Please, Night…"

     I find myself pleading to Nightmare.

   "Don't…kill Dream…"

   "You and I both know that's an empty promise, (Y/N)."

   Three skeletons begins to move towards the portal that opens by Ink. Before they leave, Nightmare whispers in a quiet voice but loud enough for me to catch.

   "…he's in Dreamtale."

   How much will you sacrifice for protecting your fallen love?

   "You really are dumb. You know that?"

   "Or you're just enjoy me breaking you apart bit by bit?"

   "Don't you scare of your own nightmares?"

   "I deserve it."

   "I'm already living with it."

   "You will always be my fading dreams."

   "It's my own redemption."

   "Surrender now, Dream. Then we can put an end to this whole mess."

   My time is running out.

    "Heh, I thought you know me well, dear brother. You should get the answer by yourself now."

   "…goodbye, my poor little brother.

   I pray to you, God. Let me see him one last time.

   I can't save him the last time.

    It's always a miracle how accurate the portal can lead to.

   "(Y…Y/N)?"

   This time, I'm going to save Dream.

   There's no pain anymore.

   "…at least…you……say my…name……one…last……time…"

   Crimson blood drips down my penetrated torso. I think I see Dream's crying. But that might be just my own tears.

   Forgive me, Dream.

   My collapsing body falls forward, landing on the soft grass surface before me.

(3rd pov)

   "Nightmare, I need your assistance."

   "I thought we're enemies now."

    "There's a method I want to try. It might succeed to bring Dream back."

   "Well, I'm here to listen."

   "She's just a tool."

   "Nothing else."

    "Because I know him well. The extreme emotion is the only possible way to get things right again."

   Dream mutters to himself like a broken recorder. Staring the wrecking body of yours, his non-existent heart begins to hurt.

    "I refuse! That's too dangerous! You surely will be dead in this terrible plan! Besides, how can you so sure he'll behave like you predict!?"

    "It's worth it. I'm doing this for the whole alternate universes, and him."

    "But…you…"

    "Wake up! I demand you to wake up now! (Y/N)!!"

    "It's not…worth for your own life."

    "Don't pity me. Pity for the one who can't help himself in his own nightmare."

    "Wake up."

   "Don't leave me…alone, (Y/N)…please…my love…"

   Ahh, it must be the time when he transfers into this horrible creature.

   Nightmare, who’s now in his uncorrupted form, widening his eyes.

   "…congratulations, (Y/N). Your suicidal plan…works."

   Dream doesn't recall when’s the last time he breaks down.

    No one dare to speak a word, except Dream drowning in his own pitiful cries.

     "Always."

     "I don't understand…he's hurting you, (Y/N). Are you still…in love with my brother?"

   You look at Nightmare with a smile, replying to him like it's the only correct answer in your mind.

[monicashipslokius]

Soulmates, Actually Pt 3

(read Part 1/Part 2)

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki paces the length of the small bathroom, turning after only two steps. On each turn they catch sight of themself in the mirror, as hard as they try not to. They don’t want to see the cowardice marring their own features. They don’t want to face themself, knowing they are standing here in relative safety at the cost of their soulmate’s.

Through the thin walls, Loki hears another pound on the front door. Mobius calls out, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Loki stops pacing and presses their ear to the bathroom door, straining to hear outside of it.

After the creak of a door opening, Mobius says, “Can I help you?”

“Are you Mobius M. Mobius?” Thor has a weakness for Midgard and its people. Even as he speaks to Mobius now, his voice isn’t quite as booming as Loki is accustomed to.

“That’s me. Are you selling something?”

“I...? No. May I enter?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t. I’m kind of busy, you know?”

“I see,” Thor says. “Wait! I’m looking for someone.”

“Sorry,” Mobius says. The door creaks again, loud, like it tried to close but was blocked by a hard shoulder.

“I must insist,” Thor says, and there’s the booming authority Loki expected. Heavy footfalls step into the apartment. Loki instinctively leans away from the bathroom door. “Do you live here, or is this a closet?”

“Hey, why does everyone think that,” Mobius says, his following footsteps much softer. “My apartment is not that small.”

“It is,” Thor says, blunt as ever, though perhaps his own time on Midgard changed him a small amount, because he immediately adds, “But... nice. Very... brown.” A long, awkward pause. “Seeing this... I feel apologies are in order. I cannot imagine Loki hiding here.”

Loki knows that their usual love of decadent flair is what’s saving them now, but the words still sting. It’s one thing for them to think disparagingly about their new home. It is entirely another for someone else to speak badly of it. Even Thor.

Maybe especially Thor.

“It seems silly now,” Thor says. “I had heard you are their soulmate.”

“It doesn’t seem all that silly,” Mobius says, voice much softer.

“I mean no offense,” Thor says. “Only that you are not their type.”

“Oh? Too old?”

Thor laughs. “Too human. But consider yourself lucky, friend."

"I don't know, I'd think it'd be okay to be the soulmate of a god."

"Not this god," Thor says, and that familiar self-hatred claws at Loki's ribcage from the inside out. They place their hand over their chest, physically pressing down on the feeling, but it does not stop.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mobius clips his words short.

Loki braces themself as Thor continues, "They never stay with anyone for long. They haven’t met a person yet who could hold their interest.”

“Maybe they just hadn’t met the right person,” Mobius says, stronger.

"Right people tend not to hang around my brother. You may have noticed that they are..." Thor pauses and Loki holds their breath. "A villain." Thor, at least, sounds pained to say it, though that is little comfort for Loki.

The word shouldn't hurt them. It is true. Despite their glorious purpose, they will never be seen as a hero, but only ever as the one who stands in the hero's way.

“Or instead," Mobius says, stronger still. Irritation oozes from his words. "Maybe they got so used to being seen as a villain that they started to think that’s all they are.”

The scratching in Loki's chest slows until it ceases entirely. Mobius.

But the calming effect of Mobius's defensive fury does not linger.

Thor holds his tongue a moment, and in that moment, a thick dread buds in the pit of Loki’s stomach. Thor may be oblivious at times, but he is not totally obtuse. And Mobius is angry enough for even him to take notice.

“Have you seen Loki, Mobius M. Mobius?”

“I think you should leave now,” Mobius says.

“So it’s true?” Thor asks, like he still doesn’t believe it. “You are Loki’s soulmate?”

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“They must be deceiving you. Tell me where they are, and I will take them back to Asgard. Then you will be safe.”

“Loki’s not going anywhere with you,” Mobius says, stupidly brave. Stupidly perfect.

Outside a storm brews. Thunder rumbles the walls, as loud as Thor’s voice. “Do not stand in my way, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“No, you don’t get to order me around,” Mobius says. “You barge into my home and try to kidnap my soulmate. You didn’t even do it at a reasonable hour. We were asleep!”

“I am a god.” Lightning cracks outside the window, the light so bright, it flashes under the door of the bathroom. “You are a human.”

Mobius huffs out a breath. “I’m not giving them up. You’ll just have to kill me.”

Every nerve in Loki’s body, every pulse in their brain, the very breath in their  lungs - all scream, No!

The bathroom door flies off its hinges from the force of Loki pushing through. Their daggers are in their hands, their armor has replaced their silk pajamas - there is no room for softness here.

Mobius glances behind him from where he’s standing, blocking the bathroom from Thor in the kitchen. “You broke the door,” Mobius says, entirely too calm for a man who was just about to throw his life away.

“We are going to discuss your blatant disregard for your own fragile life,” Loki tells him, stalking forward to Mobius’s side.

“I had it under control,” Mobius says.

Loki sucks in a deep breath to try to tamper down their roaring rage. “No longer will you risk yourself for me.”

“No, sorry, Loki.” Mobius crosses his arms. “You don’t get to boss me around either. I told you, soulmates protect each other. And that’s that.”

“You stupid, brave, impossible man.”

“Dying for you would be worth it.”

“And what am I to do at that point? Hm? Bid your corpse a fond farewell and move along?”

Mobius startles, like he hadn’t thought ahead that far. “Yeah, I guess.”

If Loki wasn’t holding daggers, they would grip him by the shoulders and shake him. “You have no idea what you are to me. You have no perception of how long I have waited for you. For us. For this tiny little room. For everything we shared last night. And all that we will share.”

Mobius’s eyes widen. “Loki -”

“No, Mobius. You will not be throwing your life away. Not now. Not ever. Not while I have strength enough to hold a blade.”

Mobius blinks. The surprise on his face lasts a moment longer, then softens entirely into fondness. “Let’s go to the store later. Buy some stuff. Spruce this place up a little. We can get a plant or two. And maybe a new bathroom door.”

Loki exhales, and the harshest of their anger slips away. “Only if we also buy you new clothes.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my clothes?” Mobius is smiling now.

Loki almost mirrors it. Until he remembers their thunderous brother occupying the entire minuscule kitchen. Thor seems to lack his usual righteousness. Instead, he looks between Loki and Mobius like he has no idea what to make of them. His mouth hangs open but no sound comes out.

A moment, Thor tries, “Brother, you...” He closes his mouth. Opens it. “You... actually care for this little man?”

Loki’s answer comes easier than even they expected, “Yes.”

“I’m not that little,” Mobius says.

Outside the storm clears away and starlight returns. Inside, Thor lowers his hammer to his side, no longer holding it ready to fight. He stares at Loki for a long moment. “We thought you were dead. We mourned you.”

Loki’s impulse is to argue. They aren’t yet numb to the pain of Odin’s deception. Of Loki’s own monstrous truth.

