#but know that the ask is held hostage in the way that a picture is hung on the wall like we're really in it now abo anon
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moeblob · 10 months ago
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So it occurs to me that I posted most of their lore on my OC blog (though a few posts on here have the story info) and honestly I think it's very important to note that the entire reason a guy from Florida is recruited to help defeat the demon lord isn't him as the hero. His younger brother (by about ten years younger) is the Chosen Hero and... not very good at it. So the goddess (Solei) who had selected the hero has to begrudgingly go back to earth and convince his older brother to help save her world.
(Also Reynold admits to Solei that "Sascha could never be a bad influence. He's the best impulse control I've ever had" and she really doesn't like to hear it. That's terrifying.)
#my characters#sascha is The demon lord and there is truly only one at a time#solei however is simply a goddess - not the only one of divinity#i dont actually know if thats been mentioned on either art blog lmao#also its not pictured here but reynold is recruited and only asks for one favor when in the other world (from solei)#he wants to be a woman while he helps his brother#she thinks its a weird flex but ok whatever buddy you can be a woman#and the logic is not him actually wanting to be one its just you see his younger brother finds it weird#to have a guy cling to him and dote on him like reynold does and said One Time WHY COULDNT YOU BE A SISTER THIS IS WEIRD#and so reynold is briefly rey for about a month before being held hostage by sascha and hes like... super polite#and asks her if she was cursed and so shes like uhhh what and he mentions looking at her gives him a headache#because the core and the outer appearance arent the same and he can revert her back to her original form if she wants#and she does so rey goes back to reynold which is very nice and reynold appreciates it#because honestly looking at rey in a mirror gives HIM a headache cause solei designed his appearance#and it was so bright thank you demon lord for giving the florida man his natural boring look back#also reynold will always carry sunglasses because solei can just appear and she is way too bright to deal with without eye protection#solei is not amused and thinks its basically slander against her godly appearance and reynold just smiles at her and tells her tough luck#he wants his vision for his new hot husband she can deal with a little insubordination#florida man begs for torture bc he can handle that and he knows it#is instead handed courtesy and manners and doesnt know what to do with it - quickly developing what he claims is NOT stockholm syndrome#solei and sascha quietly muttering about what that could possibly mean cause they dont know what this guy is talking about
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limelocked · 2 years ago
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(a/b/o anon)
hello. I remembered the ask of mine which is presumably still hostage here. i didnt remember your name, which put me through the mortifying ordeal of looking up "fake wolf fact erotica" on tumblr. that worked though, so👍👍👍
i managed to make punnett squares for my own personal worldbuilding a while ago, and boy oh boy is it complicated (Female A/Male O can both both sire and dam kids. this makes things chaotic). But the moment it all clicked in place was brilliant. Its a logical system ive got now, though completely batshit by earth biology standards? i think? i struggled in biology in HS lol. Ive got a physical world building notebook with the squares in it and all! Also learned from a tik tok (great source ik) that some genes mutate more readily than others which??? thats so cool im using that even if the explaination went right over my head lol
the thing with omegaverse is that struggling to understand biology is like a core thing of it, thats why im tagging it as fake wolf facts, so we really cannot do worse than whats already there
huge congrats on managing to make the punnet square on your own! i cheated (as we all know) by having a friend who understands biology help me with it
also yeah that ask is still in my inbox reminding me of the essay which has turned more into a research bible
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777heavengirl · 3 months ago
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sirius black x reader (no longer just a one shot :3 ) ! warnings: the good kind of yearning.., friends to roommates to ?lovers?, bittersweetie, no war!au words count: 2,549 masterlist
a/n: might make a series of little blurbs as a continuation... undecided so lmk what u think!!!
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Being friends with Sirius Black was the worst idea you could've ever had. It was hell. He was charming, awfully so. Flirty and caring with his friends in a way that made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat. He was the type of friend with no physical boundaries, his legs often thrown over yours, his arms often over your shoulders, lips whispering jokes into your ear.
It was an even worse idea to agree to move in with him after you graduated. James had gone off with Lily and Remus and Peter decided to split an apartment. Sirius, naturally, found one in the same building and dropped the twin key in your hand on graduation day, a wicked smile on his face. He hadn't even properly asked you. He had assumed, well he hoped, that you'd accept no matter what. He knew you had no other plans, no other place to go. He knew you'd love to because he knew you. Because he was your best friend.
So he didn't ask. The small silver dog keychain attached to the key was enough for you. 
The answer was always going to be yes. 
Living with Sirius meant a lot of things. It meant an abnormal amount of blankets and cushions thrown about, it meant the ever-growing collection of pictures framed on your walls or merely pasted on if Sirius had his way. Ever since Lily gifted him a muggle camera for graduation, he hadn't stopped taking pictures. Of your friends, of you in the kitchen or on your couch, your first night in the apartment he took pictures of your every move. He titled them all, in the back or on the bottom of it.
Darling brushing her teeth, 1st night in #717. You smiled through your toothbrush, shirt askew, with pajama pants that did not match in the slightest.
Doll’s first tea in #717 You couldn't see your face in this one, it was a closer shot of your hands around the teacup Lily bought you fifth year, the delicate flower pattern on the hard porcelain contrasting against the soft of your skin.
He titled them all, with his cursive loops and cloying nicknames. He’d even owl copies of them to your mom— why they even communicated was beyond you— you’d then have to repeatedly remind her, when your parents phoned, that 717 was your apartment number, and no mom I am not dating Sirius, yes I know he’s a wonderful guy, yes I’ll tell him you said hello. His photography habit had gotten so bad he even took pictures of the ladybug that seemed to live in the leaves of the small English Lavander that sat on your windowsill.
 Living with Sirius meant putting up with his tendency to ignore the fact that you needed to get a job, in fact, he'd drag you everywhere with him to avoid you even applying, his hand intertwined with yours, warm palms pressed against one another. He did it all the time, holding your hand, pressing a kiss against your temple when he insisted on getting into the crowded muggle metro more often than not, your bodies pressed together as he held you when the tube moved. Every time you complained, that he was holding you hostage, that at this pace you'd never find a job, he'd ask, with his head cocked to the side "Why do you have to get a job anyway? It's not like we need it"
"Sirius I need to make money," the tube shook the two of you, his arm instinctively wrapping around you to pull you closer as the other one maintained a white-knuckled grip on the bar above. "How am I going to afford anything? It’s been two years my savings are gone-"
"You don't need it though," his words were low on your ear, and carefree as if they didn't hold any importance. "I have more than enough to maintain us— for anything you might want" Your face heated, and you looked down hiding the surprise that you prayed he wouldn't see.
"I can't just bum off of you," your words were a timid mumble, and he barely heard you over the intercom announcing the station, if it wasn't because he had been tilted down close to your face, he might've not heard you at all. 
"You're not bumming off of me love, I want to take care of you, yea?" he pressed a kiss to the side of your hair, and you didn't refute. Not for now. Because in moments like these, when he acted like it was the most obvious answer in the world and didn't seem to give it a second thought, you could feel the words claw at your throat from the inside. A confession poisoning you from the inside out. 
But then he'd look at you.
With his gray eyes, the steel cool of them making your lungs expand wider than you thought possible and your heart beat out of your chest. So you'd decide, every time, that it wasn't the right moment. There was never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you were in love with him though. And through his piercing gaze, you thought he could see you using everything within you to hold back. 
You guessed it could be worse.
Being in love with Sirius Black was actually the worst thing to ever happen to you. It got even worse when you moved in together. Waking up to his shirtless self making you coffee the way you liked it, his head disheveled and unruly from bed but somehow just as gorgeous as when he had it fresh and styled, his long dark locks looking nothing short of heavenly in either form. It was the intimacy really— the domesticity of it all— that screwed you. Eating your eggs and toast over the soft tunes of his music, going to the market together, his fingers eventually finding yours as his other hand carried the shopping. His laundry mixed in with yours, falling asleep on the couch together, old muggle movies playing on the TV he bought four months after moving in. You still didn't have a stand for it, it sat on two boxes full of books. Neither of you minded, there was no rush after all. But then you thought of his unpacked bags and the singular box of belongings, it had been a bit more than two years since you moved in. Two years since you started the routine of getting dragged everywhere he went, spending your days lounging around with Sirius like nothing else mattered. But his trunk still housed half his belongings. His walls had a couple of pictures he had sellotaped on, and the large David Bowie poster he had bought the summer after sixth year, yet his clothes would go in and out of his trunk, and his closet sat mostly empty save the lone leather jacket he insisted on hanging. 
The thought of his lack of settling made your tummy twist in discomfort. 
But, again, you guessed it could be worse. Godric forbid you ever confess.
He'd be walking out the door with his bags.
You decided you'd be okay with letting it all rot inside of you. You didn't want to be too forward or rush into things when you, practically, knew he didn't feel the same. So you savored it, with everything you had in you. The stolen touches and even more stolen glances. The kiss he pressed against your cheek when he'd say goodbye, apparating away to go drink the night away with the rest of the marauders, James escaping from his soon-to-be father duties for a few hours. Sirius would press a kiss to your flushed cheeks when you'd go out with Lily as well, a small stay safe love, escaping his lips right before you slipped out the door.
"Tell him how I feel? Is pregnancy melting your brain, Lily?" You almost spit out your sweet cocktail. Lily flicked your forehead. 
"My brain is perfectly fine thank you very much," She huffed, the corners of her lips aching to break into a smile as she rubbed a hand over her pregnant belly.
"You two are practically together, you live together for Godric's sake" Marlene scoffed over her beer,
"Not to mention the shared bank account-" you slapped your forehead as Dorcas let the fact that he'd been basically spoiling you for a year slip, "And I've seen the way he looks at you sweets-" Dorcas's words were slurred by the alcohol in her system, and her head resting against Marlene's shoulder. "You don't look at someone that way unless you're in love with them"
Lily almost spit out her juice as she turned to you with wide eyes. "You got a shared vault now? James and I didn't even do that yet-"
You shook your head, "No no, crap Cas-" you took a shaky breath, as Marlene shook her head in disappointment and groaned out a small You're impossible. "He just keeps paying for things, and he won't let me get a job- honest, I've tried but he keeps planning things and I just never have any time-"
"So is he holding you captive or- I just don't see why you can't get a job" The three girls looked at you, incredulous looks on their faces as you struggled to explain.
"He just keeps saying to not worry-" You hid behind your hands now, embarrassment crawling up your neck. "I don't know- It's complete rubbish, he's insistent on the fact that he wants to take care of me" The girls let out a collective 'aww', all screaming eagerly over each other
"I should've kept it all to myself" you mumbled as you raised your now-empty glass at your waitress, the older woman shooting you a nod as she went to bring you another one. The girls booed at you, 
"Now that'd be no fun would it?" Lily shoved your shoulder playfully, Marlene and Dorcas giggling in agreement. 
Tell him how you feel.
The thought bounced in your head as you trudged up to your apartment. Fumbling with the keys as you tried to steady yourself. But you didn't need to, as Sirius opened the door. His shirt missing and his burgundy red pajama pants sat loosely at his hips, but you knew he hadn't slept yet. Otherwise, you would've been able to tell— his hair would be a mess, as he tended to bury his head between his pillows, blocking the world away while he slept.
"I could hear you fumbling your keys from down the hall doll" you giggled as you entered, your body instinctively falling into his for a hug. He couldn't help but laugh either, your cheek pressed against his chest as you mumbled out a thank you. The couple of drinks you had made you feel more than loose, giggly and you couldn't help but let the words slip from your lips.
"I love you, terribly so" you'd probably regret such a statement in the morning.
"I love you too darling" you groaned out a no as you peeled yourself off, it poured out of you instinctively. You threw yourself on the soft couch James's parents had given the two of you. We're throwing it out anyway lovies you keep it. You were sure, by Euphemia's playful glint, that this wasn't quite the case. But you appreciated it, the plush sofa softening your intentional fall. Sirius laughed as he approached the couch, crouching next to where your face was smushed into the smooth material of the sofa. His fingers moved the hair away from your face, his eyes locking in with yours as his lips split into a lazy smile.
"Knew you'd make fun of me," You mumbled and his lips twisted into an exaggerated pout now, repressing the need to laugh and you buried your face into the cushions with another groan. 
He would've been lying if he said his heart hadn't skipped a beat, a flicker of hope that maybe, you felt as he did. Maybe your heart ran quicker when he held your hand, maybe the goodnight kisses you pressed against his cheek, against his forehead meant more, maybe the smile you had given him when he presented you with the key to your shared apartment, the smile that made him feel as if he was staring straight into the sun, meant something more. 
But for now, that would have to wait.
As he got you up and into the bathroom, wiping your makeup off with a damp cloth, you gave a mumbled slurred summary of your night. He made you close your eyes as he wiped away the mascara, and you listed the vague number of drinks you'd had— plus the drinks you had to make up for Lily’s inability to drink right now, Marlene’s idea of course. His fingers curled around your chin as he moved your face, and at any other moment, you would've been positively frazzled. But as you spoke of the shaky walk home after Marlene dropped you off down the street, you could only revel in his touch as he hummed along and got you ready for bed. The stubborn lipstick made his cheeks flush as he wiped at your lips repeatedly, making them look plump and if he hadn't had the ounce of self-control he still vaguely maintained he would've kissed you right there and then. But it just wasn't the time for it, there's never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate you're in love with them, is there?
Stumbling around the room with you, the pajamas he managed to get over your form as he tried not to look at you in your underwear— not that you cared at the minute— it all made his heart swell. A stolen moment for him to think on later, the small giggles that escaped your face, or the innocent clutch you had on his hand. You ran your fingers down the features of his face as he helped you lay down. He tucked you into your bed with a kiss on your cheek and a giggle erupting from your chest.
His heart ached with longing but he guessed it could be worse. 
You could've said no to living with him. 
You gave him a faux pout, and he mirrored it. 
"What is it lovely?" 
"Missed you tonight-" he could feel the crimson intensify in his cheeks at your words, but he ignored the flush and moved a stray hair away from your face. 
"I missed you too love, next time let's go together yeah?" You hummed in agreement, a small love you slipping past right as your eyes fluttered shut, sleep covering you like a blanket.
"I fear I might be in love with you doll," he sighed, yet you didn't answer to his whispered confession. Your chest rose and fell steadily. Part of him was glad, the thought of your reaction to his feelings chilling him to the core. It could be worse, he thought. 
Yes, he'd rather have this than nothing at all. Godric forbid he ever confesses.
You'd be walking out the door with your bags.
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hellfire--cult · 5 months ago
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Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader
wc: 6.7k+
summary: Johnny grows infatuated with you, something he never thought was going to happen to him, at least for a long while. He liked being single, but then you came along, and all he could think about was you... then you got kidnapped thanks to him, and he felt so guilty for it... but not everything was as it seemed.
warnings: +18 smut, p in v (no protection), roughness, hate fucking, some fluffiness, branding of skin, description of getting burnt, slapping, some violence, porn with plot
a/n: I had this vision that needed to be written cause it would not leave my fucking mind, and this was the only chance i would be able to write something like this. I will clarify, this is my first ever MCU fic, and I do not believe I will write anything else for it, at least not now. If you are from the MCU fandom, and decide to follow me, don't expect more really... i mainly write stranger things, i was just... too haunted with this image...
Anyways, I love Joseph Quinn, so I pictured HIS Johnny Storm for this (yes, he triggered the thots.)
thank u to @andvys and @ghost-proofbaby for proofreading this and helping with my editing cause i never wrote marvel and i needed their opinion, i love both thank u
Enjoy and don't forget to reblog!
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BRAND ME
When Johnny Storm saw you for the first time, he thought Cupid fired an arrow his way.
Now, it wasn’t the best of situations of course, he had to save you from a slight altercation regarding some of Doctor Doom’s subjects wreaking havoc in the city and all that, and he saved you by beating up the guy that held you hostage in spirits of saving his ass. 
You had thanked him, smiled at him and he may or may have not thought of having you as one of his conquests. He was known for it, you absolutely knew about it, but he couldn’t really help himself when he started talking to you. He first asked to meet up with you privately and you immediately rejected his advances, surprising him, sure, but not stopping him, so you offered to meet up with him for a coffee after work. 
Coffee was not something he did often. It was usually drinks, and to be fair, no women really ever said no to him. Sure he messed up a few times, but who hasn’t? Still, sharing a coffee with you didn’t sound like a bad idea. It was different, but different didn’t always mean bad. 
So you gave him the address to your building, and at 1 PM sharp on Tuesday, he met up with you right outside of it. You were wearing the typical office attire, skirt to the knees, a nice blouse, a comfortable jacket and he still thought you looked absolutely beautiful. Sitting down at the coffee shop, you two talked, and talked, and he found out so much about you.
You were an only child, and you have been working since you could remember. You lived alone, you liked to cook, and you absolutely disliked pickles. Every small thing he found out about you, he reciprocated with a fact about himself, without giving much away of course.
One coffee date turned into two. Then four. Then, counting didn’t matter anymore.
For a month he has been seeing you, and never once has he made a move on you. It’s not that he didn’t want to… He absolutely wanted to. But you were different. You were completely different from all the flings he had, and he even tried to have one after meeting you and it felt pointless. He didn’t know himself any longer, even Reed got a little worried from all the sneaking around he did, but Johnny couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help it when it came to you.
You were magnificent, a breath of fresh air to be around with. You always greeted him with a smile to your face and he’s never felt more alive when you did. He, of course, had to be careful with you. Not because of trust, but of what might happen to you if you were seen being involved with one of the Fantastic Four. He always picked out private places for the two of you to meet, away from public eyes. 
Coffee shops turned into take-out coffees and parks. Talks that happened at your home’s balcony. Him looking for a comforting shoulder after a long day of being a hero. He was always careful in keeping you away from public. In keeping you a secret. In keeping you safe.
But not careful enough.
When you didn’t answer your phone that day, his heart stopped. You always answered. He tried and tried but you just wouldn’t pick up and he became restless. He flew out of the headquarters, not caring for the waves people gave him, with your apartment as his only destination. He felt himself growing cold despite being up in flames, flying, the horrible feeling that something happened to you making him want to puke.
And when he arrived at your home, he froze. Your balcony’s sliding door was open and what he saw inside made his whole world shatter. Your things were all thrown to the floor. Your furniture was destroyed. Your pictures were all broken and shattered. And then, as he put a foot into your apartment, he saw you. 
You were breathing heavily as you lay on the floor, facing down, and your hair was all over your face. He rushed towards you, jumping over everything that was on the floor, and immediately dropped to his knees in order to scoop you up in his arms and turn you. He pushed the hair off your face as his heart beat loudly in his chest, only for it to come to a stop as he saw the open wound on your eyebrow and the bruise that was starting to form all around it. 
“Crap– fuck!” He felt his world plummeting to the ground as he tried shaking you awake, calling out your name, and he sighed with relief as your eyes slowly opened, only for your face to contort into a wince.
“What…?” He shook his head at you and held onto your form, one arm underneath the back of your knees while the other was wrapped behind your back. He got up on his two feet with ease as he rushed towards the balcony. You made a sound of discomfort as you were moved around, and all he wanted was to keep you safe right now. He needed to take you with him. He cannot leave you alone, not when all of this is probably his fault.
“It’ll be quick, I promise…” He took a deep breath as he controlled his flames temperature, ensuring it would not go towards his arms. Your eyes looked up to meet his, his eyes that were now fiery orbs, looking down at you with sadness displayed on his eyebrows. You whined through the pain again and he immediately leaped out of your balcony.
You could feel the heat off his body, but he made sure to make it as less uncomfortable as he could, but he still knew he had to be quick. He was angry, desperate, and that wasn’t making the flames be any less intense. He knew he was gonna break a rule, but he couldn’t give two shits for the consequences he might face with his family. His sister was going to kill him, but she will understand. They all will have to understand.
He sneaked you in, heading straight to his room, laying you down on his bed. The rage he felt with himself was scorching him from the inside out, so he took the top of his suit as fast as he could and rushed towards the bathroom to get one of his medical kits. 
He aided you, cleaned your wound, put the butterfly strip over it, and even gave you medicine for any impending headaches. He checked for other wounds besides the one on your eye, but there was nothing else, at least from the places where your clothes did not cover you. 