But instead of drudging forward that pain, Loki draws strength from Mobius beside them. From the comfort of their home. From the promise of buying new drapes and bed sheets.

“I’m not going back,” Loki says, hating the way their voice cracks. Mobius inches closer to their side, and they stand taller.

“You cannot rule Midgard,” Thor says.

Loki glances at Mobius, who gives them a soft smile.

“Mostly,” Loki says, “I want to buy drapes.”

Mobius’s smile widens, and he dips his head, as if to hide it. Loki loses themself in the sight of such softness and warmth, until they remember their brother again.

Thor watches them, his confusion palpable. “This is not at all as father said it was.”

Loki tenses at the mention of Odin.

“A lot’s different since yesterday,” Mobius says. “Dubuque can really change a person, you know?” Mobius winks at Loki, and a fresh wave of comfort rolls through them.

“Yes,” Loki says. “Dubuque.”

“Perhaps I could return without you,” Thor says, confusion shifting gradually into something more sure. “If you hand over the tesseract.”

Loki pointedly refrains from glancing at the coat closet. As, to Loki’s surprise, does Mobius. Surely he had seen them place the scepter within. Surely he could parse together what the tesseract could be.

“You wouldn’t need it to buy drapes.” Thor’s grip tightens on the handle of Mjolnir, but he does not yet raise it again.

Loki’s body tenses like a bowstring. There is no way out of this then, without a fight. “You have no comprehension of its power, brother. Of what I could have, what I could achieve with it in my possession. With what I’ve been promised.”

“Promised?” Thor asks. “Promised by who?”

A chill creeps over Loki’s skin, inch by slow inch. They think of the creatures that invade their mind, that found them when they fell from the Bifrost.

You could have this, they whisper, even now. You are nothing without this.

“Loki?” Mobius whispers. “Are you okay?”

Shaking their mind free from the dark grasp, Loki thoughts travel instead to those same creatures wrapping Mobius in their viciousness. Tearing him down. Exploiting his deepest vulnerabilities.

The cold runs deep, all consuming.

With the tesseract still in Loki’s possession, maybe they could protect Mobius. Or, the opposite. Maybe those creatures will never stop hunting them until Loki finally does as they command.

When it was Loki alone, forgotten and fallen, following the icy commands was no question, when both vengeance and a crown were promised.

But Loki is no longer alone.

To Loki’s surprise, concern covers Thor’s face as well, and he has taken a step closer, hand half-lifted, as if in a halted attempt to reach out to them.

“The tesseract will not bring you happiness, Loki,” Thor says, and motions toward Mobius. “Not in the way your soulmate can. You must make a choice.”

“They don’t have to chose,” Mobius says. “I’m staying with them, regardless of what they want to do.”

“But they must,” Thor tells him. “I will be leaving here with either Loki or the tesseract. I’d prefer to do it without a fight.”

Mobius takes a step forward. “I already told you, Loki isn’t going anywhere.”

“If forced, I will take you both to Asgard,” Thor says.

Loki thinks of Mobius standing before Odin, of all the brave, protective things he would say to the All-Father in Loki’s defense. And Loki thinks of how fast Odin would cut him down, Loki’s soulmate or not.

“No,” Loki says.

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki disappears their daggers, then goes to the closet and draws open the door. They reach through Mobius’s brown suits and retrieve the scepter. It’s cold in their hand.

They could grab Mobius and teleport away. Together, they could go anywhere. Thor would need time to track them down. But they’d have to keep running. They’d never be able to stop.

Loki thinks of Mobius, sweating in the desert. Humans are weak, fragile things. Mobius would not be able to sustain that kind of life.

The scepter, the creatures, whisper to Loki, He will die anyway. Why shouldn't you have more?

"All my life, I’ve been in your shadow,” Loki says to Thor. Thor lifts his hammer, readying for the fight to come. “This is my chance to carve my own path. To find my own throne. The Midgardians are hapless. They are in desperate need of a ruler.”

Loki looks at Mobius and finds him watching Thor, body tense like he intends to jump in the way if Thor were to attack. He will die anyway.

“There is no happiness in the promise of a throne, Loki.” Thor frowns, and after a brief, sideways glance at Mobius, his eyes turn sad. “We have waited the same for a soulmate. You have found yours, while I am still waiting. I ask you, who lives in envy of who?”

A new feeling twists inside Loki - something like... pity? For Thor? No. Impossible. Thor has had a life filled with all of his whims being catered to. Ever the favorite. The favored.

Yet.

Thor has no Mobius of his own.

He will die anyway. But. Not yet. Not yet.

“To be honest,” Mobius says, drawing Loki’s attention. “Humans are kind of a drag. We fight all the time, can’t agree on anything. I know that’s half why you think you can fix it all, but really, it sounds like a bigger headache than it’s worth.” He shrugs. “You and I, we’ll do whatever you want. I’ve got your back 100%. But... if you were King of Earth, do you get any vacation days? Cause I got some places I really want to take you.”

Looking at Mobius, hearing his words, listening to the steady cadence of his voice, Loki warms from the inside out.

“We need to go to the beach. You saw my jetski picture, right?” Mobius turns to Thor. “You ever been on a jetski?”

Thor blinks at him. “...No?”

“You’ll love it. It’s so much fun. Out on the waves, just you and the ocean - with the wind in your hair, and the sun all bright.” Mobius turns his smile back to Loki, and Loki doubts any sunshine could ever be as brilliant as him. “What do you think, Loki?”

The cruel whispers grow dim. Thoughts of, You are nothing without a crown, are replaced with, What worth is a crown without him?

The chill burns away, until the scepter is too cold, too painful to hold.

Loki moves closer to the kitchen. Thor raises his hammer. Mobius hurries forward.

But everyone stops when Loki surrenders the scepter - the tesseract - to Thor. As soon as it is gone from their hand, Loki feels a heavy weight lifted away. The chill leaves entirely, and their mind is silent once more.

“You’ve made the right choice, brother,” Thor says. They lower Mjolnir to the ground to look closer at the scepter.

“Odin will not be pleased when you return without me,” Loki says.

Thor hums. “I will pass along your promise to behave yourself.”

“I made no such promise.” With Loki’s new weightlessness, a small, sly smirk slips onto their lips. It's shaky and unsure, but Thor doesn't mention it.

Thor slides his gaze to Mobius. “I think you will have your hands too full to do otherwise, with how quickly this one throws himself into trouble.” He pitches his voice low. “I like him. He’s small, but brave.”

Pride swells in Loki. They didn’t need Thor’s approval, but having it...

“Mobius M. Mobius!” Thor walks to Mobius and draws him into a tight hug. “Now my brother. I await the day our paths cross again!”

Mobius awkwardly pats him on the back. “Yeah, sure! Sounds great.”

As they break, Loki begins to steer Thor toward the door. Thor looks as if he also wants to wrap Loki in a hug, but thankfully thinks better of it. Instead, he simply says, "We will see each other again."

"We will," Loki says, a promise. And for now, it is enough.

Thor starts forward, when Mobius calls out, “Wait, you forgot your hammer.”

Loki and Thor both turn away from the door, toward the kitchen - where Mobius stands, hand gripping Mjolnir’s handle, holding it up off the ground. He brings it forward and hands it to Thor, who stares at him, mouth agape.

Mobius says, “Surprisingly light?”

Loki bites back a smile. They knew their soulmate was no ordinary mortal.

Thor looks at Mobius like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Only to those who are worthy. You are small in stature, but not in heart, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“Uh, thanks?” Mobius says. Softer, he adds, “I’m really not that small.”

*

When Thor is gone, with the slightly damaged front door bolted behind him, Mobius turns to Loki and says, “Told you I’d get rid of him.”

Loki reaches out, grabs Mobius by the shoulders, and pulls him into their embrace. They do not let go for a long time.

Mobius holds them back, nose tucked into the crook of Loki’s neck and shoulder. “I would have followed you,” he says, voice muffled. “You want to be king? We’d make it happen. You didn’t have to give it up.”

Loki will tell him of the whispers and the cold, of the dark promises made. Later. “Perhaps another time,” they say. “Plenty of life to find a throne of my own.” Though as the words leave them, they know they are only half true. Plenty of time for Loki. No time at all for Mobius. The creatures no longer whisper in Loki's mind but they still hear their mocking, He will die.

“I was thinking we could get a couple chairs while we’re out.”

Loki can’t help and doesn’t stop their grin, even as their heart aches. “See? My fortune is already changing.”

“I’ll buy you the best throne,” Mobius says. “You ever heard of La-Z-Boy?”

Loki closes their eyes, presses their forehead to Mobius's shoulder, and wonders how, with the cruel inevitability of human mortality, they will ever go on without this man.

[piratesfromspace]

Training Day

Frank Castle (the Punisher) x Reader

Word count: 2k TW: knifeplay, mention of death and violence, gun, sexual tension, mention of alcohol

Female pronouns for reader

Note: Please keep in mind that in real life knifeplay should ALWAYS be discussed with your partner before anything, and that you should play with the safety of your partner being a priority. Stay safe.

“Again”

You scramble up on your feet, with a little bit less enthusiasm than at the beginning of your lesson. It was at least the 6th time you had fallen hard on the ground. You’re starting to seriously question what seemed like a very good idea at first. Who would pass the opportunity to be trained by such a competent fighter? By the Punisher himself? Definitely not you. 

You, the little rich girl forced into the streets and into hiding after your estranged father - a shady politician - messed with the wrong mafia boss. Your privileged life had fallen apart in a matter of seconds a year ago, half your family killed in the process, and since then you had learned that any valuable lesson usually came the (very) hard way. So when the vigilante had run into you while investigating said mafia, alone and in dire need of some help, he had wordlessly offered his protection and you had gladly accepted. Despite his brutality in a fight and his very unique moral code, you understood very quickly it wasn’t really the first time he chose to protect a runaway.

And here you are, on the floor of his small modest apartment, trying to apply the self defense techniques he taught you. You’re not the best student and it’s beginning to be a little bit annoying, the feeling of failure gnawing at the edge of your already pretty low self-confidence.

“Come on, try to catch this gun, I know you can do it.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, you shake your head a little, and without any warning you throw yourself toward him with all the strength you’ve got left. He dodges your attack with a surprising speed considering his massive frame, grabs your shoulder and throws you forward. You fall on the floor - again - and before you can get up, he’s on you, both knees on either side of your lean figure, his hips straddling yours. Gun pointed at you. You try to squirm to the side despite his legs caging you and you literally punch into his hand holding the gun. There’s a grunt of surprised pain, and the gun clatters to the floor. A small victory. Although it is kind of a cheat, knowing very well the nasty bruises and cuts already covering his right hand (he earned them in a fight against some tenacious gangsters a couple days ago) gave you an unfair advantage. But you’re not done yet.

Your secret weapon - a small pocket knife - has been hidden in your jacket sleeve, and you finally have the opportunity to take it out. With a grin you press the blade over his jeans against the inside of his thigh, where the artery would be. At the same time there is a metallic sheen in your visual field, and you unexpectedly feel the cold of steel against your throat. Of course, Frank fucking Castle has a knife of his own. And you were too caught in what you thought was the idea of the century to be wary of him striking back.

The blade of his combat knife is resting on your neck, barely touching your skin, but raising goosebumps anyway. He holds the weapon with a steady hand, careful not to hurt you.

“Not fast enough.”

his voice is always so impossibly deep, the tone confident. No trace of effort in it, while you’re trying to catch your breath under him.

“But I like the spirit. Keep it up, little one.”

You expect the exercise to be done, but he doesn’t budge, still straddling your hips, keeping you pinned to the floor. His blade flush against your throat. To anyone else, it would be a deadly threat, but not to you. You find it almost comforting to surrender like this, even though you know it’s not him who has the upper hand in the entirely different kind of game you’re both entangled since you met.

His body so close to yours, the adrenaline of the training, the thrill of the sharp edge of steel against your skin: it’s too much and not enough at the same time. You’re still trying to calm your breath, but now it’s for another reason than earlier. There is a moment of hesitation, you can feel it in the way his jaw clenches while his eyes look for yours. But whatever Castle has in mind, you don’t want him to stop. You bit your lips, raising your chin higher, baring your neck even more, just like animals do when they submit to a stronger one. The primitive display of submission awakens something feral in him.

He grabs slowly your wrist, the one threatening his thigh with the blunt pocket knife, and squeezes, just hard enough to make you let go of your weapon. It falls in a muffled thud on the carpet next to you as Castle lifts your arm above your head until he’s able to pin your wrist against the floor. He’s closer to you now, leaning over you, and you suddenly feel so small under him. He’s taking all your space, filling all your senses with what makes him him .

The heady scent of after-shave and smoke and a faint tangy smell that’s probably gunpowder.

The roughness of his denim and the delicious pressure of his fingers around your wrist.

The way he’s the only thing in the room you’re able to focus on, authority and confidence radiating from him.

The scars adorning his body - they are everywhere, some you can’t see, but others pretty obvious, and your eyes are going from one scar on his face to another, before landing on his lips.

When you meet his gaze, he’s already intently looking at you, and you can feel the dilemma playing in his mind. You’ve known him only for a couple months, but it feels like it’s been your entire life.

Frank Castle is not a very complicated man. He’s been hurt and betrayed in ways you unfortunately can relate to. He’s not a good man, he has killed and tortured too many to deserve to be called “good” - he’s not even interested in doing good himself. But, buried deep under the violence, the misanthropy and the anger, lies a sliver of hopeful belief, almost naive, that some of humanity can still be good. That somehow some of us can shine some light in the darkness of this world, and that those people need to be protected at all costs. Because they’re too pure to do what’s really necessary to fight off evil, he will do it. He will sacrifice his soul if it means a few can be saved. His conscience will never be clear ever again, so the least he can do is put to work his own wicked mind to support the good ones.

And for some misguided reasons, he thinks you’re one of those.

Compared to the fury he unleashes when he fights, the patience and softness he never fails to show you makes your heart flutter. It’s like he’s afraid he could hurt you more than life already did, no matter how many times you assure him he won’t. You’re pretty sure he would do anything you ask him to - he did kiss you that one time you asked, a few nights ago, both of you drunk on cheap whisky. Plush lips finding yours, callused hands gently holding the side of your face, his breath hot on your skin. The memory is brought back at the front of your mind, heat settling low in your belly.

This time it’s different though, he’s the one initiating whatever this is.

He moves his hips ever so slightly, unwillingly bringing your attention to his crotch and you can see how tight the fabric of his jeans has become. He follows your gaze but before he gets embarrassed, your eyes dart to his and in a bold move you lift your free hand to touch his thigh. Your own way to say this is ok. His lips part, and he shifts a bit again, unconsciously, pressing against your pelvic bone, the feeble friction enough to send a pleasant tingle in your body. You admire his calm and his sense of self-control though, because despite the now very visible desire burning in him, the blade on your throat is steadier than ever. Your hand leaves his thigh and slowly but surely wraps around his fingers on the handle of the knife. The tension is thick, the silence is deafening, the only noises your shallow breaths and the sound of fabric each time Castle is grounding your hips harder with his own.

You guide his hand with your own, removing the blade from your throat and as his pupils go wide, you bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss against the smooth steel. The gesture is both obscene and pious at the same time, like you’re paying respect to some holy relic, worshipping his own ability to take lives, revering the dark God he is.

“Fuck, girl…” he lets out in a growl, voice laced with admiration and with something else, something very unholy .

You’re actually surprised he allowed you to move his own arm, letting you take some control. The realization emboldens you. Maybe this will work . Frank Castle is too busy processing the aching fire that consumes him to anticipate your sudden attack. A mean twist of his wrist brings the knife to his own throat. The surprise makes him let go of your other hand, and you’re able to push him hard in the middle of his chest, your upper body surging up, legs coming out from under him. He tumbles backward, he’s swearing and laughing at the same time, like he’s actually amazed you managed to unsettle him. I can do it. You crawl on the floor as fast as you can, quickly grabbing the previously discarded gun and you turn around, aiming at him. I’ve got you Frank Castle, I won . He chuckles and raises his hands, surrendering to you.

“Not fast enough” you taunt him “but I liked the spirit”. You get up on your feet, and lower your aim. “Maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two.” This time you’re pushing your luck and you know it.

Frank smiles, and he gets up as well. He’s not wearing his Punisher gear, just his civilian clothes, a simple black shirt with sleeves rolled up, the thin fabric taut over his firm chest. Even from across the room, even without the kevlar vest, it’s impossible to forget how tall and broad he is, how the muscles of his forearms flex when he rubs the palm of his hand, how the bulge in his jeans leaves nothing to the imagination. You’re not the only one to stare though. Dark eyes are roaming your body, making your cheeks go red under his searing gaze.

A few seconds ago, you thought your training session was over but now you’re afraid your little stunt has done nothing to make him want to stop. And truth be told, you don’t want it to stop. Don’t want him to stop.

“Never lower your gun.” he breaks the silence, husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

“You still have a lot to learn, little girl.” he adds darkly, a smirk on his handsome face.

“Show me, then.” you reply too quickly for your own sake.

In a heartbeat, he’s on you, prying the gun from your hand, crushing you against the wall. There’s a split second of hesitation before his lips are on yours. His strong body pressed flush against your trembling figure, the tight knot of repressed desire finally snapping. And it feels good, so good you’re pretty sure your legs will give up under you. But it doesn’t matter because he’ll catch you, he’ll get you, of that you’re sure.

You know you’ve lost this round. But defeat has never tasted more like victory than now.

[pagingdoctorbedlam]

Ready for zombies, Zoro, and some hurt/comfort? Then take a swig of this potion for @quirkyseastone ‘s “Brew a Love Potion” event! (But please read the warnings first!)

Characters: Zoro x Reader; appearance by Bartholomew Kuma

Genre: Zombie/Apocalypse, Hurt/Comfort (a bit light on the comfort though, woops)

TW/CW: Violence, guns and swords, blood, light gore, mentions of cannibalism, undead bodies

Inspiration: The concept for zombies in this fic is inspired by the novel Breathers by S.G. Browne (at least, what I remember from having read it over 10 years ago...)

Word Count: ~3.1k words

...

"Hold still, we're almost..." You apply the last bit of blush before appraising your handiwork. Not bad, if you said so yourself. At a glance, Zoro doesn't even look dead. "There. Want a mirror to see?"

"I trust you not to doll me up too bad." Roronoa Zoro yawns, even though the legendary zombie hunter no longer needs to sleep, having recently been turned into a zombie himself. Which, contrary to popular belief, is not in and of itself a death sentence. Most zombies act as they did in life, even if their bodies no longer recover the way a living human's does. The danger comes from the zombies who try to stop this decay by feasting on human brains...and sometimes more dangerous are the humans who've decided that every zombie is a ticking time bomb regardless of said zombie's intentions. 