An hour passed and you were slowly coming back to your senses. You opened your eyes to see him walking back and forth, pacing, worry displayed on his features as he seemed deep in thought. You slowly sat up on the bed, looking around, wincing slightly thanks to the throbbing in your head.
“Johnny?” Your voice was small but it was enough for his head to snap towards you and rush to the bed, sitting on the edge right next to you. His hand came up to caress the side of face, making sure to not touch the bruise on your eye.
“Hey…” His eyes were filled with fear, anger, sadness, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat as your eyes roamed all over the room.
“Where… am I?” Your eyes found his again and he gulped, thumb caressing your cheek softly.
“My room… I– I couldn’t leave you alone…” Your eyes widened for just a second to then look down at your hands. Your breathing turned heavy as your eyes filled with tears, shaking your head at him.
“I– I thought it was you… I opened the sliding door and– They wanted information–” Your voice was cut off with a sob and Johnny saw how you winced in pain, your hand flying to press onto your temple and he quickly shushed you, scooching closer to you, lifting his hand to grab yours gently and move it away from your face.
“Don’t touch it– I… I seriously thought I was careful in keeping you safe and hidden… I screwed up.” Your eyes met his, seeing the guilt that was flooding inside, knowing he was torturing himself because of it. His lips were downturned, disappointment written all over. You shook your head at him, your hand grasping his.
“I don’t regret a minute of it…” His eyes met yours as you guided your gaze around the room, frowning slightly as your headache seemed to start to drift away. “So this is your room…” “Fantastic Four headquarters… nobody knows I sneaked you in, but I really couldn’t care less. I won’t let you out of my sight, at least until whoever is stalking me is captured.” You turned towards him again, a soft smile on your lips that made his heart combust in its own flames.
“Probably a fan.” Even now you still joked to him, when you were the one hurt. You were too beautiful. Too incredible, even for his own good. He should be careful with his moves, he should let you know how different you are to his other flings… but his body betrayed him as his free hand came towards your cheek, holding it gently, and his lips surged forward, slotting right onto yours.
Your eyes were wide as a surprised gasp fell from your lips, but you reciprocated that kiss, even if a bit hesitant at first. His lips moved with yours as his body started rising in temperature which he was trying to keep at a warm number. He could easily control his temperature but with you, he was finding it hard to do so. 
He was happy because you were not pulling away from the kiss. You were moving into it, following his lead, not even stopping it after your tongues started to dance together. He wanted you. He definitely wanted to show you just how special you are but– You were hurt, and he can’t do that to you now… so he pulled away. Your breaths were heavy as you looked at each other and he rubbed your cheek with his thumb.
“I’ll tell everyone  tomorrow you’re staying here for a while. You need safety, and I can give that to you… Just stay with me…” He held you so gently, afraid of you running away, or disappearing right before him. You licked your lips as you nodded slowly at him, to which he responded with a satisfied smile. He leaned forward, pecking your lips once more before getting up which alarmed you, getting hold of his hand.
“Where are you going?” Your voice was small and he thought he was going to break listening to it. 
“I’m not going anywhere, just going to get you some clothes for you to sleep in, baby.” Your eyes widened at the new petname, but Johnny noticed how you tried to look away from embarrassment, and he found you too cute. He will definitely protect you. He won’t let whoever is looking for him, or his team, hurt you. 
But when he fell asleep and cuddled up to you after having some tea with you before bed, he didn’t expect to be awoken in the middle of the night to a ring of his cell phone. He was startled, sitting up on the bed quickly only to realize you were not by his side. He looked around frantically and grabbed his phone from the night table next to his bed. He answered it, getting up from the bed to walk towards his bathroom in hopes of seeing you in there.
“Hello?” And all he heard was heavy breathing on the other side until a raspy, robotic voice talked.
“How does it feel to wake up alone?” And Johnny’s blood drained, evaporated, and he knows you are not in the building. How did it happen? How? There were cameras, security, detectors, how?
“What the fuck did you do to her?” His voice was coming from in between his teeth, like a growl, a hiss, a threat. The other voice only laughed, igniting Johnny’s anger even more than before.
“Come find out. We’re at her old apartment. We have to talk, Johnny, so come alone.” And like that, the line clicked. He was breathing heavily as he looked down at his phone and his hand shook as he grunted, his eyes igniting in yellow as the hand that was holding his phone set aflame, destroying the device before he threw it across the room, making it hit and for the plastic to splash onto the wall. 
He ran his hands through his hair, wanting to rip it all out, to burn the whole building down. If he didn’t tell anyone, he might die, but if he does, then you… He couldn’t. He has a chance, even if alone. He has to save you, he can’t let them have you, he can’t let you suffer because of him. 
So he stepped out to his balcony, his body engulfed in flames as he leaped into the sky, headed straight to your apartment. He was trying to go as fast as he could, his breathing heavy with anticipation as he swerved through the buildings. He finally got onto your balcony, the sliding doors were open again but when he looked inside, he couldn’t help but feel confused.
He took a few steps in as his flames subdued, and all your furniture was gone. All your pictures, even the cabinets… it was just empty. Empty except for the big windows that were on the side. What happened?
A chuckle coming from one corner startled him. It was the robotic voice that slowly transformed into a female one. A voice he knew too well. A voice that never chuckled in that manner, always be it a giggle, or a little scoff, but never… this. He turned to face it, and his eyes widened as the figure stepped into the small bit of light that came through the windows thanks to the night sky.
“Aren’t you a little naive Johnny?” 
And there, in front of him, was you. Face hard, wearing a simple cocktail black dress, some black heels… nothing like what you normally wear. You didn’t look dizzy because of your bruise, the butterfly strip he applied to you hours ago was still there. It was you… but at the same time, it wasn’t.
“W-What…?” He stuttered, not feeling the tips of his fingers as he looked at how you slowly walked towards him, throwing a device to the ground, a voice-changing device. 
“I really didn’t think you would take me to your headquarters. Not this quickly at least.” You sighed, looking out the window as you kept talking. “I had a whole large plan for it, but you just had to make it THAT easy.”
You finished with a giggle, the giggle that he knew too well. The giggle you directed to him many times when he told you stories about Sue and him. Stories about how he made a fool out of himself on a few dates. The giggle that he liked so much… all for it to be a fucking lie. You–
“You lied to me… You–” He felt his heart twist as your eyes turned to meet his once more. He really isn’t lucky, isn’t he? The first time he feels something genuine and he gets stepped on by the universe. You took a step towards him as you put your hands behind your back.
“Not all the time. I can promise that, but my boss will be glad to hear I got into the headquarters in such a short period of time…” Your eyes studied his face, seeing how his features turned from shock to anger, slowly, making a wicked grin appear on your face. “Aw… are you mad?”
“What the fuck do you think?” His voice turned low, and it almost made you freeze in your place, but you kept talking, your head high.
“You look cute when mad. I wish I could take a picture right now–”
“Stop–”
“I would hang it up, frame it… Name it ‘My best show yet’.” Johnny felt his body start to burn, and he had to try to keep the flames from igniting out of his suit, but each word you spat out, made it more and more difficult for him to hold himself back.
“I said stop–”
“I just didn’t think it would be this quick. Who would've thought that Johnny Storm would be so desperate for actual love? So much, he throws himself head first like an idiot–” 
A hand came to grab the back of your head, fingers gripping onto your scalp, grabbing your hair, and yanking your head backwards with no restraint, no care. And suddenly your eyes were looking at the Human Torch. His eyes were yellow flames, his face, his hair, his body, everything was on fire and it was burning you. He was baring his teeth at you, your face illuminated by his flames, and you noticed the hand holding the back of your head was not lit.
“I could kill you right now. I could easily burn you to a crisp for no one to find your body.” You trembled under his grasp, and your breathing turned a little heavy as you stared into his flaming eyes.
“But you won’t…” Your reply was soft, making the flames go down, making you breathe out in relief, feeling the cool air again on your body and face. He was still glaring, his nose slightly scrunched up in anger, in disgust. “Approaching you romantically was never the intention.” 
That made him tilt his head at you, his eyebrow twitching at the mention of romance. Of how he was so close to having it but–
“Why tell me this? Why not keep the fucking act until you have more?” And you didn’t answer him, still under his grasp as you looked up at him. He couldn’t describe what he saw in your eyes, but he knew that it wasn’t hatred. He knew that there was a feeling that you shouldn’t be experiencing but you couldn’t help it.
So you stayed silent, swallowing as you kept your eyes on him. You saw him tremble slightly and he raised his free hand, making your gaze turn to it as the flames enveloped it all, to the tip of his fingers. It wasn’t a massive flame, more like embers, small, yet damaging. 
You felt anything but scared of him, and he knows it, yet his anger fuels him in ways he cannot describe, and he wants to show you. He wants to show you just how fucking angry, enraged, he is. He wants to hurt you, burn you, engrave himself deep on your skin and in your mind. 
“Say you don’t want this.” He needs to know if he connected the dots right. Why tell him? Why tell him who you truly were? Why not keep faking it to get more out of him? Did you take whatever you needed in the short period he kept you there? Those few little hours…
You remained silent, looking into his eyes as you struggled in his grasp slightly. Your right hand flew to the wrist holding the back of your head, which only made him pull on your hair once more, making you wince. It was another warning, another chance for you to push him away.
But you didn’t.
His right hand lifted up to reveal that it was slowly being covered in small embers, not yet flames, and he pressed it on your back. Your eyes widened when you felt heat engulf your back, the scent of burning fabric filling your nostrils. You winced when the burning turned a bit painful, his eyes not leaving your face. 
He was still scowling at you, his eyes traveling to your exposed neck as his hand kept moving on your back, making small holes in it, the embers spreading slightly. He knew he was burning you, but it doesn’t compare to what you did to him. You will heal from these superficial burns.
You wanted to tell him to hurry up, but you knew that you weren’t the one with control right now, so you had to be careful with your words. You yelped when his hand started moving to your front, leaving embers fluttering over the black satin. It was burning easily, the material too thin, too flimsy. 
His eyes caught onto yours once more. You were breathing heavily, waiting for his next move. He clenched his jaw as the memories of those picnics filled his head. Those movie nights. Those nights when you told him about your family. You showed him those pictures that were on your wall that you probably faked. Those pictures were all fake.
His fist grabbed onto the front of your dress and pulled on it as he grunted from the force. Your dress ripped easily away from your body thanks to the holes that were burned on your back and side. Your body will probably have scarring, burnt marks, or red spots, but you couldn’t help the excitement in your body when he held your torn dress in his hand.
His eyes turned to it for a second and then back at you. You saw how they glowed in a deep yellow and his hand engulfed into flames, your dress catching on fire and burning into ashes in three seconds. His eyes returned to their natural color as his hand dropped, and then he could finally take a look at your half-naked form. 
You took the opportunity of his distraction to push him away, making him rip his hand off your hair, looking at you with surprise and anger. You were breathing heavily in just your bra and thong, a matching black set, looking at him, the anger in you also coming out to light after how he treated you. 
Anger, but no hatred. Not from your side… nor his.
So you took a sharp intake of breath as you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you slammed your lips against his, connecting your chest to his. He groaned at the kiss, his arms immediately wrapping around your frame, his lips moving against yours instantly, like a starved man. Weeks of wanting this with you, dreaming of having you, but he never thought it would be like this.
You bit his bottom lip, yanking a bit on it with your teeth, provoking a protest on his part but you silenced it by sliding your tongue into his mouth. You moaned in satisfaction as his right hand slid downwards, grabbing onto your ass cheek and squeezing tight. You responded by raising your leg up, thigh against his hip, while his hand moved, leaving your behind to graze your thigh, gripping it tightly to hold you in place.
His hips pressed against your core, earning him a moan from you. You felt his buckle against your clothed cunt as well as his hardness as he rutted himself on you, moaning into your mouth. One of your hands went towards his hair, running your fingers through it and then you gripped tightly, pulling his head backwards and away from the kiss. He hissed at the action, his eyes connecting with your defiant ones.
“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” Your voice came out through your teeth, a taunt. He gave a tilt of his head as if asking if you were really defying him right now. You could almost see the smoke coming out of his nostrils as he huffed in anger, his hands flying to the back of your thighs, pushing you upwards with his strength, making you yelp slightly at the sudden movement.
Your legs instantly wrapped around his waist so you wouldn’t fall, but then your back was slammed against the window, with such force that you were amused by how strong the glass was. You whimpered at the coldness against your naked back and ass, eyes glaring back at him.
“You think you have the right to talk back to me right now?” One of his hands left your thigh so it could get between the two of you. His lips reconnected to yours before you could even reply back to him, and you heard how he started undoing his buckle, that ‘F4’ shaped stupid belt he had.
You felt him move underneath you and you heard the rustling of clothes and then something pressing against your wet thong, making you whimper into the kiss. You pulled away to look down in between the two of you, and he had pulled his pants and underwear mid-thighs, enough to let his cock free, which was now pressing against you.
He got hold of the elastic of your thong, pinching it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it away from your body. You then saw a tiny and quick flame set fire and it quickly snapped the elastic apart, making your thong drop from your cunt, left to dangle thanks to the scraps still holding onto your other thigh. 
You were exposed to him now, and then he pressed himself against your aching clit, rutting his hips against yours, causing a beautiful friction that left you moaning, throwing your head back, thumping against the glass.
He groaned as he looked at your exposed neck, moving forward so he could bite on the side of it, making you wince as your clit kept being hit with the ridge of his dick. It was hot. Literally hot. Not even warm temperature, it was burning and you wondered how that would feel inside of you. 
He was coating his cock with your wetness, and he couldn’t be bothered with foreplay, he didn’t care for it, and you didn’t either, not that you needed it. You’ve been wet the moment he gripped your hair. So he pulled his hips back, letting the tip of his cock kiss your clit for a brief second before it caught on your entrance.
A voiceless moan got caught on your throat, where his teeth still remained, as he slowly pushed inside and– it was a perfect burn and stretch. He was perfect as he seethed himself inside, your walls fluttering in need around him as his mouth unlatched from your throat in order to look at how your face contorted at each inch of him.
“Good. That shut you up.” He held back the groans as he watched how your eyes were wide, looking in between the two of you now, seeing how his cock was disappearing inside of you. He wanted to hate you. He wished he could. It wasn’t fair that even now all he could think about was you, even if it wasn’t like before.
He cracked his neck as he felt his control slipping away, afraid of letting his flames burst out without his intention. He slammed his hand on the glass, right next to your head, as his left one gripped your thigh tightly and he struck his hips forward, bottoming out inside of you in one forceful thrust. 
You gasped as your eyes met his. He was deliciously deep. There was a little bit of discomfort due to not having any prep but it was worth it. He was breathing heavily as he looked at you and your eyes danced with his in uncertainty, in rage, in sadness, in confusion. He was letting you adjust, or maybe he was just catching his breath, either way, you didn’t think you deserved it.
“You’re gonna cum already Johnny boy?” He gave you a glare, which only made you smirk at him. You didn’t deserve the kindness, at least not from him. He started pulling out of you, only to roughly slam back in, causing you to choke on your own moan. You felt it in your throat almost. And then, he set the bruising pace. No mercy, slamming into you like a wild man.
The glass behind you shook, the metal hinges making loud sounds as he kept smashing his hips against yours over and over again, not leaving a single second for conscious thought, not leaving a single second for even a memory to slip through the both of you. All he wanted was to pour his anger out, all he needed was to show you how you made him feel then and how you made him feel now.
The sound of skin slapping echoed through the now empty apartment, an apartment where he spent a few nights with your company. He growled at the memory, his hips picking up a pace as your moans raised in pitch, your fingers digging into his shoulders, scratching on him while your eyes filled with tears. Was it pleasure? He didn’t know.
“Not acting so smartass now, huh?” You choked out a moan as you tried to speak but he was piercing you right where you needed. Your g-spot was being abused at each sharp thrust of his. Punch. Punch. Punch.
You felt your body heating up, more than any other time you slept with someone, feeling as if you were sweating more than you should and you knew it was him. You knew he was raising the temperature of his body, including the one in the entire room. Your forehead was sweaty, your neck, your chest that was still covered in your bra that you now need to rip off because it was just too fucking hot.
You lowered a hand and pressed it against the glass, right next to you, and you grunted as you pushed against it, forcing him to stumble backwards. He fell to the ground, holding onto you, his back hitting the floor, his dick never slipping out of you as you landed on him, which caused you to choke. 
You were breathing heavily as you looked down at him, who only winced slightly at the sudden hit on his ass and back. Your hands were now on his chest, still covered with his suit. You stared at the number 4 logo, glaring at it, and then your eyes found his. He was looking at you now with furrowed brows, sad instead of angry ones. 
You didn’t deserve those.
Your hands went towards your back, unclasping your bra off and ripping it off your body. A sigh of relief escapes you as the air hits the sweat that’s on your tits. Your hips started circling against him, slowly, and he threw his head back as his hands gripped your hips, his digits digging into your skin. 
Your belly coiled as you started rising yourself up and then slam back down again, knees pressing against the hard floor, knowing you will be bruised tomorrow, but you could give two shits about that right now. His hands traveled upwards, grabbing onto your breasts and everywhere he touched just left a lingering feeling of warmth, of burning. 
You threw your head back as his fingers pinched your nipples, making your belly coil as you slammed yourself down again and circled your hips against him, making the tip of his cock rub against your g-spot repeatedly. He moaned your name in pleasure, the first time he did during the night and you looked down at him.
“You sure that’s my name?” And his eyes clashed with yours in new found anger, sitting up as his left hand gripped your waist, while the rest remained on your hip. His face came close to yours as his words became venomous.
“I wonder how many names you had to come up with. With how many you had to whore yourself to in order to get information for your boss. Whoever that might be.” And him calling you a slut was not something you expected. You didn’t want him to think that. You became angry. Not at him, but yet, you had to direct it towards someone.
So you slapped him. 
His head was turned with wide eyes and you had to pretend you weren’t shocked at your own actions. You looked at your hand and then back at him, opening your mouth to say something but as he slowly turned to face you again, you knew you had fucked up. You saved yourself by talking once more.
“I didn’t jump your bones. You jumped mine, back in your room. Who’s the actual whore here, Johnny?” And you let him have the small memory of that innocent kiss he gave you. Of that kiss that made him so happy you had reciprocated, only for that memory to be shattered, tainted. His glare turned murderous as he looked at you. 
You started feeling the areas he was grabbing you at become hotter and hotter. Your breathing became heavy in nervousness as your head turned to look at his hands which were becoming redder by the second. He laid back down and pushed his hips up, making you raise yourself a bit on your knees and before you could say something, he started slamming himself inside of you once more.
Your mind became mush in an instant, your moans choking up your voice as he hit your insides over and over again, the slapping of skin loud and quick. Your belly started turning, the elastic band about to snap as your hands dug into his chest. And then, you screamed as pain took you out of your pleasure palace.
The smell of burning filled the room, very slightly, faint, but still there. You looked down at where he was holding you, and his hands were now almost as red bright as metal against fire. He didn’t stop his pounding either, growling as he looked at you with his yellow irises, filled with flames.
“This is your reminder of who you betrayed. For you to remember me.” 
Tears fell down your cheeks as you felt the pain of your skin being burnt, of being branded by him, and then your climax hit you out of nowhere. You choked out a whimper, a cry of his name as your walls tightened around him, pulsating. His balls tightened with the need for his own release, and he cooled his hands once more but kept them in place on your body.
He groaned loudly at your tightness and he looked at how tears fell down your face as well as the drool that had pooled in the corner of your mouth. He cursed under his breath and slammed his hips upwards one more time, completely seething himself inside as his cum filled your insides and you felt the heat of it. You could feel it. 
He was breathing heavily as he lowered his hips, his hands keeping you in place so you wouldn’t lower on him. He hissed as he pulled out of you, his cum already dripping down from your hole, falling on the red tip of his cock. Your eyes looked down at his hands as they slowly parted from your skin, a squelching sound following after.
You were bleeding in some places, layers of your skin successfully burnt with his handprints. They were hurting you, they were very painful, and you… you couldn’t be mad at him for them. Your eyes connected to his as he lay there looking at his own hands, trembling at the sight.