At least Zoro had never been that way, but now he's got to hide from the hunters who once considered him a legend. Sure, it wouldn't be hard for him to fight off hunters, even if you've had to stitch each limb back on at least twice (and you're still not sure where one of his eyes ended up). But you'd rather your newfound partner in protecting innocent zombies not cause a scene simply by walking through the market.

"Remember, don't rub your face. This makeup cost me a fortune. And try to fake breathing this time, okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I got it." He manages to take a breath that's believable but isn't so deep that it rattles the loose bones and organs in his slowly decaying chest.

Both of you get to your feet and finish the rest of your preparations for the outside world. Your clothing hides as much skin as possible, even with the warm temperatures outside. You spray Zoro down with cheap cologne so he smells less like roadkill and more like a teenager trying to cover up a bad case of B.O. And you slip on filtration masks in a vain attempt to avoid the ever-present smoke and dust beyond your walls.

No one's sure if the zombies came about because of the bombs, or if the bombs were secretly launched because the powers-that-be learned about the first nascent zombies and failed with their pre-emptive strike. But now much of the world is a wasteland, and bargaining for resources is bad enough without half the population lobbing accusations of cannibalism at the other half. You can't hold off this trip any longer, because you've ended up looking after a number of innocent zombies, and they need medical supplies before they fall apart any further.

You shoo Zoro away from the driver's spot on your motorbike. "Nuh uh buddy, we aren't getting lost today." You've heard a new band of hunters is coming to town, and the last thing you want is to run into them before you have a chance to secure your supplies.

"I don't get lost! They just keep changing where the market is." Zoro still reluctantly waits for you to take your place at the front before he sits behind you and firmly snakes his arms around your waist. You pretend you can feel his pulse when he holds you, even though you know the heart in his chest has long stopped beating.

Markets are supposed to be neutral ground. Everyone needs resources to survive after all, and one of the few things that bombs and zombie outbreaks couldn't kill is commerce. Stalls line the aisles of what was once a grocery store, faded advertisements promoting foods that no one's seen in years, and someone has fixed the speaker system to play the same old pop hits in a vain attempt at normalcy.

You hold tight to Zoro's hand, both to keep him from getting lost and so he stays close in case of danger. He obliges, and even holds bags for you as you pull him around. You might've called this romantic in the times before, back when your purchases would've been far more frivolous than bandages and shelf-stable rations, but you're unsure how close you and Zoro would've been without being thrown together by circumstance.

You pause by one stall, eyes wide. Zoro doesn't notice and keeps walking until he notices that you won't budge. He raises an eyebrow when he finally joins you. "What, some kinda' plastic plant?"

"Not plastic. It's real." You forgive him the mistake though, as the plant has sturdy, waxy leaves that almost look sculpted. It feels like so long since you've seen anything green (aside from Zoro's hair), much less an actual plant. But you note the name scribbled in tape on its battered plastic pot. It's nothing useful, not medicinal or edible in the slightest. Just a begonia that hasn't even bloomed yet.

The shopkeeper asks, "Gonna gawk, or you gonna' buy?"

You know you can't afford a plant, what with how rare they are. You might be able to bargain and beg if it were something more useful, but...

"We'll buy." Zoro slams something down on the table. "This'll be enough?"

You catch the glint of gold peeking from between his fingers. Jewelry isn't useful anymore, but human greed has a hard time giving up old habits. The shopkeeper smiles wide and practically shoves the begonia at you with one hand while snatching up Zoro's earring with the other. You thank him and depart the stall without another word, clutching the flower close to your chest.

"What was that about?" You hiss at Zoro.

"Looked like you wanted it," he says with a shrug. You squint up at his remaining earrings, only to realize that in his haste to remove the one he traded away, he tore the hole in his ear a little in the process. Probably didn't even notice that he'd done so, the stubborn fool...

Well, what's done is done. "Thank you. I'll make sure to take excellent care of it."

"Don't mention it." Which you know is Zoro-speak for "you're welcome". So you smile back at him without saying anything more on the subject, and continue the rest of your trek through the market.

You make the mistake of thinking this is a surprisingly nice day. But you don't realize that someone has noticed how Zoro isn't bleeding.

When Zoro pulls out one sword and tightens his grip around your midsection, you don't have to ask why. You're being followed.

You absently wonder what gave you away. Never removing your masks? A smudge in Zoro's makeup that revealed the deathly pallor underneath? It doesn't really matter, you think. Whoever is after you will chase you down until they can swing their weapons and play at being heroes, so all you can do is fight on your own terms. You avoid going home and swerve the bike toward the burned-out husk of an abandoned store that not even the most desperate zombies would hide in.

You glance at the tilted rearview mirror on your bike. The figures chasing you are hulking brutes, but nothing compared to their ringleader. He's built like a brick house with legs, and his imposing figure is thrown off by the pristine white hat topped with small bear ears. Instead of a holstered weapon, he has a bible strapped to his side. You've heard of this man. Judging by the look in Zoro's eyes, he does too. One of the most notorious zombie hunters in the country: Bartholomew Kuma.

What is he doing here, of all places?

Zoro says, "Soon as we touch down, hide. It's me they want."

"I can't just leave you. You know who that is back there?"

"Doesn't matter. I already died once. They can't do worse than that to me. But they could still hurt you plenty. 'Specially if you came back before they were done with you." In the rearview mirror, Zoro's eyes are sharp and cold as his blades.

You know how to handle a weapon in self-defense, but you're nowhere near the master that Zoro is. And he has a point. You're still human, you can bleed, you can hurt. And that might chew Zoro up worse than anything Kuma and crew could throw at him. You resign yourself to your fate and think of where in that burnt-out building you might be able to hide, preferably while still keeping an ear out for danger.

You speed on, trying to shake your pursuers, but soon the road runs out. The bones of burnt buildings jut out before you like oversized tombstones. You remember scouting here before, trying to usher out displaced zombies before the remnants of the building could collapse on them. Much of the ruins have fallen since you were last here, but there's still a concrete bunker that was once a stockroom, and it's mostly intact. You can lay low there until the fighting's over. 

You relay this plan to Zoro, and you tell him, "I'll be safe there, don't worry about me. Once the fighting's done, I'll come back down and patch you up. So don't die on me again, alright?"

Zoro nods, even though he surely knows the claim is more for your comfort than anything. He's a zombie, after all, and they don't heal the way humans do unless they devour human brains. He won't bleed, but if he looses a limb, or even his head? There's nothing you can do to fix that. And to be honest, you're not sure if that'll do him in, or if he'd continue living in pieces. You don't want to find out.

You park. And you know you should hit the ground running, but your heart is hammering in your chest. You turn to Zoro as he pulls out his blades.

You quickly put your warm hands on his cold cheeks and pull him in for a kiss. You two never attached words to what's simmered under the surface for so long, but in case of the worst...you couldn't handle him not knowing how  you truly felt. He blinks as you pull away, briefly stunned. You wonder if he'd blush if he could.

You run into the burnt-out husk of a building. The touch of your lips on Zoro's is replaced by a sword between his teeth.

In another lifetime, before people stopped dying right and the world went to hell over it, this building was a clothing store. You shopped here for outfits you haven't seen in years. Once, a friend who worked here snuck you into the back room, and you ate cheap takeout while surrounded by wall-to-ceiling racks of clothing and shoes. If you took time to wipe away the dust, you might still find graffiti left by the workers during their final shifts. You wonder if your friend left one.

You cannot look because you are huddled on a shelf and trying not to make a sound. The shelves are sturdy metal and easy to climb even without the rolling ladder. You're hidden high above the heads of anyone who might come in and pressed against a wall. No one should find you here.

For awhile, you heard sounds from outside. Speaking at first, though you couldn't make out what was being said. Then battle, swords colliding and guns firing. Screams. Then...nothing. You don't know if it's safe to come out. You'll find out soon. There are footsteps approaching.

A voice you do not recognize says your name.

"Roronoa Zoro is dead. Again. I am sorry that it had to happen." Heavy footfalls contrast a voice that is soft, almost even kind. "I understand why you might want to save him. You've built quite a reputation for that, you know. But I'm afraid it ends here. We cannot allow you to keep any more abominations alive. You understand that is what they are, don't you?"

You know he's trying to goad you into revealing yourself. It takes everything in your power to hold still and silent.

Metal crumples nearby with a shrill squeal, as if it could protest its false bones being broken.

"If you were to go on a trip...where would you like to go?"

The question throws you off guard, almost enough for sound to escape your lips.

"We do not have to kill you. All the government wants is to talk. If you cooperate, you'll be transported somewhere safe. Free of zombies, even." More metal crumples, and you wonder how Kuma is doing it. Does he have a weapon, or is he strong enough to break the storage shelves with his bare hands? "All you have to do is come willingly, and when we're done, you can go wherever you'd like, and you'll be kept safe."

But the only place you can think of is home. With Zoro. No matter what might come after you there.

The shelf under you shifts, and your body spasms as if you fell in a dream and awoke with your mind still lurching. You reach for anything to grab onto, but your fingers only touch air. (For the briefest instance, you spy graffiti drawn by a familiar hand upon the wall.)

You do not immediately recognize the feel of the arms, because they are warm and pulsing with life. You stare up at Zoro's face in disbelief. He's missing an eye and his face is smeared with blood, mouth drawn in a thin line.

"You survived," Kuma intones softly. "You ate them." And you wish you could refute him, but even before he spoke, you knew it to be true. Zoro's bloody fingers dig into your clothes to hold you tight. You hear his heartbeat for the first time, and it rarely skips a beat. Kuma says, "Let your friend down, Roronoa. You don't want to do this."

"Think I'm some mindless cannibal? Think again." Zoro sets you down and looks  you dead in the eye. "Told you I wouldn't die. And neither will you. Now, get out of here." Half a second before returning his sword to his mouth, his tongue flickers over his blood-stained lips. "Hurry!"

You do as he asks and flee to the doorway of the building. You know you should run to the motorcycle and drive out of here, but there are two problems with that. One is how you don't want to leave Zoro again. The other is that even if you admit the truth to yourself, that he finally gave in and consumed the brains of his enemies like the zombies he used to put down...you don't want to turn around and see what he did to the corpses of Kuma's followers.

The fight is swift and brutal. You've seen Zoro fight before, but while he's normally a whirlwind with his blades, now he's a demonic torrent. Much as he tries to stick to his traditional fighting forms, they slip into more instinctual slashes when Kuma pushes back, and the only thing that keeps Zoro on top is sheer ferocity. He moves so fast, you swear he's slashing three times faster than a normal man, leaving the afterimages of a three-faced demon. (You've heard rumors of zombies growing entirely new parts when they've eaten too much mortal flesh, but surely those are only rumors, survivors not understanding what they're seeing...)

Kuma is far quicker than his size would suggest. But even he begins to buckle. He blocks one blade with a bible far sturdier than it appears, and then lunges forward in a final desperate attack. Zoro braces to parry an attack, but is taken aback as no blow comes. Something metal and blinking is clasped onto his wrist.

"We will not meet again."

And Kuma is gone. You blink in surprise. You swore you didn't see him leave through the other holes in the building, didn't feel anyone pass you, and yet...

The normally composed swordsman growls as he sheathes his swords and tries to pry the blinking metal bangle (a tracking device, what else could it be?) off his arm. You want to approach him, but are unsure if you should; all you can do is watch as he uselessly paws at the bangle. Until he stops suddenly. You catch a glimpse of fresh crimson.

Zoro freezes as the reality of what he's done, what he's become, finally settles in. He's a statue slowly dripping red, most of which isn't his own. His breath shudders, and that too takes him off-guard. He sways where he stands, almost falling to his knees but somehow staying upright.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you toward him, and you reach out. Your fingers brush against his back. He growls, "Don't. I'm not..."

"It doesn't matter what you are. You're still Zoro." 

Gentle pushes at his shoulders turn him around so he faces you. His face has more color than you've ever seen, blood red and flesh pink and mottled blues and violets of bruises. His closed eyelid twitches as the eye underneath regenerates. How long will it be until all the color's gone, and electrical impulses run short to leave his heart to hang heavy and empty in his chest, and how much longer than that until he gets a taste for life again regardless of the cost?

That doesn't matter right now. The future looms taller and more frightening than Kuma, but right now, you're two scared humans in a broken warehouse. You wrap your arms around Zoro and pull him close.

For the briefest moment, you feel his mouth open, hear the click in his jaw. His teeth brush against your ear. You close your eyes and refuse to think about it.

His chin rests on your shoulder. Mouth closed. Arms wrap around you right and your hearts beat together, lungs scramble for air together, blood and worry (and tears, you think, but you're not sure whose) intermingle and crawl to a slow stop until only a numb and temporary peace remains.

"You'd be forgiven for walking away." His voice is raw and tired with the weight of living again and all that took.

"Maybe. But someone has to keep you from getting lost." You give him one final squeeze before letting him go. "Come on. Let's go home and get you cleaned up."

When morning comes, you'll have to face what the future holds for a brain-eating swordsman and the one who looks out for him despite it all. But tonight, the both of you are miraculously alive and breathing, and there's a green new plant in the window ready to soak up all the sunlight tomorrow can offer.

[heliads]

Training

As an Erudite and member of Jeanine’s inner circle, you’re more than a little surprised when she sends you to Dauntless so you can learn to protect yourself. Will you be able to prove yourself to your fellow Erudites, and also to your trainer, Eric Coulter?

masterlist

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

It wasn’t an easy path to get where you are today. Thinking back to that one moment all those years ago, when you had sliced open your palm and chosen Erudite in front of everyone you held dear, you never could have imagined the trials you’d have to face. The choices you’ve made, the people you’ve been forced to cut out of your life- they’ve all been for one goal: the future of Erudite.

You had worked harder than you ever had before, struggling to stay afloat when it seemed like everyone in the world knew more than you, and was keen to keep it that way. Yet, here you are- one of the most trusted members of Jeanine’s inner circle. You had helped form her plan to control the factions, had been there since the beginning and helped carefully mold it into the master scheme it was today. Everything had been for the future of Erudite as the crowning glory of the factions.

And here she is, sending you to Dauntless.

Jeanine sighs and shakes her head. “I know how you feel, but this is for the best. You need to go to Dauntless, not only to ensure that our forces there are prepared for the next few steps to take but also to protect yourself. If you train with Dauntless, in the private sessions so no one else suspects anything, you will have the tools to defend yourself if necessary. You’re one of my most important allies, Y/N. If you are attacked or even die, the entire project could fall apart.”

You look at her, still more than a little disgruntled. “Flattering me won’t do anything to convince me to do this.” Jeanine lets a small smile cross the usual thin slant of her mouth. “It’s not flattery if it’s true. Now come, your train departs shortly.” You follow Jeanine to the train station, somehow unsurprised by the fact that she’d planned everything so precisely. In all the time you’ve been around Jeanine, you’ve learned one thing: what she says will happen. Every single time.

By the time the train pulls up to a Dauntless station, Jeanine’s already briefed you. You’ll only stay for a week at most, but you’ll have private training sessions with one of the leaders. A few other members of Jeanine’s inner circle are here as well, so it looks like you’re not the only one she wants to protect.

You and your fellow Erudites enter the building through a back door, making sure that you are not spotted by any Dauntless who aren’t in on the plan. Even though they’ll shortly be under Erudite control, it would still be best if suspicions weren’t raised.

Eventually, you find yourself in a dark, high-ceilinged training room. A few Dauntless leaders and trainers come over and greet Jeanine, clearly they are in on the plan. The Dauntless are cocky and confident, seeming completely unfazed by the fact that they are actively conspiring against the other factions. They are clothed in all black, with tattoos detailing their skin. Your eye is caught by one man in particular, with patterns of black ink stretching up his neck. He returns your gaze with a smirk.

Jeanine turns to her fellow Erudites. “These are your trainers. Philip, you go with Alan. Clara, with Jasmin. And Y/N, you’ll go with Eric.” She points at the blond man with the tattoos you had noticed before. He raises his eyebrows. “I was told I was going to be training the best. She seems pretty small to be your best.” Jeanine’s face does not change, but her tone seems just a little bit icier. “She is the best.” Eric shrugs at that, unbothered, and gestures for you to follow him. This is going to be one long week.

You’re actually not as bad at hand-to-hand combat as you’d thought. Sure, Eric can beat you every time, but that’s to be expected- he’s been training as a Dauntless for much longer than you have. However, you’re able to block his blows, and even get in a few hits that you can tell he doesn’t expect. Maybe it’s just a perk of being an Erudite- you can think ahead to what he’s going to do and block the actions before he even makes them.

Unfortunately, this forward-thinking technique does not appear to help you actually win the sparring, though. On one such occasion, when you find yourself knocked down to the mat once more, Eric just sighs, irritated. “You’re clearly an Erudite- you’re thinking too much about what I’m going to do instead of just attacking. Don’t think, just do.” With that, he walks away, announcing a break. You’re left to join up with your fellow Erudites, who you’re grateful to see seem just as worn out and useless as you do.

You’re sipping water from a plastic bottle brought out from who knows what corner of the Dauntless training room when you see Eric talking to a few of the other trainers. You shift towards them, pretending to drink your water but instead listening to their conversation. Your eavesdropping is rewarded when you notice that they’re talking about the Erudites.

“They’re not that bad.” One argues. “I mean, they have good strength and they’re not nearly as bad as the transfers when they first start initiation.” Another trainer chuckles. “It’s kind of hard not to be as bad as the transfers. But these guys aren’t Dauntless. They don’t have Dauntless instincts.” The trainers nod in agreement. “I mean, I think mine is still trying to calculate the force and acceleration behind his punch before he even takes it.” The others laugh, and the trainer turns to Eric. “Hey, Coulter. You’ve been silent for a while- what are your thoughts? How’s L/N, does she seem like second-in-command material?”

You prick up your ears at that, but Eric just shrugs. “I expected more from someone I’ve heard so much about, but I suppose it’s only fitting that she’d be all brains and no fight.” You wince at that. You’re not sure why hearing Eric’s opinion matters that much to you- it shouldn’t, you’ve only just met him and you’ll soon be leaving him, but it still hurts to hear.

Behind you, the trainers are dispersing back into the rooms. “Okay, find a sparring partner. We’ll be doing actual fights now- you throw your punches, we’ll watch.” A sudden need to prove yourself is filling you, and you nod at Alan, one of your fellow Erudite. He is smaller and more timid than he seems at first, and he’ll probably be an easy match. 

The two of you head to a ring and circle each other warily. You know Alan won’t take the first move, and so you do instead- a quick jab at the lower arm, he thinks you’re attacking there so he goes to block, you knew he would do that so you circle up and hit him with an elbow to the neck. Alan stumbles back, clutching his throat. Your eye catches on Eric for a moment- he’s casually walking up to watch the fight. You turn back to a recovered Alan, ready to beat him and prove that you’re just as good as any Dauntless.