Pieces of your burnt skin were stuck to his hands, on his palms. He lost control. He didn’t want to hurt you like this. You saw the guilt that displayed on his face and you raised your hand, wanting to touch him and tell him–
“Shit…” You winced before you could say anything else. He snapped out of his thoughts and sat up, pushing you to sit on the floor next to him. Without another word, he got up and you looked as he pulled his pants back up and buckled his belt once more. 
“I guess we’ll see each other again now that you’ve entered the headquarters.” He was asleep while you were there. He was sure you took something, and it was just a matter of time for you to strike the building or him. He walked towards the sliding doors, and you moved on your place, wanting to go after him, but the sharp pain of the burns made you stay put.
“Johnny… wait.” Your voice was choked, but he turned around to face you again. You felt the room becoming cooler, and you didn’t want it to be that temperature… but it had to do for now. “My name… I didn’t lie about my name.” 
His eyebrow twitched in confusion at that. Should he believe you? Should he trust you on that one? He didn’t know, he didn’t want to find out, he didn’t want to see you again, but he knew that one was inevitable. He turned away from you and you saw how his whole body turned into flames and flew out of the balcony, leaving you bruised, branded and alone.
In an empty, cold, room.
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“It’s been a while since your last report, Chameleon.” 
The stupid nickname your boss gave you. You had the ability to infiltrate through people without being spotted. It wasn’t a superpower, just good hiding. 
“Got a little bit busy Boss.” Your voice was flat as you looked at how the man turned to look at you. So many people are afraid of this man, but there was something about Doctor Doom that just made you want to laugh.
“I hope that ‘bit busy’ was to get the information we need.” His voice was threatening, menacing as he looked at you through the screen. You gave him a sharp nod.
“Yes, I was planning my next encounter with Storm.” At your report, he gave a small nod of approval. You felt your bandages becoming sticky underneath your oversized sweater. It was about time to change them again, so you had to make this a quick call.
“I see. So, you still didn’t get into the headquarters then?” And you wanted to smile at his question. You wanted to show him how fucked he was, but you held yourself back because you had another plan in action, one that doesn’t include a boss.
“No sir. I require more time to create a bond with him.” He gave a small nod as his sharp tone filled the speakers.
“Get it done.” And the call ended abruptly.
You stared at the black screen, a smile appearing on your face as you slowly got up from the couch, walking towards the windows that were all blacked out. You pressed a button that was on the side and the windows returned to be transparent, showing the city lights in the night.
But what caught your attention was the orange gleam that was far away, still, floating, as if looking your way. You knew it was him. He has been waiting for you to turn the windows transparent once again. You had blacked out the apartment from his view for a whole week. You had refurbished it again, even hung up a real picture this time, the only one in the room.
One of you and him. One that you took at a picnic you had planned for the both of you. One that wasn’t part of the plan. Like the theater. Like the nights spent in this fake apartment. Like the drinks spent on a terrace. But he didn’t know that. 
And then you saw him fly away, making your heart plummet to the floor. You winced as you turned to walk towards your kitchen, ready to take care of your wounds. Of his markings. Of his handprints that will permanently stay on your skin. 
It was funny. First, you betrayed Johnny, and now you are betraying your boss, someone who might rip you apart the moment he finds out you’ve been lying. Yet, you are more scared of losing the only fire that made you feel alive after a long while. 
You’ll keep that flame alive. You have to. 
You’ll make sure it does.
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end
a/n: um, yeah, the thot was the burning of clothes, like, how was i supposed to do that one with just like, a normal person with no superpowers... with a lighter? not sexy enough.
also, handprints.
ta-ta
786 notes · View notes
rdr2gifs · 10 months ago
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Each time Arthur has helped someone without expecting payment (that I can remember) because I’ve seen some weird takes circling around about how Arthur only cares about money/doesn’t help people (yet again)
He helped a city photographer take pictures and acted as his protector because he liked him
He helped a doctor retrieve a stolen wagon full of medicine, he wasn’t even asked to do so, he did it out of his own good will
He wanted to make an old cranky man happy and proposed finding his lost trinkets for him
He helped Deborah MacGuiness find dinosaur bones out of curiosity. He didn’t receive any financial reward for it. Just a few trinkets and he was satisfied
He risked his life for Marko Dragic’s experiments (his main motivation in this mission was again, curiosity)
He rescued a boy being held hostage by the gunsmith in Rhodes
He rescued people from being trafficked and gave them a large sum of money (he could’ve kept it for himself) for a better life
He helped Mr. White and Mr. Black gain freedom and even helped them again after they got themselves into trouble
He rescued Charles Chatenay on at least 3 different occasions
He instantly hurried to retrieve Sister Calderon’s cross even though he has never met her before
In his first encounter with Marjorie and Bertram, he helps to calm Bertram down and is understanding even though Bertram gave him trouble. He even puts the bartender in his place after he speaks about Bertram in a degrading manner
He agreed to help a man get rid of nigh folk occupying his property and after he payed him with only a rat pelt, Arthur didn’t get angry and still asked him if he’d be really fine on his own after knowing he wouldn’t be able to pay
He let a homeless man hug him and listened to what he has to say
He helped to save Jamie from becoming a cult member and stopped him from taking his life
He helped a boy look for his lost dog
He saved an injured man’s life after driving him to a doctor
He helped a woman get rid of a body after she claimed she had to kill the man in self-defence
He donated to the poor and even to build a shelter for war-veterans
He taught Charlotte how to survive on her own
He tried to save a crazed village out of his own good will
He helped a war veteran retrieve his prosthetic leg and helped him hunt
He helped a man look for his lost friend in the snowy mountains
He helped Rain’s Fall retrieve sacred items important to his people
He helped to retrieve stolen medical supplies for the Wapiti tripe
He saved Captain Monroe’s life after hearing he was in danger
He helped Beau and Penelope escape from their terrible families
He has saved many hunters from getting mauled, given many ladies a ride home, saved people from dying of poisoning, helped gather herbs, helped a lost New Yorker find his way to the town, helped save many people’s lives (lady being held hostage in her own house in Lemoyne, folk getting tortured by The Murfees or Lemoyne Raiders etc.)
Let’s not forget the fact that Arthur is a provider for over 20 people. He cannot be running around and risking his life for free for everyone he meets. He needs money. Even so, he has helped all the people above for no reward and out of his own free will. When I see someone say that Arthur is only motivated by money and never helps people otherwise, I just instantly assume they stormed through the story and didn’t pay any attention. The encounters listed above make up the majority of chance encounters/side quests and in almost all of them he is helping people. 80% of these are also pre-diagnosis.
He has a hard time accepting any compliments or gratitude for his good deeds and always downplays himself. Even in the main story he is never thinking about himself and he always puts others first.
“You did not ask for anything, you only gave”
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The encounters where he does require payment pale in comparison to those in which he doesn’t, and even so they are very justified as they are often dangerous, time consuming or straight up ridiculous. It’s weird to assume Arthur only helps people for money when he doesn’t want to deliver love letters, interview dangerous people and sneak into heavily guarded properties for free.
682 notes · View notes
heavenlyvision · 1 year ago
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Bare
Word count: 9.3k
Pairing: Liu Kang x F!Reader
A/N: This is a bit different to my other works so far, at least it feels different! I am stoked about the people who encouraged me to write this!! You guys have been the kindest to interact with and really encourage me to keep writing <33 (P.S. If you're having trouble picturing the position in the smut scene, it’s pretty close to the full nelson, hopefully you can picture it with just my description though 😅😅)
Summary:  Through a series of unfortunate events, you find yourself befriending a God and making his life more difficult, it’s just a bonus that he’s friendly, kind, and really hot.
Warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering, grinding, p in v sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, Liu Kang might be a little ooc and I am sorry but he’s hot and I had to write for him.
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Living in the temple with Liu Kang is an odd feeling, you’ve been here for a while now, but you still feel out of place. Maybe because there isn’t any real reason that you’re here, you know he has plans and is a Fire God and something about a tournament with another realm, but you don’t fit in to any of that. You’re just some person he felt bad for after making friends with and is now allowing you to stay in his temple????
To be fair, he didn’t really befriend you, he asked if you were okay and then you held him verbally hostage. He looked friendly and so you started talking to him, something you would usually be too reserved to do. Having conversations with strangers isn’t something you’re in the habit of, and you especially don’t start them, but you’d had a series of unfortunate events happen to you in the course of a week and he looked nice. You think he was too polite to ask you to stop talking to him, but he eventually engaged in the conversation.
It was a little cafe not far from where you used to live, Liu Kang had been there by chance, he tells you now that there was something he had to take care of in that area, but he kept coming back after that first encounter. Every time you were there, he was also there, and he listened to you.
When you first met and spoke with Liu Kang you complained about how your partner broke up with you but actually he was cheating on you and had been for months, so you had to leave his apartment, which was originally yours before you were both on the lease. But you didn’t leave by choice, he locked you out and left your stuff in front of the building, which obviously, some of it was missing.
Whether he kept it or if some of it was taken by strangers you aren’t sure, but it sucks either way, you didn’t tell Liu Kang that last thing at the time though. Being kicked out of your own apartment and cheated on was embarrassing enough, he didn’t need to know you were also robbed.  
While visiting that café everyday hoping to see Liu Kang, your personal circumstances kept getting worse, you didn’t keep bombarding him with your issues though. He was nice and funny in a polite way, and he was becoming a friend to you. So, you didn’t say anything to him but the friend you had been staying with turned out to be who your partner was cheating on you with, so you had to rush to find another place to stay, which you managed. And things would’ve been okay from there if you hadn’t lost your job due to cutbacks in that same week, so not only were you living off your quickly depleting savings, you were also trying to find a job, while living in a shitty, tiny apartment, an apartment where, if you had all your furniture, you wouldn’t be able to see the floor.
The only thing you looked forward to were the afternoons in that café talking to and getting to know Liu Kang. It was unfortunate luck when your ex-friend and ex-partner walked in and saw you talking with him. They didn’t mind their own business, and that was how Liu Kang had found out how much worse things had gotten for you in the few months you had been meeting with him.
After he learned about the extent of things he brought up living with him at the temple, he said it would be more for him than for you, claiming to need help and that you were perfect for it. But you knew he didn’t really need any help; he’s a literal God and you’re just a person. So, you kept declining, he’d bring it up once a month and you would tell him no every month, determined to make things work for yourself.
But eventually, you were fed up with all the dead-end jobs and being dismissed after only a few weeks, you were looking down the barrel of eviction and you caved, asking Liu Kang for help. Something he was more than happy to provide.
It felt odd, making friends with a stranger, only to find out he was a God and then that God feeling so bad for you that he offers to make your life easier by letting you live with him at his temple. You can’t help but feel pitiful about giving up all your responsibilities and running away but there wasn’t anything left for you in that city.
Staying by Liu Kang’s side has introduced you to so much beauty, it’s expanded your small world, and you don’t feel even a little bit of regret for leaving, not anymore. Though you still feel out of place, your heart is at peace.
Currently, you’re drinking tea with Liu Kang, it’s something you two do every afternoon and it reminds you of the café. Even though he’s busy, he always has tea with you, every afternoon.
Conversing with him always starts the same way, you say something completely random or make an observation and he sighs at your inability to sit in silence for more than a minute at a time.
“You know, I think he still has my favourite book.” You say in reference to your ex.
There’s a book you owned, and it was a classic, not worth anything, but you had annotated it to high hell and the love you have for it is shown in your scribblings and all the sticky notes. It’s something you immediately noticed was missing but never said anything about.
He has a confused look on his face, “What? Why didn’t you ask for it back?”
“He’d just say that I lost it, or that it got stolen when he left my boxes outside the apartment,” You shrug at him.
“He… left your belongings… outside of the apartment, where strangers could rifle through them… and steal from you?” He questions, his tone is calm but the pauses in his sentence display contempt.
“Did I not tell you that?” You wonder.
He’s looking at you, eyes squinting, scrutinising you and trying to determine if you were purposefully keeping that from him, “No… you have not mentioned it.”
In all honesty, you thought you had already told him that. You aren’t trying to hide it anymore, it’s already done. You just feel a bit sad about your favourite book, you’ve been wanting to reread it lately and you like reading the notes you’ve made previously as you do.
“I was just thinking about the book, it was annotated,” you sigh.
“I can take you to go get it, if you’d like?” He offers.
“He probably won’t even admit to having it, let alone give it back but thank you.” You offer him a smile, he’s always so kind to you, a gentle God.
He considers you for a moment, “I have some books, if you’d like to read them.”
“I found your library months ago, read a bunch of them but it isn’t the same.” You appreciate his suggestion, but other books can’t compare.
He sips at his tea, before saying, “You’re picky.”
“No, it’s just that I cultivated that book with all my thoughts and feelings on the story and now it’s gone,” you huff out.
Liu Kang frowns a bit, thinking about your words, “I do not like him.”
“Neither,” you laugh, “You know, he wasn’t even worth it, never made me org–” you stop abruptly, realising what you were about to say… to a God, “Uhm what I actually mean is, he was a… bad partner, not… attentive?” It comes out like a question, but you aren’t asking anything.
He chuckles and shakes his head at you; he always seems to find you amusing, “That’s a shame,” he mutters.
You want to question him on what he means but he speaks again, “Why did you stay with him?”
“After a while, I felt… trapped,” you sigh, “He was kinder in the beginning of our relationship, but he grew colder, meaner, he didn’t talk to me… he didn’t like talking to me, always saying I talk too much,” you give him a wry smile.
He hums, “I like listening to you.”
You feel flush at his words, he does this sometimes, says something innocuous without realising how the kind words have you falling for him. But, it’s a feeling you don’t let yourself indulge in, for a number of reasons but mostly because you feel unremarkable compared to him. You feel small and your feelings feel unimportant, so you don’t entertain them, not wanting them to grow stronger with nowhere to put them down. He makes it hard though.
“I like talking to you,” you reply.
Relationships aren’t something you’ve had much success in, your only one that lasted longer than a couple weeks being the one where you lost your apartment, belongings, friend, etc etc.
“I sometimes wonder if he ever loved me,” you confess to Liu Kang.
You stayed out of obligation and convenience, leaving was too much effort, but why did he stay for so long, only to do what he did. Sometimes you feel sick thinking about it, because if he never showed you love then what does it look like? And are you capable of recognising it in someone else? In yourself?
He puts a hand on your shoulder, “I can hear you thinking from here, stop it.”
“You can hear thoughts??” You’re a little worried as you say it.
He restrains himself from rolling his eyes at you, “Not what I meant; I cannot actually hear your thoughts.”
“Oh thank god, don’t say things like that.” You place a hand over your beating heart.
“Why would I be able to read minds?” He queries.
“I dunno, you’re a God, you can’t say stuff like that, I’ll take you literally,”
He hums, “Noted.”
Both of you sit in the silence, normally you would say something else but for once you’re a little lost for words. Still wondering if you’ve ever been loved, properly. An ache fills your heart, and you aren’t really sure what it means.
Liu Kang’s grip squeezes on your shoulder, drawing your attention back to him, “If he never loved you, then he is a fool.”
And there it is again, something meant as comfort said so tenderly to you that your heart feels like it might implode.
“Thank you,” you say, hand coming up to rest on top of his.
He looks deep in thought for a moment, “I think you should learn self-defence.”
It’s abrupt, the way he brings it up, you pull your hand away and turn so you’re facing him properly, “Why?”
“I think I would feel better about you being a part of this world, if you could defend yourself.”
You consider his words, your lips pouting in thought, “I’d rather not.”
His response is to frown at you, “Why not?”
“I’d rather not, just ‘cause I don’t wanna have strangers train me or whatever, don’t like the idea of being touched by them,” you say it flippantly, waving a hand as you do.
You know he would want to take you to that academy or have someone specifically train you, but you aren’t fond of strangers, and you especially don’t like the idea of their hands positioning you and such, it’s a very uncomfortable idea.
Your face must be betraying how much you dislike the idea, “Stop making that face,” Liu Kang sighs.
“Sorry,” your face drops into a neutral expression, you hadn’t realised you were making one.
“Things are going to pick up soon, I would feel better if you’d consider it.”
You frown again, this time on purpose.
He looks into your eyes, it feels like he’s trying to stare you down, “That won’t work, I don’t like being touched,” you remark.
He raises a brow at you, “You let me touch you.”
You look away from him and mumble, “That’s different.”
“How?” He inquires.
How nosey of him, “It just is…” you shrug at him.
“What if I teach you self-defence?”
You look back to him, “Maybe.”
If you had a choice, you’d rather not be taught any kind of self-defence, but you guess if it’s Liu Kang teaching you, you could be amicable to that, eventually.
Both his brows raise, “Are you going to make this difficult for me?”
You repeat your previous answer, sly smile on your lips, “Maybe…”
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
It’s been almost a full week since that conversation with Liu Kang, you keep putting off training with him. He’s a patient man but you think you’re slowly chipping away at it. His concern for you growing the more you put it off.
You understand that things will be changing soon, with his champions and what not, but he keeps you fairly separate from all that anyways. You know of the Lin Kuei and their involvement, along with the brothers but you’ve not met them, and he’s not asked you to. So, you aren’t really sure why he’s become so caught up on getting you some kind of training.
It’s late in the evening and you’re walking to the library, which maybe you shouldn’t be, but you feel the need to read something. Get your mind off of everything that’s been happening. Maybe you’ll find a new favourite book and annotate that.
But because you have the luck of someone who’s broken a mirror every day, it starts bucketing down rain. Usually, you enjoy rainy weather and a good book, but this isn’t that. You’re walking the temple grounds one minute and the next you’re fully drenched, down to the bone. Clothes soggy, shoes filled with water, and to top it off, the torrential downpour is making your visibility awful. You can’t make heads or tails with all this rain; it would probably be just as bad even if it wasn’t dark out.
Just your luck, there isn’t much you can do but stumble blindly through the grounds, hoping you’re going the right way. But predictably, that is not a good idea, you’re about as wet as a person can be, shaking from the cold breeze, you need to find shelter somewhere soon.
Some of the buildings are recognisable, you think? You can’t really be sure, but you think you recognise the building Liu Kang resides in. Hobbling up to the door, you knock on it, hoping that some higher power takes pity on you and that Liu Kang is home… and also awake.
And wouldn’t you know it, he’s not home, the only solution you can think of is to sit under the small shelter surrounding the building, to at least prevent yourself from getting any more wet, not that that’s even possible at this point.
The rain doesn’t stop, the rate at which it’s coming unchanging. Spending all night here is not a feasible option, sadly, you will have to move again and hope you find your own quarters or somewhere open you can tuck into. It’d be embarrassing to sleep on Liu Kang’s doorstep only for him to trip over you in the morning.
You decide to try knocking one last time, maybe he didn’t hear you. Wrapping your knuckles against his front door, you knock harder, wishing for him to be home and that your first knocks went unheard.
Waiting a moment before you give up, he’s obviously out doing some God business or whatever, you don’t really question his movements. Turning your back to his door, you look out at the rain, working yourself up to going back out into it.
Just as you step out into it again, you feel a hand grab your upper arm and pull you back, bending your head back to look up, you realise it’s Liu Kang and a relived smile breaks out across your face. You turn around to face him properly and he lets go of your arm.
The look on his face is one of complete confusion, “What are you doing out in this rain?”
“I was looking for the library but then it started raining… and I got lost but I recognised your building, and I knocked a couple times, but I thought you were out, so I was gonna look for somewhere else to try and get warm.” You’re shaking like a leaf in front of him, teeth chattering as you talk.
He frowns at you and grabs you again, pulling you inside. The escape from the unforgiving wind is very welcome to you.
“Why were you out this late to begin with?” His eyes are firm as he looks at you.
You look away from him, feeling like you’re being scolded, “I… wanted to read a book… can’t stop thinking and I can’t sleep.”
You’re standing in front of him and staring at the floor below you, still shivering involuntarily, a puddle of water being created on the wood, “Do you have a towel, your floors getting wet.” Your head nodding downwards to the puddle.
“I am not worried about my floors,” he sighs, “Come with me.”
You shuffle down the hall after him, you feel like a wet cat who got caught outside when they’re meant to be inside. There’s a trail of water droplets trailing after you, you feel bad getting his floors all wet, you’ll have to remember to clean up for him.