Alan takes initiative this time, trying to hit you with a fierce kick. You take advantage of his slight loss of balance by sweeping his legs out from under him, and then straddling him to pin him down. Alan struggles from underneath you, but you land a direct punch to the face and hear the satisfying sound of bone cracking. Something about the rush of adrenaline is like fire burning through your veins, and you can’t help but hit him once more. You rear your arm back for another punch, and then another, but you are distracted by the sight of Alan’s arm flopping to his side. You blink to regain your focus and realize that the Erudite is unconscious, knocked out by the force of your blows.

You quickly stand up, and keep staring at first at Alan's unconscious form, then the blood coating your knuckles, and then back to Alan once more. It comes to your attention that everyone’s staring at you, and you start to stammer out an apology. “Sorry- I didn’t realize- I didn’t mean to-” Eric cuts you off with a low laugh, and strides around the ring to talk to you. “Don’t apologize- that was the best you’ve done all day. Maybe we’ll make a fighter of you yet.”

So now you have Eric’s approval- and confidence in yourself. You find you enjoy fighting, maybe a little more than you’re supposed to. You train as hard as you can, reveling in the chance to take out your aggression. You’ve quickly made a name for yourself as the best among the Erudites, and it’s a title you guard with gleeful pride. 

On one of the last nights that you’ll be in Dauntless, you’re stretching after a day’s work. The training sessions had gone pretty well- you’d bested every opponent who’d dared spar against you. Another Erudite walks up to you, and hisses something under her breath. “You shouldn’t be so proud of yourself.”

You look at her, grinning. “What, you jealous?” The Erudite shakes her head, the same glare still present on her face. “You’re supposed to be Erudite, you know. Not Dauntless. I think you’re taking too much pride in being able to fight. When we go back to our faction, I think we’ll all remember how eager you were to give up being Erudite so you could punch someone and make Eric proud.” With that, she walks away, leaving you in stunned silence.

She’s right, of course. You lay awake for a long time in your bunk, hearing her words repeat over and over again. You weren’t meant to be Dauntless, you are an Erudite. It was proved in the test, and it was proved when you decided on Erudite in the Choosing Ceremony. Why are you so keen on proving yourself in the fighting ring? You’re only here for self-defense, and you most certainly should not be enjoying hand-to-hand combat so much.

Also, the Erudite was right about one other thing- Eric. Why does his opinion matter so much to you? Why do you look to him for approval after every fight, and why is it that you can only relax after a fight when you hear his voice when he’s leading you away from the ring?

It comes to you slowly, but the realization makes you groan inwardly. Of course- you love him. What else could it be? You turn over on your side, wishing for sleep to come. You know what you’ll have to do tomorrow, and how to prove to the others that you are truly their ally and that your loyalty lies only with Erudite, not with Dauntless.

When you wake up the next morning, you dress promptly with the other Erudites. When you all file into a room to eat breakfast, you sit yourself in between two of your friends. When Eric comes into the room, you don’t look at him at all, not even to wave your usual hello.

When you go into the training room, you stretch by yourself instead of warming up with Eric. The Dauntless announce that you’ll be sparring with the other Erudites once more, and you head over to the rings to pick a victim, walking right by Eric without so much as acknowledging him. You can see confusion and maybe even hurt (although you’re surely kidding yourself) spread across his face, but you brush it away. The Erudite who had spoken to you before comes over to you now, whispering once in your ear before heading away:

“Glad to see you’ve decided on your allegiance.”

Yes, you have- but why does it hurt so much?

The match passes in a blur, with you beating your opponent easily. You feel like a machine, forcing yourself through the usual paces without any joy. You shouldn’t feel joy, anyway, that would mean you were too much like the Dauntless, and you are only an Erudite. You go on ignoring Eric all day, much to his surprise, but if it means you aren’t questioned by the other Erudites, it’s worth it. Right?

However, it appears that you won’t get your way forever- just after practice is dismissed you start heading down a hall when an arm snakes around your waist and pulls you into a nearby room. You turn to face whoever’s grabbed you with an indignant rage, but the words die on your tongue when you see it’s Eric. He looks irritated.

“Why are you ignoring me?” His voice is dangerously level, but you just shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The last time I checked, I could talk or not talk to whoever I chose.” You try to leave so you can follow the others, but Eric pulls you back into the room. “What is this all about? You were fine with me yesterday, but something’s gotten into you today.” He draws back, and for a second he looks almost nervous. “I saw you looking upset after one of the other Erudite spoke to you yesterday. Is that why?”

Finally, you look him dead in the eyes. “It was. They reminded me that I am not a Dauntless but an Erudite, and I would do well to remember it. I know my allegiance, and it is not with this faction.” Eric scoffs, incredulous. “You think talking to me means that you’re trying to switch factions? Trust me, I’m just trying to help you.” You glare at him suspiciously. “Then why would that Erudite tell me that?”

Eric sighs, and you realize that he’s been hiding something from you this entire conversation. “You know why, don’t you? She wants me to stay away from you because of something you did. What is it?” Eric clenches his jaw, but he responds. “Actually, I think this is more about you. What would you want to hide from the others that would be so important that you’d cut off all contact with me?” You freeze. This is definitely not where you wanted this conversation to go. You try to leave, but Eric forces you to stay. “Just tell me.”

You can’t bear to look at him. “She found out I had feelings for you. Happy?” This is it- he’ll just laugh at you. What were you thinking, telling him? You force yourself to look up at him, but instead of incredulous, he just looks- relieved?

Before you know it, he’s kissing you. His hand finds your waist, and you can’t decide whether you feel more surprised or elated. When he finally breaks away, he looks at you with a smirk. “I’d say happy.” You laugh, and kiss him again.

When the train comes to take you back to Erudite, you find you don’t really want to go. Your whole life is in Erudite, and you can’t wait to keep working on your project with Jeanine, but you don’t want to leave Eric behind. He’s come to walk you to the train, and when he sees the train starting to arrive, he turns to you.

“It’ll be alright, you know. Just a few more weeks, and then we’ll have control over the factions. I’ll see you then, I promise.” You smile at that. “I know. Jeanine has to visit Dauntless a few more times, and I’ll do my best to make sure I’m at those meetings. Wait for me?” Eric chuckles. “Of course. See you then.” 

The train is here now, and you know you must go. “I’ll miss you.” You whisper, and head towards the train. “I’ll miss you too.” Once you step past the doors of the train, you look back at Eric as the train picks up speed and pulls away from Dauntless. It’ll only be a short time until you see him again.

[alolowrites]

The Nightly Adventures of a Lost Shopper

Summary: Getting lost at night is one thing. But stumbling upon some crazy beating in a musty back alley? Yeah, no thanks. 

Author’s Note: Soooooo, it’s almost been a month since my last story 😅 Work life and gym life really are keeping me busy. Anyways, I was inspired by a prompt I saw on Tumblr and like always, I had to run with this stupid idea lmao.  Please enjoy! 

Genre: Mafia!AU (if you squint lol) Warnings: Mentions of blood (just a smudge really); reader having no self-control when it comes to grocery shopping loll  Word Count: 1.6K+

You stand underneath a flickering streetlight, swiveling your head left and right as though you’re checking for some car to drive by. Everything is so eerily quiet that a squeaky noise makes you jump on the spot. You crane your neck up and sigh—it’s just a lonely traffic light swinging mindlessly in the breeze.

The yellow light blinks nonstop, unaware if it’s broken or maybe it does, and the thing really doesn’t care anymore. You don’t blame the poor traffic light; the streets are more dead than a groundskeeper working the midnight shift at the local cemetery. At least the worker knows where they are.

You, on the other hand, don’t and admit defeat. “Damnit, I’m lost.”

A hiss escapes your lips, and you grip the grocery bags that weigh like a stack of bricks. In hindsight, you should have created a shopping list. There’s a reason why you can’t be trusted with buying your groceries without some plan. Now you’re standing at an empty corner all alone in the middle of nowhere, dealing with two screaming arms and muttering a curse at your dead phone with the awful battery life.

“Alright, let’s just go this way,” you mutter and trudge forward, praying that your bags don’t tear open. You can only handle one problem at a time. Yet, your life is anything but simple. The universe always has something up its sleeve for you, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

Your bags might be intact, and there aren’t any dark clouds threatening to rain on your parade, but you do hear loud grunts in the far distance. They cut through the deafening silence almost instantly. You quirk an eyebrow and waddle closer, curiosity getting the best of you.  

Big mistake.

In front of you is a man screaming in agony, crouched over as he endures powerful punches from the red beast towering over him. The blows never stop, each one more brutal and vicious than the last. No shred of mercy given despite the desperate pleads howling into the deep night. You watch helplessly as the final punch is thrown. The sheer force alone breaks the man’s ribs so hard that a sharp pop echoes throughout the narrow alley.

The red-haired guy tugs his personal punching bag and growls, “You ready to talk now?”

“Yes-s.”

“Good, so where’s the money you owe us?”

“At a secret hideout,” he rasps, blood dripping out his swollen mouth. “I-I can take you there a-and give you the money-y. I promise!”

He gets dropped like an old sack. “Drag him to the car.”

“Got it, Big Red.”

Said man finally turns around, and your heart stops. His bright red eyes land on you, blinking in surprise. You stare back at him, wondering if you can just crawl into the disgusting dumpster and hide there. But you don’t move a muscle nor say a word, too shocked at what you’ve just witnessed.

Oh my god, am I an accomplice? You grip the bags tighter in your hands, and his eyes glance at them before looking at you again. Eventually, you mentally slap yourself out of your stupor, blurting out the first thing on your mind.

“I’m sorry!” You stumble backward, legs shaking for dear life. “I-I didn’t see anything! I’m just—gah!”

You spin on your heel, wobbling out of there before who knows what could happen to you. Getting lost at night is one thing. But stumbling upon some crazy beating in a musty back alley? Yeah, no thanks.

“Hey, wait!”

You freeze at the sound of his voice—it’s rough and commanding but not too intimidating. His footsteps falter, and you quietly count to ten before turning around, your bags rustling behind your legs. The man (Big Red was it?) stares at you, almost like he’s figuring out where you fit in this bizarre puzzle he’s trying to solve.

Meanwhile, your eyes bounce between him and the barely conscious punching bag that’s being dragged to the black SUV, leaving a trail of red droplets in its wake. You swallow a tiny gulp; this is all too much.  

“Listen, I swear I didn’t see anything,” you exclaim, jumping on the defense. Seconds later, you wince at your mistake. “Okay, that’s a lie, b-but I promise I won’t say a word! I mean, not like I can call the cops on you since my phone is dead—”

“Huh? Wait a sec—”

“—which is honestly terrible since I’m lost! Do you know how long I’ve been walking all night? I’ll tell you: an eternity! And my arms feel like they’re about to fall apart any second now because these bags,” you shake them like a pair of maracas, “ are heavy!”

“Hey—”

At this point, you start airing out all your grievances in one go.

“I think there’s a pebble inside my left shoe, rolling around like it owns the place. My house keys keep pinching me against my hip, and one of my shoelaces feels so loose that it’s probably untied, waiting for me to trip.” Suddenly, the stress becomes overwhelming that your lips quiver. “It’s super late right now. I’m all alone and scared and—and,” you thrash the bags while wailing, “and my ice cream is melting!”

You inhale sharply like a person reaching the water’s surface after a deep dive. Your face is flushed, and your heart beats a mile per second, the adrenaline soaring through your veins as you finish your explosive rant. Eventually, you calm down and remember who is standing in front of you. Big Red looks on in astonishment, his mouth gaping like a fish.

...I can’t believe I just did that.

“Oh, god. I...I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, ducking your head and closing your eyes as a feeble attempt to protect yourself. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you?” You bravely peek at Big Red, who sports a concerned look. He cautiously steps forward with his hands raised. “I don’t wanna hurt you, trust me.”

You snap your head up in disbelief. “Y-You don’t?”

“Of course not,” he says, giving you a gentle smile that washes some of your fears away. Big Red takes another step closer. “Why would you think that I’d hurt you?”

You give him a ridiculous stare. “No offense, but you did beat up that guy into a bloody pulp; I’m pretty sure he has no ribs left.”

Big Red laughs, catching you off guard. He jerks his thumb at the parked car and gives you a lopsided grin. “Oh, him? He’s just business. I would never harm an innocent civilian, though. It’s part of the code.”

“Part of the code?” You scrunch your eyebrows. Then it hits you. “Oh...Ohhh.”

Everything makes sense now. The suspicious, burly men with fancy suits. The rather gruesome violence in a random yet bare alleyway. The vague demand for money that’s owed. Yup, you walked into an unfortunate episode with the mafia; just your luck. You raise one finger, mouth ready to say something but then decide against it.

Big Red notices your hesitation, scratching behind his neck like a guilty puppy. “Look, I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t mean to scare ya’ with all the blood and violence and, well, you know…” He laughs awkwardly, making the corners of your lips quirk.

His voice is so soft and gentle that your breath hitches. It’s unbelievable that this is the same man who was growling like a wild beast before. The memory fades away as you judge his words, realizing that there isn’t any malicious intent behind them; he is honest and sincere.

Perhaps Big Red is right—maybe he won’t hurt you. If he did, he would have done it by now. Instead, he flashes a friendly grin that brightens the entire block, unlike those deadbeat street lights. The grin alone is enough to make you relax and crack a small smile at him.

“Alrighty then,” you hum, tapping one finger on your grocery bag that miraculously hasn’t broken yet. Stepping back, you start making your exit. “I guess I’ll leave you to finish your, um, business.”

“Whoa, hold on!” Big Red squeezes your shoulder, stopping you mid-way. Without warning, he tugs the bags out of your grasp. You jump as his massive hands momentarily brush along your skin, making you fumble over your words like an idiot. Big Red then shouts over his shoulder to his buddies. “Go on without me, guys. I gotta help this sweet peanut here get back home.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Sweet peanut? Get back home? Him carrying your grocery bags?

“Please, you really don’t need to—”

“I want to,” he cuts you off, his warm eyes and boyish grin leaving you speechless. Big Red adjusts the bags without breaking a single sweat. “Listen, you’ve been through a lot tonight; let me take you back home.”

You gawk at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yup!” He puffs out his chest and gives you a wink. “Besides, you won’t be scared or alone when you’re with me.”

Well, you can’t argue with that.

“I guess I won’t,” you chuckle, bowing your head slightly. “Thank you, Big Red.”

“Kirishima.”

“What?”

“My name is Kirishima,” he repeats, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “But-t Big Red is fine, too.”

You share your name and cheekily joke, “But Sweet Peanut is fine, too.”

Kirishima’s face lights up like the stars scattered across the night sky, absolutely smitten with you to the bone. He purposefully takes the longest route back to your house, hoping to spend as much time with you as possible. Luckily, you don’t mind—he is charming and sweet.

Guess it wasn’t so bad getting lost after all.

As always, thanks for reading! 

[avengerscompound]

The Surrogate - Chapter 6

The Surrogate:  A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  1569

Rating:  E

Warnings: Pregnancy talk, sex talk

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people.  When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want.  Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 6

It was another three months before Natasha and Clint actually took you up on the offer.  You had spent that time being very careful to not instigate anything physical between them during that time.  The kiss with Natasha had scared you a little.  You’d made the mistake of falling for someone because of a kiss before, and you weren’t about to do it again.  Not with everything that was at stake.  They were your best friends though, so you saw them regularly and the topic of babies came up a lot.  It was like everything they did made them think about becoming parents.  Sometimes it was a case of them thinking it was the worst idea ever and other times it was the only thing they wanted.

When they finally came to you it was with the same kind of nerves as the day you had made them the offer in the first place.  They were totally and completely sure you would have changed your mind.  When you said yes, they hugged you and Natasha had to hold back her tears all over again and the following day you started the preparations.  First, there was a psych evaluation to see if you were emotionally fit to act as a surrogate.  It made sense.  Being pregnant was a big deal and to then hand a baby over did take a special kind of person and if that person wasn't you, people would get hurt.  Next legal contracts were drawn up, looked over, and signed.  They include things like custody and medical cost and contact after the birth of the baby.

Finally, you have a long series of medical procedures to check if you were physically able to carry a child.  Including minor surgery so they could take a good look at your uterus.

All in all, it took around three months to get to the point that you and Natasha were going to be taking the fertility medication you needed.  And there was a lot of it.  Natasha had more than you.  Making enough eggs to harvest was harder than just having a place for one of those eggs to land.  Still, as you sat there talking about going on birth control just to get your cycles in sync before moving to estrogen and progesterone and tetracycline among all the other things involved, you realized that even getting to the point that you were pregnant in the first place wasn’t going to be easy.

“Now until the pregnancy is confirmed, both of you will have to be very careful about the sex you’re having,” the doctor said.  “When this procedure starts you will both be extremely fertile.  Use condoms, or avoid vaginal sex completely.  Do not rely on things like the pull out method.”

“I wasn’t relying on that anyway,” Natasha said.

“Well, just in case,” the doctor said.  “You’d be surprised what people think is okay.  But if either of you gets pregnant it will mean we can’t do this.”

“Right, we’ll be careful,” Clint said.  “Just blow jobs from now on.”

“Clint!”  Natasha yelped, elbowing him.

“What?  I’ll go down on you too,” he said defensively.

The doctor laughed.  “Well that would work fine,” she said.  “Starting now though.  I know I just put you both on birth control, but switching methods can create a period where neither work, so from now on, be extra careful.”

“We will,” Natasha assured her.

“Did you have any further questions?”  The doctor asked.

You and Natasha shook your heads.  “I think we’ve got it all for now.”

“Then I’ll see you in a month and we’ll move on to the next phase,” the doctor said.  “It was nice meeting you all.”

You, Natasha, and Clint headed back out of the doctor’s office and down to Cint’s lavender VW Beetle that was parked in the street.  “You wanna get something to eat before we head back?”

“Yeah, we better.  And next time I’m using the Quin,” Natasha said.  “I hate how long these appointments take.”

“I think it’ll be hard to find a parking spot for a fighter jet, Nat,” Clint teased.

“Well, good news,” you said as you all changed directions and began heading down the street.  “Once I’m pregnant it’s all being done in house.  This is just the specialist part.”

“God, imagine if you went into labor and we had to drive three hours to get you to the hospital,” Natasha said.

“Yeah, I’d probably kill you,” you agreed.  “I may be able to heal quickly, but I still fucking hate pain.”

Natasha chuckled and rubbed your back as you walked.  “You’re going to be so fun when you’re in labor.”

“Oh man,” you teased.  “I’m gonna make you both work so hard through the whole thing.  You’re gonna be getting called up in the middle of the night for you to go get me food I’m craving.”

“That’s okay, Clint gets up in the middle of the night to get food he’s craving already,” Natasha joked.

Clint draped his arm around your shoulder.  “Yeah, I’ll hook you up.  Pickles and ice cream.  Chips on pizza.  I’ve got your back,” he said.  “I have heard that pregnancy can make people pretty horny too.  I’ve got your back for that.”

You laughed and nudged him.  “Clint!”