Following behind, you properly look at him and notice his upper half is bare, only in pants for bed, you can’t help but stare at his large frame and muscular back. It’s a very human display, for him to be shirtless and in sleep pants, his hair down, he looks good, but he always looks good. You feel like a silly mess.
He leads you into his bathroom and hands you a clean towel, “Have a shower, get warm.”
You stand there looking at him for a moment, “What will I wear?”
Liu Kang walks past you and further down the hall, you briefly wonder if you’re meant to follow him or start showering. You decide to pull off your jacket and slip out of your shoes while waiting.
His footsteps are coming back towards you, “Here,” he offers you some of his clothes.
You think about whether the shirt would even close, he’s always wearing shirts that show his chest and they don’t exactly look like they’d offer you any modesty, even if you do it up. You unfold the shirt and you’re thankful to see it will, in fact cover you.
“Something wrong?” He asks.
Shaking your head at him, you say, “No, I was just wondering if you gave me one of those shirts that doesn’t actually close properly.”
He sighs at you, “Have a shower, then we will talk.”
You drop the shirt down from in front of you to look at him but he’s already walking away and shutting the door behind him.
The showers heat is what you imagine heaven feels like, or maybe getting really high. Muscles that you hadn’t even realised were tensed finally relax and you feel like you could melt into a puddle on the shower floor. You hadn’t noticed just how cold you were, if you had stayed out all night you might’ve actually turned into a popsicle.
After you’ve washed and dried yourself off, you look at Liu Kang’s clothes, he gave you pants but you’re worried they won’t fit. Which is troublesome because you can’t put on your wet underwear, not unless you wanna squirm in place all evening.
Closing your eyes, you huff out a sigh, considering your options. Telling him that you have no underwear is a mortifying thought. So, you pull his shirt on and do up the buttons, it comes down pretty far on your body, which shouldn’t be shocking; he is a large man but seeing it come more than halfway down your thighs makes you remember the size difference.
Considering how far it comes down on you, you wonder if you even have to say anything. You decide it might be better not to say anything, the risk of whatever conversation would ensue undoubtedly would embarrass you to death.
Which, before you met Liu Kang, you never really got all that embarrassed but the effect he has on you makes you feel self-conscious of all your choices and little mannerisms.
Padding down his hallway, you meet him in his living area, he’s sitting on his lounge. Rounding it, you hold onto the hem of his shirt, you feel nervous; like he’s about to give you the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ talk. It always worked on you as a kid, it’d probably work now too.
When he looks up to you, his eyes skate up your body slowly before he meets your gaze, “What’s wrong with the pants?”
“Don’t fit,” you mumble.
He nods at you, and you go to sit next to him.
“You smell like me,” he notes.
You had noticed that, his scent is overwhelming you, making you feel warm.
You change the subject, “Thank you, for the shirt and shower... and for letting me in.”
He looks concerned, “Why would I not let you in?”
You shrug at him, you aren’t really sure why you said it, maybe it’s the being locked out of your own apartment memories haunting you again. You fidget in your seat a bit, uncomfortable from both not wearing underwear and this conversation.
You change the subject, “Do you have a mop or another towel, I can dry your floors.”
He shakes his head at you, “You do not need to do that, I’ve already done it.”
He readjusts his position, moving to the side, one leg crossed on the couch and an arm coming up to rest on the back of the couch. He’s facing you completely now, you’re sitting forward with your knees touching, looking into your lap and toying with the hem of his shirt, conscious of the fact you aren’t wearing underwear.
“I would have done it,” you mutter.
“I know, that is why I did it first.”
You don’t say anything, which is out of character and it’s starting to concern Liu Kang.
“What were you going to do tonight? If I hadn’t answered my door,” he questions you, his tone concerned.
Your lips pout and you look away to the side, staring at his now very interesting wall.
“I dunno, I mean, I was planning to go back out and try and find my place or somewhere else warm at least, I wasn’t just gonna sit on your doorstep all night,” you shrug, still not facing him.
The couch cushions move as he shuffles a little closer, “That would have been reckless, your lips were almost blue before, you need to have more concern for your wellbeing.”
“I care about myself,” you turn to look at him, he had moved closer than you expected, you stumble over yourself a bit at his proximity, “…I do care, I didn’t know what to do and I made the best choice in that moment, it’s not like I wanted to go back into the rain… I knocked again… just in case you didn’t hear the first time…”
He looks at you intensely, it’s making you nervous and you look away from him, eyes turning downwards to your lap again, legs rubbing against each other as you continue to squirm.
“Look at me,” he says gently, you turn your head to look at him properly, he continues, “I am so aware of how human you are, and I worry about your safety because of it, you do not inspire confidence in me when you do stuff like this.”
“I think you’re taking this too seriously; I didn’t know it was going to rain and–”
“–That is not my only concern,” he gives you a pointed look.
“And we are back on this?” You ask.
He nods in response.
A deep sigh is pushed out of you, “You know, you are quite persistent… pushy even.”
“If you give in now, it would save us a lot of time,” he replies, making his stance clear, this is not something he is willing to compromise on. At least, not any more than he already has.
“I don’t understand why you want me to do this so bad? You’ve kept me separate from everything so far, so why would I need any kind of training?”
“For my peace of mind,” he says, rather abruptly.
Taking a deep breath in you let it all out at once, “You really aren’t going to let this go?” You ask, double checking.
“No,” he confirms.
“Then… I suppose… I will allow you to train me,” you huff, you’d cross your arms, but you’re worried about his shirt riding up your thighs.
He lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”
You hum noncommittally, “This is such an unlucky night for me.”
He chuckles at you while getting up from the couch, “I am going to put some tea on, can you watch it?”
“Yeah,” you also get up from the couch and follow him to his kitchen.
Opening cupboards, he pulls out everything and puts the kettle on, then he wanders down the hallway leaving you to watch it. You don’t really know what he’s gone off to do, you’re a little peeved that you’ll have to be training for a possible threat, not even a tangible one. Plus you think he’s not telling you everything, but he seems to be a bit touchy right now, so you won’t push it.
Especially since you seem to be the reason why he’s being a bit short. But everything that happened tonight was just a series of unfortunate events, which at this point is par for the course for you. You don’t want to try and argue your case again though because, well, you were walking around an area you aren’t completely familiar with in the middle of the night, so you might be a little in the wrong.
Mindlessly, you watch the kettle, it feels a little ironic considering that old phrase, ‘a watched pot never boils’. From behind you, Liu Kang’s footsteps stop, you turn around to look at him.
“What were you doing?” You ask him, before you realise he’s holding all your wet clothes, including your underwear, the underwear that you are currently not wearing. Underwear that you should be wearing.
“What are you wearing underneath my shirt?” His gaze is even, unreadable.
“Uhm, well… like, r-right now?” You ask for clarification, your eyes wide.
“Yes, right now,” his tone is equally unreadable.
You suck on your teeth uncomfortably, “Well, right now… in this moment… I guess… nothing.”
“Right, thought so, considering I found these,” he holds out your underwear with one finger, showing them to you, “amongst all your other clothes.”
“Okayyyy, but you see…your pants didn’t fit and well, I didn’t want to put on wet underwear…” you avert your eyes from his, feeling exposed, “so, I decided, not to wear any…” You trail off, not really sure where to go from here.
He hums at you in understanding, “So, while I was telling you to care more for yourself…you were sitting on my couch, squirming because you chose to forgo underwear, is that right?”
You look upwards, feigning deep thought, “Mhm, pretty much, yeah…but I wouldn’t say I was squirming.”
“You were squirming, I thought it was because the conversation was uncomfortable.” He retorts.
“Well, it was…just in multiple ways,” you smile innocently at him, “Uhm, can I have those?”
“Are you going to put them on?” He asks.
You nod at him, “I was considering it, wearing wet panties has to feel better than this.”
His eyes close momentarily at your words, he intakes a breath. You feel ashamed to admit that this conversation is working you up, it would probably be for the best if you cover yourself properly.
Walking over to him you go to grab your underwear, but as you reach up to pluck them from his hand, he reaches further up. Not completely out of arm’s length but if you do reach up, you would be exposing yourself completely.
“That’s not nice,” you huff.
“It isn’t nice showing up on my doorstep just to get into my clothes and then sit on my couch with nothing underneath them.” His eyes are full of mirth.
“Can I just have my underwear…please?”
He pretends to be in deep thought, mimicking you from earlier, “Do you really want to put on wet underwear?”
“…Yes.” No. You don’t really want to, but not wearing underwear around someone who knows you aren’t wearing any is…horrifyingly revealing.
“So, you were fine not wearing any underwear when I didn’t know, but now you’d rather be uncomfortable in wet panties, instead of being bare?”
“You’re asking me too many questions,” you’re frowning at him, but he doesn’t seem to find it menacing, his eyes still playful.
“You normally enjoy talking,” he jests.
A scowl is pulling at you lips, “Liu can you please just,” you look away and huff, “give me my underwear,” you mumble it out.
“Is there a specific reason that you need them now?” His implication is heavy, and you are not admitting to anything, you’d sooner die.
Rolling your eyes at him, you grab your clothes from his other hand and walk over to his dining table. You place them over the back of his chairs, so they have the chance to dry.
He shows mercy and moves to you to give you your underwear. As you hold them you make a face of displeasure, they’re soaked still, and you really don’t want to put them on.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, brow raising.
“Nothing,” you lie.
He pushes, “Put them on then.”
This situation is too much for you, this side of Liu Kang paired with his bare skin is making you dizzy, your pussy getting wetter by the second. It’s incredibly embarrassing that, him knowing and teasing you for not wearing underwear, is making your skin hot and body yearn for him. Even more embarrassing that he seems to have some kind of inkling about your arousal for him.
“I will,” another lie, you are not putting these on.
“You know, your facial expressions are incredibly honest,” he observes.
You try your hand at a poker face and it has him smiling in response.
Giving in, you confess, “I don’t want to put them on, they’re too wet.”
His face is bright, pleased at his victory, “You are an odd person,” he teases.
You’re exasperated, “Can’t you just pretend to not know?”
“I can try.” He shrugs and gives you a sweet smile but it doesn’t feel sweet, not after what he just put you through.
You put your wet underwear on the chair next to your other clothes, preferably you would clean them but they’ll do for getting you back to your room tomorrow.
You huff past Liu Kang as you walk to sit on his couch again, still holding onto the hem of his shirt as you sit, not wanting it to ride up. Not willing to risk it, especially since he knows how bare you are underneath.
He makes the tea and brings it over to you, both of you sitting in silence. You can’t help but squirm a bit in your spot. Wanting to rub your thighs together for some kind of relief but that would be way too obvious. So, you try focusing on your tea, the flavours of it, the smell, the warmth.
But then your thoughts wander, and you’re thinking about Liu Kang’s arms, his chest, his tattoos, his hands, the playfulness in his voice, his eyes as he looked at you. The stern voice he used on you earlier, everything about him sets you alight, you huff in annoyance next to him.
You hear him sigh lightly beside you, “You’re squirming again.”
“No, I’m not,” a boldfaced lie.
“What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing,” you take another sip of your tea.
He grabs your mug from you, placing it on the table, “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t need help,” you scowl at him.
His expression is dubious and not believing you for a single second, “Come here,” he pats the couch between his spread thighs.
Your face is shocked, “What for?”
He rolls his eyes at you, “I was not born yesterday, do you want my help or not?”
You argue, “Still don’t need help.”
Both his brows drop, “You’re sitting there, bare and squirming on my couch.”
“You’re supposed to pretend not to know,” you comment.
“I can only ignore so much,” he retorts.
You look at him for a bit, his expression unchanging, seemingly steadfast.
“How are you going to help?” You’re curious now.
“Find out,” he pats the couch again.
Looking upwards and away from him, you consider it for a bit, this might not be a great idea but he’s really hot and offering to help you, so against your better judgement you move over to him and sit between his spread legs. He moves forward, chest pressed to your back, his lips right by your ear.
“Can I touch you?” He checks with you.
“…Yes, please.”
He hums in response, his hand sliding down your body, resting atop one of your thighs.
Tapping it, he says, “Open your legs.”
Your skin feels hot but you listen and open them, the outside of your thighs touching the inside of his.
“Perfect,” he mumbles beside your head.
His hand slides down, caressing your inner thigh now, his other arm is wrapped around your torso, keeping you still. The hand on your thigh slowly inching closer to where you need him most, it feels like everything he’s doing is taking a million years. He’s taking his time to tenderly touch you, working you up more than you already are.
Your own hands come up to the one wrapped around you, holding onto his forearm, “Can you just… touch me please?” You ask him, voice the slightest bit breathless.
“In a moment,” his hand moves further away from your aching heat, instead tickling up the length of your inner thigh.
Your body feels like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin, his barely there touch turning your brain into mush. Slowly, his hand travels back up your thigh, and he cups your pussy, his two middle fingers slipping between your folds.
His chest rumbles with a groan behind you, “How long have you been this wet?”
You turn your head away from him and to the side, trying to avoid his words in your ear. It doesn’t work, if anything he can get closer, his head leaning down and breathing hot air onto your ear. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spine in response, your teeth biting into your lower lip to supress the small sound you almost make.
“Probably when I confronted you, right?” He hits the nail on the head.
His fingers keep running through your folds, spreading your slick all over your pussy, the tip of his middle finger pressing into you the slightest bit, you cant your hips in response and he pulls away, instead repeating his previous motions of rubbing his fingers through your folds. His teasing pulling a huff from you.
“You know how I know?” he probes.
You shake your head at him, you’re a little bit curious as to what gave you away.
“I know because you are so honest, your facial expression, your movements, your eyes,” he practically purrs in your ear.
You shuffle against him, whether to get him closer or get yourself free, you aren’t sure but he holds you still against him. His fingers making a mess of your pussy, he moves them to your clit, giving you only the slightest amount of pressure. It has your hips rising to chase the sensation, wanting his fingers to be firmer. The arm around your torso pulls you back to him, holding you steady.
“You’re still squirming,” he comments.
“It’s –hah– your fault,” you quip.
“Mmm, is that so?” He wonders out loud.
Finally, he adds more pressure to your clit, the stimulation almost knocking the wind out of you, a small whimper falling from your lips involuntarily. Liu Kang hums appreciatively at your reaction to his touch. His nose runs up the length of your neck, tickling you.
“You seem to enjoy being touched right now,” he breathes the words against your neck.
He rubs circles into your clit, firm and even, never picking up or slowing down. Your hips wriggle against him, you want more, want him inside you.
A breath of air is pushed out his nostrils, amused at your movements, “Need something?” He’s still holding you firm, “If you do, you need to ask.”
“Want you to touch me,” you request.
Tone serious but his words have humour behind them, “I am touching you.”
“Want your finger, inside,” you whine at him, hating how desperate you must look and sound. No man ever having pulled you apart with such minimal contact but he isn’t just a man, is he?
His chest vibrates under you, his fingers slipping down to your pussy hole, middle finger pressing into you slowly. His large finger a stretch for you, his thumb rubs at your clit, trying to coax you into relaxing enough to take it.
“I don’t think you could be any tighter,” he murmurs to you.
Your hips are wanting to wiggle down onto his finger but you’re being held in place, when he does get his finger fully inside you, it has you instinctually trying to close your legs. Liu Kang tsks at you in disappointment, the hand around you briefly moving to place your legs over tops of his. You’re completely spread on him, the crook of your knees resting over top of his legs.
“This is embarrassing,” you mutter.
His hand moves back to hold you around your middle again, “You won’t mind soon.”
This man is going to be the death of you.
The finger inside you crooks up, stroking at your inner walls, the pleasure has your body writhing in his hold again. He pulls you back into his chest further and looks over your shoulder, down to where his finger is seated inside you. As his finger draws back from you, wet sounds follow the movement, and when he pushes it back inside, your cunt clamps down on it; a gasp jumping out of your throat.
He fucks his one finger into you continuously, your slick dripping from you, hips jumping against him. Eventually, you want more, want to feel fuller.
You pant out, “More, Liu – hah.”
He obeys, pressing his ring finger into you, his pace slowing to make up for the stretch, the small amount of pain not enough to bother you, your arousal outweighing it. Your hips grind down onto his fingers, taking the both of them deeper. His thumb rubs at your clit again as he fucks both his fingers into you, your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes glazing over.
“Getting all fucked out on my fingers, that’s cute.” He observes.
His fingers are completely seated inside you; your hips grind into his hand. He allows you the small moment to rock your hips back and forth. Before he suddenly starts fucking them into you, pulling them out and slamming them back in, the tips of his fingers brushing something devastating. The feeling has your body shaking and whimpers falling from your lips, he hums in delight at your reaction and targets the one spot. Fucking his large fingers into it over and over again, wanting to have you falling apart for him.
Your insides start twisting in on themselves, panting breaths coming quicker, an odd feeling overwhelming you. You go to warn Liu Kang, “Feels weird.”
Liu Kang can feel your walls clenching down on his fingers, “It’s fine.”
You huff out at him, both from the feeling and his response.
“Poor girl, her ex-boyfriend didn’t only never get her to cum, she’s also never orgasmed before, mmm?” He questions, taunting.
If that’s what this is then you guess you really haven’t orgasmed before, you could’ve sworn you had but it never felt like this.
You gasp at his words, uncharacteristic of him and also really hot. Your brows knit together as his fingers keep moving inside you, his pace picking up slightly. The wet squelching of your wet cunt prominent in the otherwise quiet house.
“Stop fighting it love, just let it happen,” he whispers into the skin of your neck. He leaves wet kisses against it.
Your skin heats up in reaction to the pet name, your pussy spasming around his fingers, a whiny gasp of his name ripped from your chest. You go to keel forward but he holds you to him.
“There you go,” he purrs into your skin, “Doing so good, love.”
Your thighs are shaking on top of his, small whimpers leaving you as he continues fucking his fingers into you, prolonging your high. Aftershocks wracking your frame, jolting in his hold, slowly his fingers come to a stop, your head had dropped forward during your orgasm.
His unoccupied hand comes up to press against your forehead and pull your head back to his shoulder, you’re panting against him. Chest rising and falling quickly, your eyes unseeing for a few moments after.
When he pulls his fingers from you, he holds them up to marvel at them, admiring the way your cum has sticky strings falling from his fingers when he parts them.
“Look at that,” he says with the brightest tone, genuinely enamoured by the sight of your cum on his fingers.
You shy away from the display, turning your head to the side, unfortunately for your self-consciousness, you see the way he sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks your cum off of them. The shameless display has your skin burning you from the inside out. After he’s sucked them clean, he wipes his spit off on your inner thigh.
“Can’t believe you were with a man who couldn’t make you orgasm for that long,” he says, almost out of nowhere.
You don’t respond, still embarrassed and a little fucked out, you don’t feel present in your own body. Wiggling against Liu Kang, you feel his very pronounced erection dig into your ass.
You mumble to him, surprised, “You’re hard.”
“Obviously, why wouldn’t I be?” he’s confused by your shock.
You remark, “You didn’t get any pleasure from that.”
“Love, I got so much pleasure from that.”
His response makes you blush.
“Your ex is some piece of work,” he claims.
You lift your shaky legs up and off of his, back to your previous position of outer thighs to his inner thighs. He lets you lay on top of him for a bit while you collect yourself, but you want to look at him.
Clumsily, you get up and shuffle around, climbing on top of him and straddling him, now face to face. You sit back a bit on his lap so you can see him properly.
“What’s wrong now?” He asks, feigning exasperation at you.
You don’t reply, instead lazily taking in all of his features, your eyes zero in on his lips. Wanting to kiss him but unsure if that’s crossing an invisible line. You don’t move, but you pull your eyes away from his mouth to look him in the eyes again.
Lightly rolling his eyes, he huffs out a sigh, his hand comes up behind your neck and pulls you towards him. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, slow and sweet. At least it is until you shuffle forward and sit right on top of the bulge in his pants. You groan at the feeling of his hard cock pressed up against your bare cunt, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.
His tongue explores your mouth, kissing you deeply. His hand holds onto your neck, keeping you in place for him to kiss you how he pleases. It’s is unlike any other, you’re realising now, you don’t think you’ve ever been kissed with so much desire, need.