“Yeah, Clint,” Natasha teased.  “If you’re doing it to her back, you’re doing it wrong.”

You and Clint burst out laughing and Clint altered your course so the three of you headed into a little pizza place with two-dollar slices.  The three of you got yourself slices and took a seat.  You could see people staring and whispering to each other as the three of you started eating.

“I keep forgetting that you’re both kinda famous,” you said.

“They probably just think I’m Thor or something,” Clint joked.

Natasha snored and nearly spat iced tea over both of you.  She grabbed a napkin and wiped her face and hands.  “That came out my nose, you idiot.”

Clint laughed hard.  “Oh man, I was going to say Steve, and last second I thought Thor would be better.”

“You keep dreaming, Clint,” you said patting his back.  “You know when we’re on these drugs we’re both going to be extra hormonal, so you have to be really nice to us and not annoy us at all.”

“I can be nice, but you’re out of luck when it comes to being annoying,” Clint teased.

“Yeah, there’s no way he can’t not be annoying,” Natasha said.  “What were you even thinking?”

“I guess, I wasn’t,” you laughed.  “Man, it feels like it’s taken so long just to get to this point, and now it’s only a couple of months and maybe I’ll be pregnant and that feels like so much time to wait.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Natasha said.  “It still might not work.”

“I am so sure it will,” you said.  “This feels like it was meant to happen.”

Natasha took a deep breath and shook her head.  “I felt like that when I got pregnant even though I shouldn’t have been able to.  I felt like that when we applied to adopt.  There have been so many times that I got my hopes up only for them to be smashed apart.  I can’t do it again.  Until there’s a baby in my arms, I have to keep my heart safe.”

Clint took her hand and held it against his heart.  “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Nat,” you said, reaching over the table and taking her other hand.  “I’m just excited for you both and I just feel so sure.”

“I know,” Natasha said, softly.  “I know.  But I have to protect myself because … I’m me and I keep going.  I have to.  But I can’t let myself be vulnerable like that again.  It’ll kill me.”  She shook her head and squeezed your hand.  “But I am so grateful to you.  You have no idea what this means to me that you’re willing to do this for us.”

“You guys changed my life,” you said, honestly.  “In a good way.  I had these powers but I didn't know what to do with them.  I kept thinking it was all good and well I could heal myself but it was so self-serving.  I felt like I'd been given a gift but it was completely useless because all it meant was I could watch all these other people getting sick or hurt and I got a free pass.  Then you gave me direction and purpose.  And you became my friends.  I want this so badly for you.”

Natasha blinked her eyes.  “Alright.  Alright.  We have to go, I cannot start crying with a huge audience.”

Clint hugged her and kissed the top of her head.  “Aww, my tough badass girlfriend.”

“That’s right,” Natasha said, getting up. “I’ll kick your ass if you’re not careful.”

“He’d probably thank you,” you said getting up and following her out.

Clint gathered up the trash and threw it in a can, before chasing after you both.  “Hell yeah, I would.  Thank you, mistress.”

“Oh my god,” Natasha laughed as Clint draped his arms around both of your shoulders.  “I’m not even on the hormone injections and you’re annoying me.”

Clint kissed her cheek and pulled her tighter to him.  “Just imagine how bad it’s going to be when you’re on them.”

// NEXT

[allthingsfangirl101]

The Call–Mitch Rapp

Mitch's POV

I looked around the courtyard, scanning through the faces. Families on vacation, college students studying abroad, businessmen talking on cell phones, street painters, and almost every one of them had cameras.

Hurley and I got word of a possible trade that was supposed to go down in two weeks right where I was standing.

It doesn't make sense, I noted. This is too out in the open for a nonchalant exchange. Unless. . .

My thoughts were interrupted when my phone started ringing. I sighed and reached into my jacket pocket. I smiled when I saw Y/N's name and contact picture.

"Hey, babe," I answered. My breath got stuck in my throat when I heard her struggle to breathe.

"Y/N? Are you okay? What's going on? Answer me, babe. Please." The more I begged, the more desperate I sounded, but I didn't care. I cared about making sure Y/N was okay.

"Mitch?" She said shakily.

"I'm here, babe. What is it?"

I held my breath as she started sobbing. I struggled to understand what she was saying between her sobs.

"I'm. . . Our apartment. . . Someone. . . Breaking in. . . Help me."

"I'm on my way," I said quickly. "Listen to me, Y/N. I want you to go into our bedroom. There is a small black backpack on the top shelf of our closet. Grab it. Do you remember the fake wall I put in our closet? Go to it and press on it. It'll open a big enough space for you to fit. I know this sounds crazy but I need you to crawl inside the opening, babe. Make sure you have that backpack and your phone. Turn your phone on silent and wait. If you hear anyone other than me, there is a gun in that backpack."

"Mitch," she stuttered.

"I know," I sighed. "I know you hate guns, Y/N, but this is to protect you. Please, babe. I need you to do this. For your safety. . . For me."

I waited as I heard her take a shaky breath. "Okay," she whispered.

"You remember how to use it, right?"

"I do," she whispered.

"Okay, good," I said, letting out a sigh of relief. "I'm on my way. Just hold on, babe. I'll be there soon."

"Please hurry," she said, another sob getting stuck in her throat.

"I'm coming, Y/N."

                       * * * * *

After I told Y/N where to hide, I ran through town, ignoring the looks as I weaved through the crowds. I jumped in my car and sped down the road. I pushed harder on the gas pedal as I turned onto our road. The second I got to our house, I threw the car in park and jumped out. I froze when I saw the door open.

I took a deep breath, triggering my training. I grabbed my gun and quietly pushed the door open. I instantly checked the front rooms to find things knocked over.

I sucked in a breath and hid around the corner when I saw someone walking down the hallway, towards the master bedroom.

Towards Y/N.

He had his gun tucked to his chest, his body leaning against the door with his hand on the doorknob.

"Hey!" I yelled before he could open it. When he turned around, my breath got caught in my throat.

"Mitch Rapp," my old partner Louis smirked at me. Louis used to work for the CIA until he betrayed us and started working for the other side.

"I've been looking for you," he said, not moving away from the door. "Where is that girlfriend of yours? Y/N." The way he said her name made me cringe. "You know, I've heard she is extremely beautiful and you are quite fond of her. As in willing to do anything to ensure her safety."

"You're not getting anywhere near her," I said through my teeth as I cocked my gun.

"Really?" He taunted. "Because I'm pretty sure she is in this room, hiding. Are you, Ms. Y/N? Come on out, gorgeous. Mitchy is here."

"She won't fall for that shit," I scoffed. I held my breath, praying I was right and I didn't hear the trap door opening.

"Guess you trained her well," he scoffed.

"What are you doing here, Louis?" I asked through my teeth.

"I'm working for an old friend of yours. The same old friend who you turned down as luck would have it. He sent me to pick up something that might make you change your mind."

My anger built when I realized he was talking about Y/N.

"I swear," I threatened, "if you lay one finger on her, hell if you look at her, I'll kill you."

"Try me."

I ducked around the corner as he started shooting. I got a few shots in but stopped when I heard him trying to break into our master bedroom. When his back was to me, I pulled the trigger. I shot his shoulder, him angrily turning around and aiming his gun at me.

I got off a few more shots before he got the door open. I ran down the hallway, tackling him from behind. He overpowered me, switching our positions.

I was so focused on fighting Louis that I briefly forgot about everything else going on around us. Louis and I jumped when we heard a gunshot. Instinctively, I reached for my gun and pointed it at the gunman.

"Y/N," I said her name as I instantly lowered my gun.

Her hands were shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks as she held the gun with both hands. I looked over to see Louis on the ground, clutching his side.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she dropped the gun and took a step back. "I was just. . . You said. . . I thought he was going to hurt you."

I ran over to her and pulled her into my chest. "It's alright, babe." I tried to soothe her as I ran my fingers through her hair. It took her a second before she eventually wrapped her arms around my waist, a sob escaping her lips.

I tightened my grip as I felt her shaking. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"You just saved my life, Y/N."

                       * * * * *

Y/N didn't kill Louis. I walked her back into our room and made sure she was sitting on the bed before leaving her to deal with Louis.

"You're lucky," I sneered as I walked up to him still on the floor. "If it was me, I would've aimed higher."

I handcuffed him to the radiator and called Hurley. As I waited for Hurley to come clean this up, I went back into our room. I sat next to a frozen Y/N on our bed, slowly reaching over and pulling her into my chest.

"I shot him," she said so softly I almost missed it. "Did I. . . Did I kill him?"

"No, babe," I said instantly. "You didn't kill him. You just nicked him."

"That should make me feel better," she sighed as she pulled out of my embrace, sitting back up. "But it doesn't."

"Hey," I said gently as I reached over and grabbed her chin, slowly making her look at me. "You did what you had to do to protect me and yourself. It was self-defense, babe. It's alright."

She just nodded as she leaned back into my chest. We sat like that, not moving, as we heard Hurley and a few other agents walk in.

"Rapp?" Hurley yelled from the other room.

"In here," I called out. I stayed sitting on our bed, holding Y/N into my chest instead of greeting Hurley at the door and explaining.

I looked up just in time to see Hurley standing in the doorway. He looked at Y/N in my arms and his eyes instantly softened. He walked into the room and knelt in front of her.

"You two alright?" He asked softly.

"I think so," I sighed as Y/N nodded, too scared to say anything.

"Why don't we get you guys set up in a safe house? Just to be sure," Hurley offered. I sent him an appreciative look as Y/N's arms tightened around me.

"I think that's a great idea."