Groans are pulled from his chest at the way you’ve started mindlessly grinding against him. His free hand coming up to encourage it, appreciating the friction. Having been hard for far too long with no relief. Your hands move to his shoulders, holding onto his warm skin.
You keep grinding clumsily onto his cock, back and forth along the length of it. He keeps his mouth on yours, his groans and your whines shared in it. When you pull back to breathe, his hand comes away from your throat and holds onto your other hip, using both his hands to drag you up and down his cock more forcefully.
You’re huffing out whimpers every time the head of his dick grazes your clit, Liu Kang is getting lost in the feeling of you soaking his cock through his pants. His head dropping back on the couch, you’re getting desperate on top of him. His dick is twitching under you, feeling him jerk against you has you rutting into him.
“Liu,” you call out to him.
“Mmm?” He hums to you.
“Want you inside,” you whimper.
His head shoots up to look you in the eyes, his hands stilling your hips causing you to whine pitifully. His cock jumps under you at the sound.
“Are you sure? Could barely take my fingers,” he’s double checking before getting his hopes up.
Nodding your head at him, you say, “Mhm, need it.”
His chest rumbles with a guttural groan, before he’s tapping the side of your thigh, asking you to stand on your knees for a moment. You lift yourself up and he pulls his pants down, enough to get his fat cock free.
The size of him shocks you slightly, his hands grab your hips again, pulling you down to sit on it. He starts the previous rhythm, grinding you down onto him, his cock slips between your folds, your pussy getting his dick wet and ready for you.
Gliding up and down his cock has your slick leaking from you and as you slide up, the head of his dick catches on your pussy hole, the feeling catching you off guard. You can’t help but push down onto his cock, stretching yourself on him, Liu Kang gasps at the feeling. His hands gripping your hips harshly, grounding himself.
Frustration grows in you at the difficulty of getting him inside you, so you force it and drop down quickly, more of his big dick filling your small cunt. The feeling too much, not so much pain but a large shock, your hands grasp onto Liu Kang roughly. His own body jerking forward, hips moving up on their own accord, a woosh of air exiting him like he’s been punched.
You whimper as your pussy contracts on his cock, right on the verge of an orgasm out of nowhere. Liu Kang realises this; his thumb moves to your clit and rubs quick circles into it. You’re cumming embarrassingly quick on him, his dick only halfway inside you and your eyes are teared up, your pussy creaming on him.
He growls enthusiastically at the sight and feeling of you cumming on him, only stuffed half full.
“Look at that,” he hums, “for someone who’s never had an orgasm, you cum easily.” He remarks.
You’re spasming around his cock, thighs shaking from holding yourself up.
“Sit down,” he says.
Taking a deep breath, you keep going, overstimulated and worried that him breathing on your pussy would have you cumming again. But you persevere, sinking down on him slowly, taking all of him in carefully. Eventually, you’re sitting on him, taking him to the hilt, the full feeling makes you dazed. Liu Kang’s head is thrown back slightly, his own gaze looking a bit fucked out, just from you sitting on him.
You can’t help but grind down into him, hips moving back and forth with him fully seated inside you. His big cock brushing against spots you didn’t know existed, it has you quivering on him. Your grinding gets desperate, and he lets you rut against him how you please, head leaning back and watching you squirm against him devotedly. Small grunts and moans escaping him every now and again. Your own noises more frequent and louder, your hands press into his pecs, using him as leverage.
His own hands leave your hips and instead come up and rest behind his head, holding it up. He’s leaving you to fuck yourself on his cock however you need. The sight of his torso stretched out and watching you blissfully ride him makes your pussy clench. Your clit grinding into his pelvis over and over is eventually what undoes you, cumming with a drawn-out whine, Liu Kang groans at the feeling of you cumming on him again. His self-control waning thin but he wears a large smile as you cum on him again, nonetheless.
“It’s my turn now,” he murmurs.
He manhandles you off of him, turning you so your back is to his chest, then he’s re-entering you from this position. The way he easily manoeuvred you has your heart beating and cunt leaking.
He feels different from this angle, feels delightfully deep. His arms come up and under the crook of your legs, holding them in his elbows. You’re spread so open for him; he slips deeper inside you and it has you keening. His hands hold your tits, playing with them, tugging at your nipples over his shirt. You’re practically immobile in this position, making you feel helpless.
His hands leave your tits and hold onto the front of your shoulders, his hips draw back, his cock slipping out slightly, before he’s shoving himself back inside you all at once. He repeats the motion over and over, fucking up into your immobile body, taking what he needs from you now. Your head falls back on his shoulder, whines and pants freely falling from your lips. Hands scratching at his thighs, grappling for some stability.
It shamefully doesn’t take you long again to finish, not with the punishing pace he set and the sounds spilling from his mouth right by your ear.
“Cumming again? Already?” His words are teasing but he seems overjoyed at your third orgasm on his cock.
His words have your cunt drooling on him, creamy ring at the base of his cock from all your orgasms. You’re silent when you cum this time, more pants than anything else, your pussy strangling his dick. He groans at the feeling of you shuddering on his cock, he continues fucking you through it, not stopping and holding you open.
The brutal pace he’s set is a lot for your abused cunt, the overstimulation getting to you. The pleasure shooting through you is sharp and you jump every time the head of his cock bumps up against something heavenly inside you.
“One more for me?” He asks you, feeling you getting close to the edge again.
You shake your head at him, “Too –hah– much.”
“You can take it.” He encourages, determined to throw you off the edge if you won’t go willingly, “Just one more, love.”
His words, his voice, it sends you over the edge, your orgasm is sharp and sudden. Punching you in your gut, a needy whine spilling from your lips, you’re shedding actual tears from the force of it. Liu Kang is still fucking up into you, pace picking up, chasing after his own high.
“Where do you want it?”
“Inside,” it’s barely coherent when you say it, you aren’t capable of actual speech at the moment, effectively fucked dumb by him.
A large and guttural groan is ripped from him, you can feel it in his chest. He’s cumming hard, releasing it all inside of you, he pushes you down as he fucks up into you. Holding your cunt to the base of him, grinding against you as he finishes. The sensation of being filled by him has your cunt fluttering around him.
You gasp at the feeling of his dick twitching violently as he releases inside you. He holds you to him for some time as he comes down from his own high, and then he’s gently untangling your legs from his arms. He slumps back into the couch, you’re careful to keep him inside you. Not wanting to ruin his couch more than you already have.
You feel limp against him, “You’re gonna get cum on your couch,” you warn.
He groans at you, disapproving of your observation, “Just keep me inside you.”
“That’s not gonna work…” You feel bashful as you add, “It’s leaking out around you.”
He pushes himself up and looks down from over your shoulder, wanting to see it for himself. A satisfied hum leaves him at the sight of his and your cum leaking out of you and down the base of his cock.
“Liu,” you press him.
His hand moves to your cunt and holds there as he slips out of you, holding your pussy, stuffing what’s leaking out back in. You thought he was going to keep his hand there so it didn’t get on the couch but this is the opposite of that, he’s scooping it off his pants, your thighs and the couch and then stuffing it back inside of you.
“You’re making an even bigger mess,” you worry, brows creased.
“It’s fine,” comes his nonchalant reply.
Eventually, after he’s satisfied with what he’s stuffed back inside you, he puts his dick back in his pants and picks you up. He carries you into his room and places you on his bed.
You sigh, “I would be more comfortable with a pair of underwear.”
“I have some boxers that would probably fit you,” he mentions flippantly.
“Why didn’t you offer that from the start?!” You exasperate.
“You didn’t ask, and then you asked me to pretend your bare pussy wasn’t on my couch,” he shrugs at you.
He grabs a pair of boxer briefs and hands them to you, he stands next to you so you have leverage when you stand up yourself. Your legs feel like jelly, you stand there struggling to even stand on both feet let alone one to put the boxers on.
He huffs at you, amused at your struggle, “Sit down, I’ll put them on.”
You sit back down and he slips them over your legs, after he’s gotten them up as far as he can get them while you’re sitting, you grab onto him and stand so he can tug them up the rest of the way.
You mutter at him, “Can’t believe this was always an option.”
He smiles softly at you as you crawl into his bed, you sit up against the headboard. On his bedside table you notice something. 
“What’s that,” you ask, nodding your head at it.
“That’s for you,” he says, grabbing it and handing it to you, he sits on the edge of the bed next to you. Watching your reaction.
And when you realise what it is, you feel like you might cry because it’s the most perfect gift. It’s your favourite book but Liu Kang has gone through it and annotated the pages with his thoughts and feelings. It makes you ridiculously happy.
“This is the best gift I’ve ever been given,” you tell him, giving him a sweet smile.
“Would have preferred to get your copy back but I thought this was the next best thing,” he says.
You shake your head at him, “This is better.” You’re excited to read your favourite book again but this time with all of Liu Kang’s thoughts filling the pages.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
A/N: Thank you for reading!!!! I had trouble with my characterisation of Liu Kang so I am sorry if you guys feel like I didn’t do him justice, but I appreciate any and all support!!! <333 I am down bad for this man atm so I had to get him out of my system. I have an idea for a miniseries of sorts or a part two at the very least, so if you guys like this one, I’ll write the next part <333 Requests are always open, that also goes for if you have any questions in general about me, my blog, or specific fics :)))
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crowsoundsonly · 1 year ago
Text
dr. barnes
pair: fbi instructor!professor!bucky barnes x fem!student!reader
word count: ~6.5k
summary: you ask for some advice from your reclusive and very attractive professor.
warnings: teacher student relationship so slight age gap but i had pictured it being less than 10 years, super soft bucky, smut at the end (~1.3k), fingering (f rec) but not super descriptive, crime scene descriptions, descriptions of blood, some christian/religious references at the crime scenes, (let me know if i missed any !!)
a/n: this one held me hostage for weeks. i literally could not stop thinking about it. do i have uni exams this week? yes. but did i spend my time writing this? also yes. i hope you guys like it !!
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“Explain the killer. What does he do? What motivates him? How would you catch him? A thousand words printed by the next class. Have a good weekend,” your professor, Dr. Barnes, announces with a nod, cueing the shuffling of laptops and bags belonging to FBI trainees eager to get home on a Friday afternoon.
You load up your things, your mind still thinking about the brutal crime scene photos shown on the slides of the lecture today that made your stomach turn over. While you know you have chosen to be at the FBI, you can’t help but wonder sometimes what you are doing there. Your degree in psychology and doctorate in criminology has led you to the FBI Academy, but your mind still swirls when the most horrible acts of violence are placed in front of you. You chalk it up to you retaining your humanity and sanity, so you are not exactly upset over the fact. It just makes your job more difficult.
Dr. Barnes’ class is always the most brutal, but it is by far the most fascinating class you have. It does help that your professor is the most fascinating part, being very good looking and extremely private. He shares very little personal information, telling you only that he used to work homicide at the police department before beginning teaching. You notice that he does not talk to students often, simply giving his lectures, packing up and leaving after the sea of students flood into the hallways.
You are curious about him, about what he is like when he is not lecturing, and figuring that you have little to lose, you decide to come back after your classes to ask for some help. 
“Dr. Barnes?” you call out as you step into the lecture hall that is still lit, leaving you to believe that someone is there. You take a few more steps and find your professor sitting at his desk, photos piled around, staring intently at the laptop in front of him. He makes no movement to acknowledge you, his focus completely locked onto his work.
You walk all the way up to his desk, repeating his name which does little to deter him. You reach a hand out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze, causing him to jump in his seat and look up at you, eyes wide. 
“Sorry, Dr. Barnes. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 
At your words, he scans your face, recognition dawning on his features. 
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he says quietly, his eyes focusing on the books you are holding in your hands. 
“It’s okay, Dr. Barnes,” you assure him.
“Is there something I can do for you?” he trails off a bit at the end of his question, asking for your name in its absence.
You fill in your name and explain, “I just have a question. I’m writing a paper for another class and was hoping that you could give me some insight on the topic. I’m really just looking for another perspective.”
“Of course,” he says as he leans back in his chair. There is not another chair, so you take to sitting on the edge of his desk.
“The paper is about female serial killers, and I was wondering what you think the most common traits and motives are. We have discussed some examples in class, but I wanted to ask what your experience has been.”
He thinks for a moment, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “They usually work in health care professions. They’ll, um, they will be married or have been married before. They usually kill to improve their situation, so they’ll target people they know, usually men. But not all women,” he stops and looks up at you before continuing to explain a case he had while working homicide where they investigated a series of killings that followed the signs of a male killer but ended up being a woman. 
Dr. Barnes runs a hand through his hair when he finishes, leaning back in his chair. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in this position and at this angle. His dark hair tousled and glasses twirling between his thumbs, you think about how it would feel to reach out and feel his hair between your fingers. You school yourself, your face becoming hot at the idea. He is your professor, and you would do well to remember that. 
You continue the conversation, asking him questions and prodding for more insight. When you figure you have taken up enough of his time, you bow your head a bit and begin getting up from your place on the desk.
“Thank you for your help, Dr. Barnes. I really appreciate you taking the time.”
He nods in acknowledgment, a small smile adorning his lips which you watch perhaps a little too intently as he says. “It was nothing. I’m glad I could help.”
You begin walking toward the door of the lecture hall but are stopped by your name being called out.
“Would you actually mind taking a look at these pictures? I’d like to know what you see.”
You turn back around. The look on his face is one of curiosity. You wonder why he would want to ask you, and part of you wants to believe that it is because he wants you to stay, but you know better. 
“Sure,” you shrug, making your way back to his desk. “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help, though”
“Just take a look. It’s not a test, if that’s what you’re worried about,” your professor says, standing up to hand you the crime scene photos.
They are gruesome, but you don’t know what else you could have expected with Dr. Barnes. You examine them all the while trying to ignore the way he leans over your shoulder as you fail to concentrate. You are so close that if you took a single step back, you would be flush to him. 
Pushing those thoughts away, you focus your attention on the photos, flipping through them, noticing the odd blood splatter near the baseboard that doesn’t have a body laying anywhere near it. 
“What would make the killer climb on top of the counter to shoot someone, get down, and move the body?” you think out loud as you turn your head to look at Dr. Barnes. You notice how close your faces are and let out a breath at the discovery. “Dominance?” your voice is more shaky than you wanted it to sound.
“I was hoping you could tell me. My guess is they were waiting there, but it still doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking past you and to the picture you are holding. You look back down as well, grateful you did not make eye contact, the idea of the intimacy of it alarming.
“If they were standing on it, that would make sense, but the angle doesn’t really fit. It seems as if they were waiting for them to get home, and they sat, swinging their legs, completely calm and casual about shooting this person,” you pause, mulling over your words before saying, “Maybe they even knew this person. The proximity to the counter could mean that the victim was comfortable enough to approach them, and that the victim was unaware of what was going to happen.”
He hums in agreement in your ear, and a feeling of satisfaction washes over you. Turning back around, you hand the photos to your professor and take a step back. 
“I think you may be right,” he says with a nod, a small smile again creeping onto his features. You make eye contact and keep it, somewhat entranced by it.
“I’m glad I was able to help,” you smile. “Thanks again, Dr. Barnes. Have a good night.”
You anticipate going back to classes on Monday, knowing that you have to attend Dr. Barnes’ lecture. You don’t know if anything will be different after the night you spent talking to your professor. Part of you knows that nothing should be different. While there are only a few years between you, you are still his student.
But part of you wants things to be different. The entire weekend, you could not get out of your head the image of his face so close to yours or the sight of him as he leaned back in his chair, legs casually falling open. 
Dr. Barnes is not in the lecture hall when you arrive for which you are grateful. You settle into your seat and wait for the lecture to begin by fiddling with your laptop. When your professor does come in, you notice that he combed his hair today, letting it fall neatly over his forehead. The plaid shirt he wears still doesn’t match his suit, but you find it charming. He slips his glasses on and begins teaching.
The whole lecture you try valiantly to focus on the subject, but you fail rather miserably, unable to think of anything but how you stood right where he is, your back a foot away from his chest with him humming in your ear. It is going to be a long term if this is how every lecture is going to go.
You are brought back to reality when Dr. Barnes makes eye contact with you. He smiles which you quickly reciprocate, then he turns around, gesturing to the screen before anyone notices.
It is definitely going to be a long semester.
Weeks go on with you and Dr. Barnes smiling at each other from afar, both of you knowing that you would be playing with fire if you do anything more than smile. But the longer you go simply smiling, the more you want to do something about it.
And one day, he does something about it. On your way out of the lecture hall, Dr. Barnes stops you, calling out your name. You walk over, anticipation coiling in your stomach.
“I’ve another case I’d like your opinion on. Do you have time tonight to take a look?” he asks you quietly so as to not draw the attention of the students still exiting the room.
“Yes. Here at 7:30?”
He nods, making a flash of eye contact which you return with a smile. 
You make your way to Dr. Barnes’ lecture hall, your stomach roiling with nerves. You have thought too much about him, fantasized a little often for you to not think about it when you talk to him. The soles of your shoes click on the tile as you walk the hallway. You take a deep breath and open the door.
Dr. Barnes is reclined behind his desk, crime scene photos in his hand as he flips through them intently. At your entrance, his head flicks up to find your figure approaching his desk.
“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says as he stands up. 
“Hi, yeah. It’s – yeah it’s no problem, Dr. Barnes,” you manage to get out, tripping over your words more than you would have liked. Another deep breath to collect yourself. “What can I do to help?”
He leans against the front of his desk and reaches behind him to grab the photos he was examining before. You take a few steps closer to grab them from his outstretched hand.
“A recent set of murders. It’s odd to say the least,” he starts, watching you intently as you study the photos. 
The scene is horrifying, blood smeared across the walls, not as blood spray or splatter, but in an image. A lamb. Your mind spins as you look through more of the pictures, each of them showing blood splashed on the walls. You wonder what the killer did in order to get that much blood. There is too much for it to have come from just one body.
“How many people were found dead?”
“Only one,” he answers, leaning in to help you find the image of the body heaped over the table. You can’t help but notice everywhere his body touches yours, how his breath flutters against your neck, but you cast those thoughts away to focus on the case at hand.
“There had to have been more. There’s too much blood,” you mumble as you cart through the images again, counting as you go. A beat passes as you take in the scene, contemplating before constructing ideas.
“What do you see?”
“In ancient religious practices, a lamb would be sacrificed and the blood would be sprinkled around seven times. There are seven places where the blood was thrown on the wall,” you pause to show him each one. You glance up at your professor who is looking on intently, urging you to continue. “Then you have the body placed on the table. It could be sacrificial. The lamb was supposed to be perfect. Without blemish. Maybe – maybe the killer saw this person as their perfect – their perfect lamb, as someone who would put them in favor with God. The sacrificial lamb is sacramental. Symbolic. Messianic. It’s an act of repentance. So what was the killer repenting from?”
A hum from Dr. Barnes pulls you out of your reverie and breaks your focus from the crime scene photos. You lean around his form to place the pictures back on his desk, your shoulder brushing against his arm. His eyes follow you before he brings a hand up to rub his eyes, almost like he is physically rubbing away the images.
“Do you think the killer knew the victim?” he asks quietly, bringing his hands down to meet your eyes.
“I think they could be family. Family or close friends. They were their savior,” you answer, matching his tone.
Dr. Barnes nods in agreement and in that moment, you can see that he looks like a man who is carrying the world on his shoulders. He slouches forward slightly, his hair strewn around his ears with bags under his eyes. It takes everything in you to not reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to rub a thumb across his lips as you have in your dreams.
Appalled by your own thoughts, you take a step back to give yourself space to halt that train of thought. The movement makes him stand, subconsciously trying to keep the close proximity between you. You don’t break eye contact, making the moment intimate. Intense.
“This case has been keeping me up at night,” he confesses as he brings a hand to run through his hair with a sigh, breaking eye contact. “I wonder where the other bodies are. I can’t seem to get my mind around it.” 
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you say in nearly a whisper. “You’re good at what you do.”
“Thank you for your help. It’s some really great insight you had.”
“It’s no problem, Dr. Barnes.”
“Bucky,” he says quickly, rushing it out like he knows he shouldn’t let it pass his lips.
“Bucky,” you repeat, trying the name out on your tongue. 
You then fall into easy conversation, learning more about each other. You discover that Bucky has a PhD in criminology as well, and that he used to be a field agent but decided to leave it to become a teacher at the academy. Part of you wants to ask why, but you figure that it isn’t a conversation he wants to have while still getting to know you. He asks about your life, your family, your education. He is interested in why and how you landed at the academy. You answer him honestly, not inclined to hide away as you normally do when people ask those questions.
Bucky is surprisingly sociable. Based on his reclusiveness when it comes to students, you were not expecting to hold such easy and fun conversation. It makes you want to spend the whole night chatting, joking, exploring. But you know you should not stay. 
When the conversation lulls, you glance at your watch and ask, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Bucky? I think I might head home.”
Before you can even register what is happening, he takes a singular step forward and leans in to meet his lips to yours. In shock, you stand limply, not sure how to respond. You can’t deny that you have thought about this moment for weeks, dreaming about it, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky. But you hadn’t expected it to happen tonight.
And before you have time to respond, he pulls away, opening his eyes to look at you with wide ones of his own.
“I’m sorry, I–”
You don’t acknowledge his apology, instead leaning in to kiss him again, only you are prepared for it this time. He responds immediately as his lips move slowly over yours, testing the waters. Your hands are still by your sides, but his come to settle in your hair and over your arm. His kisses are controlled and soft, not pressing for more than what you are willing to give. A sigh flutters from your nose which ghosts over his cheeks.
Breaking away for a second, you open your eyes and find his already looking at you. The both of you know that you are playing with fire. You are still his student, and he is your professor, but the feeling of his lips on yours overrules any rational thought at the moment.
You give a slight nod and he takes that as a green light to kiss you again. Bucky pulls you closer, and your hands find their way around his torso, snaking up into his hair. It is his turn to sigh at the action which causes satisfaction to roll down your back in waves that has you leaning further into the kiss, opening your mouth ever so slightly. He takes advantage and kisses you deeper. A soft moan escapes you at the feeling, followed by a shaky breath.
He pulls away, a triumphant smile playing at his mouth. 
“I’m not sorry,” he whispers.
“Me neither.”
He kisses you once more, chaste and short, but it carries more meaning than any of the other kisses. It tells you that he has thought about this, too. It wasn’t a spur of the moment, impulsive decision. And it tells you that he plans on doing it again.
You settle into a routine with Bucky. After class on Fridays, he stops you on your way out and quietly asks you to come back to look over a case or his lectures. You always nod and come back at 7:30. 
The unspoken truth of the need for secrecy looms over your blooming relationship, but you are almost spurred on by the illicitness of it all. You haven’t done anything more than kiss. You haven’t even interacted beyond the walls of the lecture hall. You both know that it is safest that way. 
The more time you spend together, the more you find yourself falling in love with Bucky. His quirks make you smile. The way he perks up when you walk through the door makes your heart flutter in your chest. You have never felt so valued by anyone before. He trusts your opinions. He respects your honesty. You admire his dedication to what he does. You find his quiet nature calming. 
The list of things you love about Bucky keeps you up at night as you replay scenes of kissing at his desk behind your eyes as you fall asleep. Bucky kisses you like you are ice cream on a sunny day, slow and hungry like he savors every second of your mouth on his. He never presses you for more, only going so far as to set you up on his desk, pulling your hips to his, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as you wind your fingers in his hair. He always sighs when you tug at it which gives you the opportunity to kiss at his neck, your chin always getting scratched by his stubble. 
You love the routine. However, it makes it hard to concentrate during the lectures since all you can think about when you look at his desk is how good his hands felt on your hips and how his lips were pressed to yours when you were propped up on the wood yourself.
The semester continues on following your routine. If anyone suspects anything, they don’t say. You can’t imagine that someone hasn’t picked up on the soft smiles he sends your direction during lectures, and stragglers leaving class late on Fridays must hear his whispers for you to come back. 
Steadily approaching the end of the term, you begin to question how long your routine will continue. You will no longer be Bucky’s student. Could you actually date? Would he want to? Is that what you want?
The familiar tug of nerves settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk to class with Bucky — Dr. Barnes if you were still professional, but you figure that his lips have kissed you a few too many times and in a few too many places for you to call him that. It is your last class in his lecture hall, meaning that beyond today, you are free to make a decision as to whether this is serious or not.
In your heart of hearts, you want this to keep going. You love how you feel around Bucky. While you have not said it out loud, you love him. You feel yourself aching to hear him say it, too. 
When you arrive in the room, Bucky is already there, nervously flipping through crime scene photos while running his hands through his hair, creating a rather haphazard mess on his head. He looks more anxious than usual, and it takes everything in you to not to stride to his desk and ask him what’s wrong. 
Instead, you brush past him, trailing a quick hand over his arm, hoping that it has a calming effect over him. His eyes flash to yours as you cast a look over your shoulder, smiling at him. He sends you a tight lipped smile back as his shoulders shrug down from their place beside his ears. 
From your seat, you watch Bucky pace around a bit, obviously concerned about something. You rub your palms over your thighs when you discover them clenched in worry. You wonder if his stress has anything to do with the reason you were nervous coming to class today — the talk you know is coming tonight. You figure it does when his eyes glance over at you every few minutes before beginning the lecture.
You find yourself becoming sentimental about the semester as you look around the room, taking in the feeling for the last time. If you and Bucky do decide to continue your relationship, you can never take one of his classes again. If you don’t continue to see Bucky, you doubt you will want to take one of his classes again. You will miss his funny side comments that come out of left field. You will miss his mismatched suits and disheveled hair. 
The sound of Bucky announcing the end of class breaks you out of your thoughts, and the shuffling of backpacks and feet brings you back to reality. A stream of students thank Bucky as they flow out of the classroom for the final time. You stall a minute, waiting for the throng to exit out the doors before approaching your professor.
“Hey, Bucky,” you say quietly, clutching your laptop to your chest. 
“Hey.”
You watch him lean against his desk, hands pressed to the edge of the wood. 
“How are you doing?” you ask the question that has been waiting to erupt since you entered the lecture hall an hour previous. “You seem nervous.”
A chuckle that comes out more as a sigh escapes him. “Yeah. I’m fine. I, uh, I just didn’t get much sleep last night. How are…how are you?”
“Wistfully contemplating the end of my time in your class,” you reply playfully, hoping that the happy tone will hide the melancholy you really feel about the idea.
This elicits a laugh from Bucky as he looks at you through his lashes — a look that always has your knees threatening to come out from under you. You take steps closer and set your laptop down on his desk, then place your hands on his shoulders, running them down his arms to settle in his hands.
“Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?” you ask, the words barely more than a whisper. You want to catch them in the air, afraid that your proposal to disrupt the routine will be rejected.
But Bucky smiles immediately, thinking for a moment before saying, “Why don’t I cook dinner?”
Your stomach flutters at the thought of watching him in the kitchen. You nod in response.
“7:30?”
“7:30,” you repeat before letting go of his hands to walk out the doors, throwing a smile over your shoulder as you go.
The drive to Bucky’s house is quiet but comfortable. About halfway through the trip, your hands link together, resting on your thigh. You talk lazily, asking questions about each others’ days since your morning lecture. There is something so calming about Bucky. You trust him. You love him.
Every once in a while, your eyes flick over to watch him drive, eyes intently focused on the road ahead. He can feel your gaze, so he sends a glance over to you with a soft smile playing on his lips. 
“What?” he asks when you don’t shy away from his eyes.
“Nothing, Buck. I just like being with you.”
“I do, too.”
The sweetness of his simple confession does more to your confidence than you ever thought possible. You feel comfortable around Bucky. You need only be yourself when you are with him, and hearing that same sentiment from him gives you hope that he wants this to continue just as much as you do.
You squeeze his hand, at which he laughs softly, squeezing yours back, brushing his thumb over the knuckles on the back of your hand.
Gravel crunching under tires and the faint sound of dogs barking indicates that you have arrived at your destination. You open the car door and follow Bucky to the front steps of a small house on the edge of town. A large open field is situated behind his house, neighbors nonexistent. Given Bucky’s personality, you are not surprised to discover that he lives alone, away from people, away from the city. 
A flash of nervousness pricks at your mind, as no one would be around if Bucky shows you that isn’t the guy you think he is. But you trust him, and you trust him enough to accept your fate if it does prove to be your downfall.
The door creaks open, and Bucky flicks on the light. Two big dogs come bounding to greet you both, circling his feet until he crouches down to give them the attention they are begging for. To see Bucky with his dogs makes your mind go fuzzy and warm, the tenderness of the scene eradicating your doubts from before.
“Charlie and Duke,” Bucky says, showing you which dog belongs to which name, rubbing each of them affectionately before standing and grabbing your hand.
“They’re adorable.”
“They’re good dogs.”
He leans in for a quick kiss, the domesticity of it causing your breath to catch in your throat. He pulls away smiling, then tugs you into the kitchen where he drags a chair out from the table for you to sit on.
“Sit,” Bucky says with mirth in his voice.
You laugh but do as you are told. 
“I was thinking of making steaks. Is that okay with you?”
“Sounds great.”
You watch Bucky make his way around the kitchen, obviously having done this a lot. He looks comfortable. He catches you staring, meeting your gaze head on, an easy smile adorning his mouth before asking, “What are you smiling at?”
“You. I like seeing you here,” you say quietly. 
“Not as much as I like seeing you sit at my table. I’ve thought about this a lot,” he admits with his back to you as he throws the steaks in the pan. “I like being around you. I’m more comfortable with you than anyone else. You make me feel — you make me feel normal. Most people don’t do that. They don’t — they don’t want to understand me. My old friends can only think about who I was before I quit the force. They don’t — they don’t want to like who I am now.”
The words spill out of Bucky before he can stop them, opening up to you in a way that he has not before. He has let you in here and there over the months you have been spending together in the lecture hall, but he has stayed rather private even then. Not sure what to say in response, you simply move from your place at the table to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your cheek on his back. You can feel him relax into your touch, and it is a comfort to you both.
“Bucky, I think I am in love with you,” you whisper into his shirt. His body tenses, the sizzling of the meat in the pan filling the silence. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to say something. Burying your face further into him, disappointment and embarrassment creeping in your stomach, settling heavily when he doesn’t say anything. When a minute that feels like an eternity passes in silence, you mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry.” 
You let go of Bucky and take a step back. He quickly takes the pan off the heat and whips around to face you, pulling you back to him, whispering your name. 
“I love you,” the words are sure and confident coming from his lips. “I know I do.”
He looks at you intently, not shying away from your eyes before leaning in and kissing you softly. You get lost in his kisses, the pounding of your heart racing at a steady quick beat. Bucky backs you into the counter where he cages you with his hands as you weave one of your hands into his hair, the other running up his spine.
“Stay the night,” he mumbles between kisses.
You pull away and nod, meeting his eyes again, kissing him once without breaking the contact.
Settling on his couch after laughing yourselves silly over the dinner table, Bucky is close behind you with bowls of ice cream in hand. He hands you a spoon before sitting down right beside you, pulling your legs to stretch over his lap. He runs a hand absentmindedly over your shins as the two of you eat your ice cream. 
“Why did you come talk to me that night?,” he asks between spoonfuls. “You didn’t really need my help. You knew everything I was telling you.”
You smile like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I did need your help,” you assert before admitting, “but I also just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”
The sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter the same way it does when he looks up at you from behind his desk. 
“Hey, not all my professors are attractive recluses who deserve a starring role in my nightly fantasies.”
“Oh, so you fantasize about me,” he presses, the smirk on his face unlike any expression you have ever seen on him. He looks smug, proud, teasing. It makes heat flash to your core.
You hum but it comes out more as a squeak, your focus turning intently on the ice cream melting in your bowl.
“Do you want to know what I’ve fantasized about you?” Bucky asks lowly, grabbing the bowl from your hands, causing your eyes to lift to his. You watch him set it on the floor. Your heart begins pounding again as he moves to climb over you, settling between your open legs.
“What have you fantasized about, Bucky?” you ask quietly, voice shaky.
You take a breath when he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You open your mouth to deepen it, and he takes advantage, his tongue pressing to your upper lip. The feeling has your hips rolling and sighs falling from your throat.
He pulls away to murmur into your neck, “Every time I would sit on my couch, I thought about laying you down and kissing you until you can’t remember your own name.”
Your eyes are screwed shut as you tug at his hair, his words forming pools of heat between your hips where his own apply pressure. Your words fail you, only a whimper escaping you. His lips move along your neck, working their way back to your mouth, giving due attention to the places on the way that have you squirming beneath him. You hands tug at his shirt to slip your fingers beneath the fabric, skimming up his back, scratching lightly.
His kisses become feverish at the feeling of your nails down his back. One hand hooks your knee to pull your form even closer to his, hips slipping into place. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, the slow circling of his hips against yours creating friction that has you moaning.
In one swift motion, his hands are gliding up your sides, taking your shirt with you. You lean up to help him before settling back down against the pillows. He sits on his heels to take his own shirt off which allows you to see him in the faint light casted by the lamp in the corner.
You notice a shining scar that extends from one hip to the other below his navel. Fingertips reach out to touch it, barely making contact before his own hand stills your movements. 
“Is this why you quit the force?” you ask barely above a whisper.
He only nods, his feelings of vulnerability silencing him. You aren’t disgusted by it. It doesn’t change how you see him. You don’t pity him. You are simply curious. And amazed at his strength. He survived whatever left him this scar.
“Can I see it?”
Bucky takes a fluttering breath through his nose then nods again. You climb to the floor, resting on your knees between his legs. You glance up at him and see his head lolling to the side as he looks down at you, eyes hazy and soft. His eyebrows are scrunched, letting you know that he is concentrated, but the dam of secrecy surrounding Bucky is breaking with every passing second.
Tentatively, you stretch a hand forward, your fingertips grazing the scar. His stomach flexes beneath your touch. 
No one has seen his scar since the doctor sewed him back up. He has a fear of pity. He knows that people won’t see him the same when they see the effects of what happened to him — of what was done to him. But he doesn’t see pity in your eyes. He sees awe and amazement. 
Without warning, you press your lips to his stomach, the intimacy of it rendering his mind blank. You hear him swear quietly which urges you to keep going. You kiss all along the scar, his hips, then upwards before you climb into his lap. You find his lips again and kiss slowly, surely, passionately.
“I love you, Bucky.”
“I love you, too.”
You share a few more kisses before he stands up, pulling you with him to his room. He fumbles through his dressers to find a shirt and pair of shorts for you to wear. He hands them to you, then rummages through the bathroom cabinets to find a new toothbrush for you to use.
You thank him after he says that he will meet you back at the bed. The calm and comfort of being with Bucky is undeniable. The domesticity of the night has your heart skipping beats. You quickly change and brush your teeth before making your way to his bed. Noticing books stacked on the nightstand on one side, you slip under the covers of the other, sighing contently when you settle in.
Bucky comes in a moment later with only sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He decided to not put a shirt back on, relishing in the freedom that being with you gives him. He doesn’t climb into bed immediately, but rather stands and looks at you for a moment, curled up in his sheets.
“What have you fantasized about here?” you ask teasingly, but your voice comes out thinner than you had intended. 
At your words, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He approaches the bed slowly, kneeling down beside you. 
“I want to know yours,” he says, his voice husky and low. You bite your lip, your eyes widening. A shaky inhale.
Soft kisses line the inside of your knee, trailing a path up your thighs. You let out a hitched moan when he places a kiss to your clothed core, your hands winding themselves in his hair. You tug slightly, inviting him to come up to the bed with you.
When he climbs up, you lean back, your shirt riding up over your stomach. Wordlessly, you pull his hands to your body, his calloused palms caressing the exposed skin. He runs his thumbs under your breasts, causing you to arch into his touch. Bucky can’t believe that you respond to him so keenly. He barely touches you and you are curving beneath him, aching for more. 
His lips find your neck, behind your ear, sucking gently. Your hands pull his hips to yours, rocking steadily into him. You suck in a breath, gathering the courage to grab one of his hands to lead it to where you want to feel him the most.
Bucky follows your lead without resistance, kissing you softly in an expression of consent. He helps you pull your shorts off, then presses two fingers to the wet patch on your panties. The pressure has your hips jutting into his touch, overwhelmed by the sensation when his fingers push the fabric to the side.
Your hips move in circles with his movements, his lips kissing you through it all. Moans slip and tumble from your mouth, leaving you hiccupping in pleasure. The cords in your stomach begin snapping when he speeds up his ministrations, your body contracting through your release.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers to you as he helps you come down from your high. 
Your eyes are crimped shut, but after a moment’s respite and a few encouraging kisses from Bucky, you come back to yourself. You open your eyes to find him watching you intently. You smile lazily then breathe, “Your turn.”
a/n: yayayay !! thanks for reading this !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :):) and here is my masterlist if you want to check out my other work ! and check out MY SLEEPOVER going on right now !!
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hischierswhore · 4 months ago
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FOR THE BETTER | chapter 2
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✰ warnings: mentions of alcohol, drunk jack hughes
✰ nat’s note: i’m back once again! thank u all for the love you have showed chapter 1, it’s truly appreciated.
✰ additional note: there are 2 insta posts that align with this chapter! click on the masterlist link below to view them 🤍
✰ masterlist
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february 24th 
“Sing that verse again” Julian said. He was one of the producers on your upcoming album, and you were currently recording the first single. 
“Break my heart & I swear I’m movin on, with your, favorite athlete!” You sang, trying to sound as melodic as possible. 
“Perfect!” Julian said as he removed his headphones and headed into the booth to go over some things with you. Jack, Luke & Quinn were all sitting on the couch nearby, watching you record the song. 
When you stepped back into the room with the boys, you wanted to know their thoughts. 
“Sooo do you guys like it?” You asked, afraid of what your brothers would say.
“I really like the chorus. Super vibey, you know?” Luke got up and started dancing a little before Quinn yanked him back down. 
“It’s got a good message. So far it’s my favorite” Jack said, to which you replied “It’s the only song I’ve recorded, Jack”
“Okay well it’s insanely good, Y/n/n. We’re very proud of you” Quinn smiled from his seat. 
“Thanks guys. Also don’t feel like you’re being held hostage in here. Feel free to go out and do your own thing. I’ll be fine” You gave the boys a light grin and each their own hug as they decided to head to the rink to get some practice in. 
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Later on that evening, after spending the entire day at the studio planning out concepts for a music video, you went back to the apartment you shared with your brothers. Quinn was leaving in the morning, as he had to go back to Vancouver. 
Yes, the breakup sucked and you wished you hadn’t gone through it at all, but you were doing a lot better than you thought you’d be. Spending most of your free-time writing new songs or recording melodies that pop into your head at random points throughout the day. 
Your brothers were always concerned for you, seeing as this was your first true heartbreak, but you were handling it better than they thought. You seemed happier, which your brothers all missed because you were always so full of energy. 
Just as you were writing in your room, someone had knocked on your door, presumably Jack letting you know that dinner was ready. You placed your journal down and made your way to open the door. Jack stood there, admiring the doorframe as he waited for you. 
“First, dinner’s almost ready. Secondly, there’s a gala next month that all the players must attend. They said we could each bring a plus one, and I know you haven’t really been out in a while since you’ve been writing so if you want to come with me & Luke, you’re more than welcome to” Jack smiled at you, truly hoping you’d say yes because he hated seeing you locked up in your room and avoiding social interaction. 
You’d lived in New Jersey for a while now, but you never made the effort to meet your brothers’ teammates. It would be a nice change of scenery. 
“Why not, sounds nice” You smiled as you accepted Jack’s invitation. 
“As long as it’s not within the next week because I’ll be filming the new music video”
“No no it’s not. I think it’s like the 16th or something”
“Okay great. I’ll free my schedule”
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march 16th
After much assistance from your stylist, you decided to wear a black sheer Givenchy dress. It adorned your features perfectly, and you felt like the most stunning woman in the world. 
Due to your brothers being actual players on the team, they were required to walk the red carpet. You were just behind them, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. Afterall, it was your first time meeting the team so naturally you wanted to set a good first impression. You took some solo pictures and made your way into the venue.
As you followed your brothers so they could introduce you to everyone, one man in particular caught your eye from across the room. He had a white dress shirt on, his suit jacket discarded somewhere in the room. He made eye contact with you over his glass of wine before directing his attention back to the man infront of him. 
Your mind stayed on the mystery man all night, eyes scanning the room every now and then in hopes of making eye contact once more but unfortunately, he’d disappeared from your line of sight. Turning your attention back to Luke and his teammate Dawson, trying to actually make friends with a few of these guys. 
Just when you were about to head to the restroom, you felt an arm sling around your shoulders. You turned to find Jack, who appeared to be a tad bit drunk, with 2 men following right behind him. 
“Y/n, this is Jesper & Nico. Nico & Jesper, this is Y/n” Your brother slurred. Jesper reached out and you shook his hand. Jesper was extremely sweet and easy to talk to. When you looked over at the other name, your heart dropped. It was the man you’d made eye contact with earlier. 
“Pleasure to meet you” He said, his voice nearly making you fall to your knees. The damn accent literally made you weak in the knees for a moment. You were lost in his eyes for a moment, taking in all his features before being pulled back into reality.
You noticed his hand was out, just as Jesper’s was, for you to shake. Your face flushed bright pink the moment your hands made contact. You looked to the ground in attempt to hide your blush at the simple action. You smiled at the man before excusing yourself, desperately needing to go the the restroom to get yourself together. 
The second you were behind closed doors, you braced yourself on the sink, holding onto it for support. This felt completely different from what you’d felt in the past. You had butterflies in the pit of your stomach from the second you walked in. 
This couldn’t be happening, at least not now. You’d spent the past month and a half putting up walls, making it extremely difficult for you to trust anyone, and Nico waltzes into your life and makes them crumble within seconds. 
You didn’t want a relationship right now, but Nico made that extremely difficult. All with just a single look. 
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taglist: @lovelynikol16 @dancerbailey3 @ashloveshockey
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timidpumpkin · 2 years ago
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Little Light (Stucky x reader)
Part 4: Retribution
Pairing: Dark!Stucky x f!reader
Word count: 5.8k
Summary: While you're left feeling hopelessly confused, it's clear to Steve and Bucky that you have a lot to learn about being their good little girl.
Warnings for this part: Dark!Stucky, Daddy!Stucky, Forced age regression, DDLG themes, Female reader, Manipulation, Violence against reader, Being tied up, Hints to sexual themes, This one's dark folks, Mean Steve and Bucky, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI
As always, lemme know if I missed any!!
Notes: Thank you to everyone who has supported me since I posted Part 1 many many months ago. I love you all and appreciate your support and kind words more than I can express. I'm super nervous to post this one so i'm really hoping everyone likes it. ^.^
Tagging: @ppatricia34me @canyonmooncreations @haleyhunwritess
(lemme know if you wanna be added to my taglist!)
P.S. Please feel free to comment/ask questions as they are a million times appreciated as I ALWAYS love to read you guy's thoughts!
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(pictures are not my own)
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Warm. 
The cozy temperature surrounding you beckons you to sink further into its comfortable drowsy feeling. It feels nice–good. It’s comfortable as you pull at the blanket wrapped around you to cover the cold tip of your nose. 
When you do though, adjusting as you move, adrenaline rushes through you. 
All sense of tranquility leaps out of your body to be replaced by standing hairs and cold blood as you realize you’re not napping in your bed. 
No–you’re napping on your capture’s lap. 
Hazy memories from just a bit ago replay in your mind. The picture they paint is fogged up by an overcast of intense emotion. 
Worry. Fear. Shock.
The panic you felt is now an almost disembodied ghost, content with hiding in the closet as it knows you can’t handle its presence anymore. 
Not right now. 
It would be too much. Your body and mind having already fought till every single cell within you is doused with exhaustion. 
The wispy wave of relief you felt–feel–now molds into another feeling. It rips the comfort your body so desperately clings to at this moment of peril and unkindly reminds you that you shouldn’t have let your guard down. 
But you did. 
You–as you see it–involuntarily allowed the very person, no, the very people who have snatched you, took you from your, albeit, unexcitingly ordinary–but otherwise stable–life, to soothe the very predicament they have forced you in.
As you recall their hushed voices anchoring you, steady hands smoothing your trembling ones, and sweet comfort that you somehow found in their pacifying of you, the one emotion you painfully feel now is…embarrassment. It aligns with disgrace you feel within yourself for giving into…this. 
You stiffen, body frozen in place as you become acutely aware of your situation again. Both the larger reality of being held hostage, and the other–ever so slightly smaller issue–that currently places your head nestled right in your captor’s lap. Bucky’s lap.
This is what you found so comforting in your sleep state? 
Head wedged exactly between his legs, resting heavily against his lower half. Your hands curled up. You stare at them. They lay right in front of your view. Almost too close to your vision where you watch them resting, palms nestled down between his thighs.
But it’s not just your position. It’s his too. One of his arms is resting against you, draped over your side, his hand sprawled just at your navel, adding to the welcoming warmth you felt upon waking up. The other, languidly stroking your head with his thumb. 
It’s an intimate position–close–in more ways than one. It’s not one you should be in, it’s not one you’re in voluntarily–despite what your last memories torturously remind you.
“You get enough sleep there, princess?” Bucky’s voice calls. You haven’t spoken a word but he must be able to tell you’re awake. Whether it’s from how your muscles have tensed, or the way you’ve been holding your breath since, is unknown to you.
You can’t see him. Your eyes are too intensely focused on how your hands rest with faux intimacy at his thighs and the realization of how long you’ve been in this position makes your lungs feel as if they don’t work anymore.
“You really scared Dada you know,” he moves his hand from your navel to caress your arm as he lends forward a bit to get a better view of your face. Still, frozen in place, you don't meet his gaze. Your self-preservation response only knows how to freeze now as you don’t move, but keep looking forward, completely unsure of how to tackle the situation you’re in. 
Waves of memory come back to you. It’s blurry as you remember how scared you were. You remember how Steve calmed you. How his voice led you to placidity. How could that be? It’s what led you to the position you're in now.
Vulnerable. Again. And yet, you let it happen. 
But you didn’t, no–you couldn’t–you don't remember exactly with anxiety fogging up your memory. 
You knew one thing for sure; you couldn’t give in. 
“Not going to ignore Daddy now, are you?” Bucky questions, taking his hand to your chin and facing it upwards so you’re looking up to him. Somehow, it’s still shocking how large he looks. You feel as though you've somehow been shrunk down a third of your size when looking at him. His hand is mostly just ghosting your face, guiding it up as he looms over you, one cheek smooshed against his navel now as his hand remains on the other.
“Hmm?” he questions, his pointer finger tapping methodically on your cheek, prompting you to answer. “Don’t tell me you forgot your manners already now, doll.”
“I-I wanna go home,” You try to sit up, not exactly sure why you said that, as recent events have told you already it’s not what he wants to hear. But you’re just not sure about anything at the moment. He looks at you with a displeased look, face dropping into an unkind frown.
His hold on you tightens; his forearm presses down on your chest lightly, silently reminding you that trying to move would be a bad idea. You don’t fight it, knowing you wouldn’t be able to succeed in getting up even if your life depended on it.
“You are home.” he declares curtly, before swiftly picking you up, dizzying you as he turns you around. You feel as though you’ve barely blinked before you’re in the new position. Your back is to his stomach as he situates you on his lap. His right arm wraps snugly around your waist, firmly securing you against his body. His left hand reaches in front and clasps around your cheeks, the cool metal instantly raising goosebumps on your once warm face as he slowly tilts your head back and forth for you, forcing you to look around the room. 
“You see all this?” he lilts with a scolding undertone. “This is your home. All of it.” he pauses before–somehow–squeezing you closer to him. He brings his head to the side of your ear. His chest flush against your back, engulfing your body, and encapsulating your very being with how he maintains his grip on your face. His breath dances lightly against your ear as he speaks, adding to the chilling feeling overtaking your insides.
“Now what would you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little baby?” He speaks in a low, hushed tone. Not a sweet one–like the hushed subdued one Steve used on you just hours ago–No, Bucky’s tone is polar to that. It’s mocking, and sardonic as you can almost feel the smirk gracing his face without even looking at him. It’s as if he’s asking the most rhetorical question known to man. “Hmm?” 
You feel your own breathing pick up. It becomes evident with how every millimeter your chest moves, your lungs have to fight against the pressure of Bucky’s heavy arms around you. Your mind is blank as fright starts to fill it instead. How were you supposed to answer that? 
When you take too long to respond, Bucky promptly pinches at your side and simultaneously squeezes your cheeks harder, causing a retaliatory yelp out of you. 
“Ah! I-I don’t know!” you squirm around at the pain that certainly doesn’t help you think. 
He promptly covers your mouth with a shush, his sizable metallic hand swallowing up your face as you squeak dully now into his solid palm. 
“No yelling now, doll.” He turns your face towards him so he can look at you as he speaks. He glances quickly at the closed bedroom door before looking back at you. “Answer Daddy’s question.” He directs, “I know you’re a smart girl.” he grins at you, and though–in most contexts–that would sound like a compliment, his tone is decidedly condescending as he continues. “But I’ll repeat my question, just in case my silly little girl forgot.” he smiles snidely at you for a brief moment before continuing. “What do you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little girl?” He says the question more slowly this time, eerily calm but just as patronizing as he goes.
You stare at him with wide eyes as he carefully removes his hand from your mouth. He doesn’t have to speak the words as his eyes alone tell you not to yell again. His fingers remain on your face, retaking their previous position of gripping your chin as he looks at you expectantly.
“...home…” you breathe meekly, voice almost cracking as you do, hoping that was the right answer. 
“Good girl,” he roughly pats at your cheek with a slightly more authentic smile. “that’s exactly right.” he praises. You then hear some movement coming from the bedroom. Bucky glances that way before speaking to you again with a stern glare in his eye. “Now when Dada comes in here, you won't say any of those silly little thoughts, will you?” he asks presumptuously. You shake your head agreeably, and when Bucky’s head tilts with a clench of his jaw, you answer promptly out loud.
“Yes, Daddy” you quiver. He smiles at you, and as if on cue, Steve emerges from the door. There's a towel around his neck and he ruffles it around his hair before spotting you, his face lighting up when he does.
“Hi there angel,” he beams and leans down to you, instantly taking in the sight in front of him. 
Your adorable frame sitting atop his partner's lap. You looked so perfect right there. As if you were the last puzzle piece missing his entire life, now fitting together so seamlessly that it just looks like a painting. A beautiful one. Steve isn’t sure how they went without you before. Your soft face still holds a frayed look. His poor girl. He was hoping a little bit of rest would ease your frazzled little mind.
“You feeling a bit better after your nap?” Steve asks with a loving tone as he carefully picks you up from Bucky’s lap. He situates you so that you are on his hip, one arm supporting your bottom with legs wrapped around his side as he guides your arms around his neck. You fit so nicely around him like this. He almost wishes he could stop time and freeze this moment forever. Being able to hold you like this, he’s never felt so whole, so complete. You feel tense in his arms, but he knows one day…that won’t be the case. You’ll lean fully in, wholly relying on and giving yourself to them both. He’s eager for every moment leading to it and each subsequent instant after. 
Steve’s cold and wet hair tickles your arms. Being so close, you can’t help but notice the crisp comforting aroma that emits from his warm skin. 
For some reason, you look to Bucky as if he holds the answer to Steve’s question. He just glares at you with a slight scowl that dares you to misbehave before standing up after too long of silence on your part. 
“She’s still feeling a bit confused.” Bucky caresses you, palm enveloping the side of your face. “Huh, doll?” 
“Awh…” Steve joins in on stroking your face by soothing the back of your head. “well that’s okay angel. Babies get confused so easily.” he says with that underlying patronizing but sweet tone he uses. “Why don’t you let Dada check you, huh?” he asks while looking you up and down. You then feel all blood draining from your face as your eyes go wide, having no idea what he means by that. 
You look between him and Bucky frantically as Steve gently grabs one of your hands from behind his neck. You instinctively try pulling away but his grip tightens before you’re able to. 
“Now now, don’t be scared,” Steve assures sweetly, a stark contrast to the death grip on your hand. “Dada just needs to look at those pesky little marks we had to leave on you last night,” he explains while unraveling you from him and setting you back down on the couch where he kneels in front of you. Your body trembles in anticipation–for what exactly, doesn’t matter. 
You can’t control it as he diligently peels your socks off and rolls your leggings up to look underneath. He takes his time tracing the deformed marks with his fingertips, lifting up your ankles as he goes before making his way to your arms. He tugs on them gently in front of you and repeats his previous examination as if he’s mapping out every little laceration. “You don’t want any more of these…do you, babygirl?” Steve lilts, an ever so slightly threatening tone lacing his otherwise calm voice as he presses his fingers down, digging just harshly enough into where a bruise must be forming and causing you to jolt at the pain.
“Ah!-n-no!” you yelp pitifully quick at the discomfort.
“No…what?” Steve prods with false grace before pressing harder into your skin.
“N-no Dada!…ah!...please.” you shakily breathe the last word with a plea, pathetically pulling on your arms that don’t move an inch under his hold.
“Good girl,” he praises with a mischievous smile, and unclenches his painful grip, but doesn’t let go completely, instead, keeping a firm hold on you. 
He steadily lifts your wrists up…to his lips. They ghost your skin as he glints at you with a soft smirk before placing slow…slow kisses along the marked-up lines. 
Warm lips meet the welts that are painted all across and up your arms from where you were bound–corporal reminders of what disobeying meant–he trails each one of them, dragging his lips and dousing each inch of burning skin with tender kisses, his grip remaining its powerful hold so you remain immobile. 
When he makes his way to your upper arm, you physically resist from full-on screaming. A quick glance to Bucky with your sorrowful eyes reveals no mercy from him. He just glares at you, a deadpan look on his face but a teasing smirk in his eyes that dares you to make a noise. 
Steve lifts his head up to face you after planting his last kiss on your upper arm, just a hair's breadth from your face. Your head has already pushed itself back as far as it’ll go as the rest of your body is ensnared by his that hovers atop yours. Thick air surrounds you as your trembles turn to full-on shaking, watching him as his eyes don’t even meet yours. His blown pupils are intensively fixated on your lips now.
They look so soft.
Time itself seems frozen, all except a slow-motion icy droplet that falls from the tips of his hair. It lands atop soft cotton, dampening the fabric on your chest that ripples chills throughout you. He follows it, dark eyes lowering to where sensitive skin is hidden by the dainty onesie Bucky dressed you in earlier. You feel heat taking over the arctic sensation within you as he looks at your body with what you can only prescribe as desire–want.
But to your–very minuscule–relief he looks back up to your eyes, and gives you a quick smile, before leaning back on his knees again in front of you with a satisfied smile adorning his face.
“Might take a while for those to heal up,” he remarks, “but don’t worry, Daddy and I will give them lots of kisses to help them heal.” he smiles at you. 
“What do you say, doll?” Bucky speaks up, crossing his arms. 
A confused and worried look that causes your eyebrows to furrow comes over your face, unsure of what he wants when you’ve barely gotten your heart to stop pounding from the previous predicament.
Bucky decides–for now–he’ll key you in. Mostly because he doesn’t like seeing his Stevie all upset when you don’t do as you were told. 
He mouths a “thank you” with a cock of his head motioning towards Steve below him. 
“Th-thank you…D-dada” you squeak, voice uncontrollably shaky. 
“Oh, such a good girl. My good little girl,” Steve beams at you before standing up. “Oh…poor thing,” he remarks while looking down at your trembling form. “You must be freezing,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dada will go get you a sweater. Stay right here,” he instructs before trailing off. 
When he comes back, there's more than just an extra garment in his hand. 
“Now later you can play upstairs all you want, but right now,” he speaks while setting down a few colorful-looking books and a box of crayons on the coffee table. “Daddy and I need to watch you and make sure you stay safe,” He then motions for you to move your arms up so he can put the sweatshirt he brought for you on. He carefully moves your arms and head through the holes and then leads you to the coffee table. “You can color as long as you like, angel, just make sure to tell us if you need anything, like water…or juice, okay?”
You nod your head complacently at him while he holds your hand looking down at you.
“Okay-I mean-I-yes…Dada” you fumble before kneeling down on the carpet yourself in front of the variety of coloring books. 
You don���t want to color. But–genuinely–what choice do you have? You could protest, but it wouldn’t lead anywhere beneficial. 
You scan the playful books in front of you, trying to find some solace in the fact that maybe focusing on this would at least mean less nerve-wracking interactions with…them. 
It shouldn't matter–which picture you settle on–with your brain still rattled from before, only you can’t help but feel choosy about the drawing you pick. You flip through the books, dog-earing the ones that pique your interest before settling on a foresty scene that depicts two large sleeping wolves and a little rabbit nestled right in the middle. 
For some perplexing reason, the crayon box decides it doesn’t want to be opened by your frail fingers. Steve quickly notices your frustrated struggle with it and instructs you to hand it to him so he can open it for you. You groan at the box and mutter something about how you ‘got it.’ 
You don’t see his eye squint and eyebrow raise as he watches you fumble with it for a moment longer, but you do feel him taking the box from your hands. 
“I don’t want you hurting those precious little fingers of yours now,” He smoothly opens the box and hands it back to you with a pet to your head. 
At some point, Bucky notices your tired posture and offers you a pillow to sit on before moving the coffee table closer to the couch so you can rest your back on the cushiony sofa. He moves it effortlessly as if the table wouldn’t break your back if you tried to move it. 
You mumble an assenting “thank you daddy” to which Bucky responds. “You’re welcome, sweet girl” with a wink and you withhold from sticking your tongue out at him.
Either one or both of them remain in the room with you for the rest of the evening, checking on you every so often. You attempt to keep your attention on remaining within the lines when you color, but you can’t help the way your unnerved hands still shake, causing you–to your annoyance–to occasionally strike outside the lines. 
By the time the sun has long set, and the only thing illuminating the paper in front of you is warm artificial light, you find yourself yawning with your head sideways on the table as you color. Whiffs of savory smells dance through your nose as Bucky has been in the kitchen for the last little bit preparing dinner.
“Getting sleepy babygirl?” Steve asks, peering down at you and your drawings. You shrug your shoulders, unsure of which answer would allow you the most leniency. 
“Oh, that one is just perfect,” he remarks while bending over and picking up the forest scene you colored first. It was hidden amongst other drawings that you had shuffled to the side. He holds it up and takes a good look at it. “You did such a good job,” he compliments. “I think this one deserves a place on the fridge” he boasts.
You turn your head back and watch in curiosity as he really does make his way to the kitchen and secures it with a little magnet. He stands back and smiles in satisfaction while you go back to coloring, feigning that you never even noticed the proud expression radiating off his body, and positively pretending that your insides didn’t go soft for a brief moment watching him. 
Steve and Bucky chatter while setting the table. You try to tunnel in on their voices but you can’t exactly make out what they’re saying as they speak quite lowly to each other. 
Steve makes his way to you and takes your hand to guide you to the table. He sets you in the seat furthest away from the door as they both sit rather closely to you–practically trapping you in. You poke at your otherwise appetizing plate as you have little desire to eat with your stomach still turned in tangled knots. 
They both encourage you to eat throughout, but you only manage to get a few bites down. Neither of them look particularly happy with you and your full plate. Nevertheless, they stop pushing after a bit and share a knowing look that you can’t make out the meaning of. 
You huff a quiet sigh of relief when they take your plate and start cleaning the kitchen, silently feeling as though you won this trivial round of control.
Bucky catches you from the corner of his eye as you take it upon yourself to get out of your chair. He tenses, preparing to snatch you before you can move until he realizes you’re only going to the living room, opposite of where the front door is. He decides to just watch you for a few moments as you go back to coloring with criss-crossed legs.   
Innocent little thing. His naive little doll shading away, having not a clue in your pretty little head of how erroneous it was to make your own decisions like that. It really was much too soon for you to truly understand what consequences will come when trying to think for yourself. He can’t exactly blame you though. His poor little baby had to do it for so long before they found you. It’s probably why you’re benignly coloring away with not an idea in your head of what’s really in store for your life here. Such a sweet, sweet little girl they had. All to themselves. Forever now.
He observes how you ferociously analyze and juxtapose the colors before you, even testing them on other miscellaneous paper before choosing the right one for the job. 
He already knows you better than you can even comprehend. He knows you’ve likely already thought you’ve gotten away with it.
“What do you think you’re doing little girl?” Bucky’s scolding voice startles you, causing you to jump a little in your spot. After just a second, he roughly yanks you up by your arm, spinning you around to face him as he holds you. “Did Daddy tell you you could leave the table? Hmm? Did Dada?” he fumes, the sudden escalation in action and tone making you want to just cry. 
“I-I-” you fumble, squirming uncomfortably below him. “I thought-”
“Oh I don’t think you were thinking anything in that silly little head of yours,” he chastises while pinching one of your cheeks harshly with his free hand. “And did you really think you could get away with not eating?”
“Ah!-” you fight, struggling against him, confused and disoriented on why he’s suddenly being so harsh when you thought you were off the hook. 
“Hey-hey, it’s okay,” you hear Steve speaking up behind him. “Let me talk to her Buck,” he says, allowing Bucky to let go of your arm and cheek. You tearfully rub at your hurt cheek while Steve kneels down to your level. “Sweet girl…remember yesterday when daddy gave you apple juice?” he asks, circling his hand behind your ear and gently cupping the cheek that Bucky previously inflicted harshly. You nod smally, glancing away around the room as you recall the unfond memory of being bottle-fed against your will. “Good, then you should know that little girls need their nutrients. And that means no skipping dinner,” he explains with a kind voice that makes you feel as if he's quite literally talking to a child.
“I-okay…Dada” you add, grateful for Steve at least being gracious enough as to not yell at and pinch you like Bucky just was. 
“Good girl,” he smiles at you before telling you to sit tight on the couch while he goes to get your dinner. You sit there, a bit perplexed on how he planned on giving you a meal when you’re pretty sure you saw Bucky scrape the remnants of your food into the trashcan. 
Steve returns with no plate in hand and sits a bit away from you, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion until you see it. 
You watch in horror as he reveals a milky white bottle that he shakes in his hand while speaking to you.
“Come here,” he beckons, patting his spacious thigh. You grimace at the granule liquid that swirls around in the bottle, not unlike the one Bucky used on you yesterday. If you didn't know better–which you don’t–you’d say it quite literally looks like baby formula.
“Uhm…I just…” you trail off, trying to come up with a reason, any reason not to be literally bottle-fed like you were yesterday. “I’m-I’m really not hungry-my-my stomach hurts,” you reason clumsily, but truthfully as well since the only thing filling your stomach right now is queasiness. Most of it coming from your situation, but the grainy texture swirling around in the bottle certainly doesn’t help your appetite either. “And-and I can just eat the other stuff,” you add frantically while looking back to the kitchen and wringing your hands.
“Now this is going to help my sweet girl feel a lot better and sleep real tight,” Steve remarks, completely ignoring your words and requests. 
“I-I said I'm not hungry.” you say a bit louder, but with a mild tone as to not sound too combative. 
“And I said this will help you sleep,” he asserts while dabbing the tip of the bottle on his wrist. “Now come sit on Dada’s lap,” he demands while patting his thigh again. You shake your head while subtly scooting away from him. 
“Mmm-mmm” you hum a no while sliding back even further. “Please, I don’t wan-”
“Did Dada ask what you wanted?” he cuts you off with a cock to his head at you. “No,” he shakes his head, answering his own question patronizingly. “I didn’t. You don’t get to decide what’s good for you. Only Daddy and I know that. Now I won’t ask again. Come here. Now.” he insists sternly. You debate quickly in your head, weighing out your limited options. When you still sit there not moving an inch, Steve sighs and reaches for you. He grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.
“No!” you say in response to the action. He’s not necessarily yanking or being particularly rough, but without thinking, you push back at him, your free hand overshooting and accidentally hitting his shoulder. Of course, it’s like you’ve hit a brick wall, the small action hurting your wrist much more than it likely hurt him at all. But something about it felt…cathartic. And something inside you just…snaps. 
You had played nice all day, letting them hold you, touch you, kiss you. Hell–you even sat on the floor for hours and colored while wearing a onesie. And now he wanted to bottle feed you actual formula. You had to draw the line. 
You couldn’t give in. The silent promise you made to yourself earlier rings in your head. You weren’t going to drink this stupid bottle.
Steve still has you in his grasp and is pulling you closer to him so that you can be in his lap. Only, you take this opportunity to fight. Hard. 
With all the strength you have, you wrench yourself back. Steve quickly encapsulates both your hands, making you feel as though you’ll sooner break your own wrists before you ever successfully free yourself from his grip. You take it upon yourself to switch strategies, maneuvering yourself into a position where you just start kicking at him feverishly. It felt childish. It looked childish. But you didn’t care right now. You weren’t going to play along any longer. 
You realize halfway through your nonsensical thrashing fit that Steve is likely just letting you play this out before he decides he’s had enough. He decisively stands up, dragging your combative form with him as he roughly swings you up to throw you over his shoulder. You still fight him, your flailing is joined with nonsensical shrieks as you lash out on him physically and verbally. Steve holds you down atop him firmly while hauling you upstairs. Before you realize it, you’re roughly tossed down into a mattress. The otherwise compliant spread hurts you on impact from the height you fall from. Your swirling vision from being upside down and lack of oxygen in your lungs from screaming leaves you disoriented until your dazed eyes focus on structured parallel bars. 
Steve’s thrown you into the very crib he showed you just hours ago. 
“That’s just for when you’re feeling extra little,”
You instantly try to stand up only for Steve to effortlessly push you back down, sending you to roughly bounce on your bottom. You clumsily try to regain your balance and breath while Steve reaches for something besides the crib. Before you know it, Steve’s grabbed both your hands and starts heatedly tying them together. Tightly. He ensnares your fingers together and weaves the rope around every inch of your digits up to the middle of your forearm, completely restraining the hands that fought him. 
You try getting up again only to find it’s surprisingly hard to move with your hands bound in front of you. 
He mutters to you something about ‘not moving’ while making his way to the end of the crib. He abrasively yanks both of your legs down to the edge of the caged mattress and begins tying those together too. You flail hopelessly, hurling unkind words at him while he secures your ankles to the bars, completely immobilizing the legs that were just unabashedly kicking at him.
When you finally catch a glimpse of Steve’s face, his expression is unforgiving. Furrowed eyebrows highlight his intense dark focus as veined arms secure you to the crib.
Steve straightens himself up and towers over you from beside the crib. He just watches you until you decide to give up on fighting, realizing you can’t free yourself from your binds. Your anger slowly turns to just pure sorrow, as you find yourself crying hot tears into your already burning face. You murmur pointless cries asking over and over again to just be let go…
“Angel…” Steve says softly, his features appearing less angered now, but still unhappy nonetheless. “I’m going to give you one more chance,” he kneels down, leveling himself with you from outside your confines. He reaches through the bars and caresses your rope-covered hands. “If you do what Dada says, then I might go easy on your punishment,” he slides his hands up, open-palmed, slowly inching his way to your face. He lingers on your throat for a moment too long before laying his hand across your cheek. “But that’s only if you stop being a bad girl…is that what you want?” he asks patronizingly, with a cock to his head, faux sympathy lining his tone. “You want Dada to treat you like a bad girl?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, heavy tears pitifully falling as Steve watches you. He doesn’t catch them as he awaits your answer that doesn’t come. 
He then tries to give you the bottle from before again but you only resist. Shaking your head and crying profusely while mumbling sorrowful nonsense.
Steve sighs, and hangs his head. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you like this. He wants to hear you laugh. The same laugh he heard over anything else the first night he found you. He wants to see you smile. The same way you beamed at him that night he helped you find your way back. He wants to draw you close when you fall asleep next to him. The same way he’s watched you fall asleep all by yourself for months. He wants to replace the teeny little thumb you always stick in your mouth when you think no one is watching with his. He knows you want this. He knows you need this. 
But it’s obvious his poor girl just doesn’t understand that yet. 
Steve knows babies have a hard time listening when throwing tantrums anyway...  
For now, if you won’t listen, he’ll just have to show you. 
“My sweet girl…” Steve grabs your face, turning it towards him. “You just won’t learn unless Dada shows you, huh?” he releases your face dismissively and stands up. 
“If you want to act out…” he speaks while reaching across the crib above you, 
“and think you’re a big girl…” he lifts something weighty that’s attached to the top of the crib, 
“that’s fine,” parallel bars intrude your vision of Steve from above you, 
“But this is what happens when you act like a bad girl.” Steve’s voice turns more ireful with every word he speaks, as he works his way around the crib, latching multiple locks together that you hadn't noticed before with increasingly aggressive force. 
“You get treated like one. Bad girls get left all alone by themselves without Dada. If you really want Dada to let you go. Fine. You’ll stay right here until you understand what it means to listen.” he slams the last latch shut.
You barely have time to process his words while your wobbly vision interprets what’s happening above you. By the time you comprehend that there’s a top to this ‘crib’ that Steve has locked you in, he’s already left the room, truly isolating you.
Anguished sobs that were falling on deaf ears during Steve’s spiel to you now meet the equally deaf silence of the room itself. 
The only sound that accompanies you now is your own cries, echoing back pitifully to you from the horizontal bars above…
633 notes · View notes
fluentmoviequoter · 11 months ago
Text
Undo It
Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader
Summary: You get abducted on your way home and won't talk to anyone after you're saved. Deacon vows to undo all the damage done to you.
Warnings: angst, descriptions of injury/threats/torture, SWAT!reader is abducted and held hostage, Deacon gets very protective, fluff.
Word Count: 5.2k+ words
A/N: One scene in this is inspired by Criminal Minds episode "Riding the Lightning" (1x14). I also don't know how to play poker, so I kinda rushed through that. This is completely self-indulgent; the idea came to my mind while watching season 3 of SWAT and I had to write it. Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! :)
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“Two more women have been reported missing from central Los Angeles. The Los Angeles Police Department has not yet commented on whether the recent missing persons reports – of which there have been sixteen in as many days – are connected.”
Deacon mutes the television as Hicks enters. 
“They’re all over us,” Hicks mutters. “But that’s not why I’m here. We got an anonymous tip from one of Luca’s neighbours. There’s a drug buy going down around the corner from his house. You up for it?”
“Who called in the tip? Same guy as last week?” Luca interjects.
“Probably.”
“We’re in. Worst-case scenario, it’s another false alarm,” Hondo says.
“That’s the worst-case scenario?” you repeat. “What’s your idea of a good case scenario, walking into the middle of a drug buy?”
“My arrest record is lookin’ a little thin. Let’s roll,” Hondo teases, patting your shoulder as he walks by.
You roll your eyes, smiling at Deacon as you fall in line behind him. Deacon puts himself on your team for the breach, and you find yourself tucked behind him as he enters a bedroom.
“L.A.P.D., on the ground!” he yells.
You follow him in, placing handcuffs on the two men inside. Hondo and Tan clear the other side of the house while Chris and Street enter from the back. No other suspects are inside, but there is a bathroom filled with drugs.
“Looks like you forgot to flush,” Hondo taunts as he raises a small plastic bag.
Once back in Black Betty, you remove your helmet and lean against Deacon’s side. You keep your head up, and the touch isn’t visible to Tan or Chris across from you, but Deacon welcomes it.
“Need a ride home?” Deacon asks as he offers a hand while you exit Black Betty.
“No, I’m going to walk. I could use the air. Thank you though,” you reply.
“It’s getting late,” Deacon argues.
“I’ll be okay, I promise, Deac.”
Deacon watches you go and considers following you to ensure you get home safe, yet when you promise to call Chris when you get home, he decides he’ll text you later to confirm everything is alright.
✯✯✯✯✯
The last block separating you from your house seems darker than usual. Speeding up, you reach for your back pocket to pull your phone out. None of your team members would mind staying on the phone until you get home, but your mind immediately goes to Deacon. He’d not only answer but probably be in his car before you finished telling him you were concerned or uneasy. Once your phone is in your hand, you watch as someone steps out of the shadows.
“Evening,” you mutter, nodding once as you step to the side.
“It’s a good one now,” he responds. “I’m Matt.”
You ignore him, but when his hand wraps around your arm, you turn quickly, throwing a punch against his jaw.
“Oh, I told you she’d put up a fight,” a second voice says before two hands land on you from behind.
“Night, night,” Matt says, holding his face as a cloth is pressed to your face.
You fight until everything goes dark, and as your head drops, you see your phone on the sidewalk. You know that Deacon will save you… or die trying.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Hey, Chris,” Deacon says as he answers the phone.
Chris says your name, sounding out of breath, before continuing, “Have you heard from her?”
“No. I offered to drive her home, but she wanted to walk. Why?”
“She didn’t call like she said she would. She always calls. And now she’s not answering my calls.”
Deacon takes a deep breath, rubbing his jaw as he attempts to deduce where you could be.
“Something’s wrong,” Chris adds.
“I know, I know. Call the team; I’ll drive by her house and meet you there. Hey, Chris,” he waits for her to hum to finish, “we’ll find her.”
Deacon is at your house faster than usual, slowing as he drives past your driveway. A small light is evident on the sidewalk, the only evidence of life in a strip without a streetlight. He parks, jumping out to run across the road and pick it up. 
“No,” he whispers, looking at your phone. 
What makes finding your phone abandoned on the side of the road worse, he thinks, is that his contact is open. You tried to call him, and based on the new crack across the screen, you needed help. You needed Deacon, and he wasn’t here.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Find anything?” Chris asks when Deacon walks in.
“Her phone,” Deacon answers, laying your phone on the table. “It was unlocked, lying on the sidewalk less than a block from her house.”
“The light-less dead zone?” Luca guesses.
Deacon nods, his jaw tightening as he confirms. He should have insisted on driving you home or been on the phone talking to you the whole time.
“I should’ve just gone with her,” Chris mutters.
“Don’t do that,” Street says, “we had no way of knowing something would happen. Any one of us could be blamed for this, but that won’t help us find her.”
Hondo nods but doesn’t say anything before Hicks rushes in.
“I didn’t see it until now,” he mumbles, opening the computer. “I don’t know how we missed it.”
20-David watches as he navigates to the missing persons' page, a collection of women gathered at the top. Hicks opens the most recent reports, and Chris exhales a sharp sigh.
“They are connected,” she says.
“Yeah,” Hicks answers. “Somehow, we missed the physical appearance connection. Our guys were so interested in the victimology that they probably never even looked at the pictures.”
“They look just like her,” Luca whispers. “It’s uncanny.”
“Do we have any ideas? Suspects? Leads?” Hondo asks. Hicks shakes his head, and Hondo slaps an open palm onto the table. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”
“I know that Hondo, but without an idea as to who, what, or why, we don’t have anything to go on. LA county is big, we can’t just start searching aimlessly.”
“First responders,” Deacon says, his eyes and his focus on the screen. “They all work as first responders. Firefighter, EMT, 911 operator. Every one of them. Where were they taken from?”
“Uh, within a mile of their homes,” Street reads. “Six of the six-seventeen, now, visited the Los Angeles county court to inquire about getting restraining orders.”
“Against?” Deacon asks.
Street clicks through the reports before looking up at Deacon. “Asher Nolan.”
“All six against the same guy,” Hondo begins, clicking his tongue, “that’s a lead.”
“I’ll get a warrant,” Hicks says, turning toward his office.
Deacon watches as your picture is added to their list. He knows the team only has 24 hours to find a real lead, or they risk never seeing you again.
“Don’t, Deacon,” Hondo says lowly, standing beside Deacon. “It’s not our fault, not your fault."
 “I offered to drive her home, tried to insist, but she promised she would be safe.”
“You didn’t know, Deac, you couldn’t have helped her.”
“I could have!” Deacon drops his voice, looking away from your picture to admit, “She tried to call me. When I found her phone, my contact was open. If she had pressed it, or if I had called sooner, she might have been okay.”
“She will be.”
“She better.”
Deacon walks out, unable to look at your smiling face any longer. Hicks comes back quickly with a warrant, and Deacon tries to detach himself from the case. He can’t, not when it’s you.
✯✯✯✯✯
The clock in the room reads 11:58 p.m. It’s only been four hours since you left S.W.A.T. HQ, though it seems a distant memory. The door opens, and you are still against the bed you’re chained to. 
“You know, I miss when you would talk to me,” Matt says, laying his hand across your throat. “What happened? I know you help people, so help yourself.”
He laughs at his dumb act, amused by the fact that he knows why you fell silent. Your skin burns against his touch, and the cough you want to release feels trapped in your throat. Faint bruises are barely visible in the bright light, but you know that the marks they’ve left are deeper than any bruises that may appear. Assuming you survive, of course.
“Since you’re giving me to cold shoulder,” Matt adds, dragging his hand across your collarbone to rest on your shoulder, “maybe I should return the favor.”
His other hand raises, covered in an oven mitt, as he reaches into a cooler and removes a large chunk of dry ice. You pull your lower lip between your teeth, determined not to scream. The ice meets the bare skin of your shoulder, though you’re unsure when he moved your sleeve. Alternating between burning and freezing, stabbing pain, you fight to remain conscious.
“Functional lessons,” the second man muses as he walks in. “I like it.”
An alarm goes off, and Matt and the man whose name you’ve yet to learn walk out. The ice is left against the skin of your upper arm, melting too slowly against you and the bed. 
“I almost forgot,” Matt’s voice echoes before something pricks your arm and everything goes dark as the pain finally fades.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Cameras,” Street points out. “They know we’re here.”
“Then let’s show ‘em why,” Hondo says. “Chris, Tan, Luca, go right. Deacon, Street, you’re with me.”
When Deacon feels Street touch his shoulder, he lays his hand on Hondo’s. He wants to get in and get you out as quickly as possible. Many things could happen, too many variables, but Deacon is prepared to risk his life to save yours.
“Gun,” Hondo calls, pushing back against Deacon as they enter a hallway.
“Took you long enough. When my buddy said LAPD was incompetent, I didn’t realise I’d be able to get so much done before you found me,” Matt calls.
“Let’s talk about this,” Hondo yells. “There’s a chance to walk away from this.”
“You mean like Abby?” a second voice joins.
“24-David,” Chris’s voice crackles through the radio, “We got eyes on one.”
“30-David, we have eyes on one east of the front door,” David replies.
“Abby didn’t walk away, though,” Matt says before laughing.
“Neither did Chelsea, or Bailey.”
“Or that pretty little officer. They saved everyone except themselves.”
Deacon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to stay calm when they bring you up.
“See, that’s where you messed up,” Hondo announces. “You took one of us. Surrender and maybe the DA will work with you, find the other girls and get a reduced sentence.”
“Or, what? Go down in a blaze of fire? Better than ice.”
Hondo peeks around the corner, aiming his weapon. “Last chance, Asher. Put the gun down.”
“Asher? Oh, you mean my boss. He said not to do that.”
Matt raises his gun, and Hondo takes the chance to fire. He rushes out while Deacon covers him.
“Where is she?” Hondo demands as he presses a hand to Matt’s wound, kicking his gun away.
“Frozen by now.”
Matt’s eyes close, and Hondo gestures toward the other hallway as he radios that one of the suspects is down. Deacon nods, leading Street into the hallway.
“Clear,” Deacon says, exiting a bedroom.
“Closet only,” Street informs, opening a door on the other side.
Deacon opens the last door and lowers his gun to his side before he rushes into the room. Street turns in the doorway, covering him.
“24-David, the second suspect is down. It’s not Asher,” Chris radios.
Street turns into the room, joining Deacon by the bed.
“Is that-“
“Dry ice,” Deacon finishes as he knocks it onto the floor.
He removes his glove to find your pulse, elevated but steady. Your skin is colder than it should be, and you don’t respond to Deacon’s prodding or whispered pleads.
“C’mon, come back to us,” Deacon tries again.
“Ambulances are here,” Street says.
You jerk harshly, and Deacon rolls onto the bed, raising you into a fireman’s carry before navigating through the hallways. He feels you continue moving against him, but all he can do is get you help and pray. 
“We’ve got her,” the EMT says, helping to lower you onto the gurney. “Hit the sirens.”
“I’m coming with,” Deacon says, climbing into the ambulance.
Hicks appears at the door. “Go. She needs you, Deacon. Keep us updated.”
“Narcan?” one EMT suggests.
“No, at least not yet.” The ambulance lurches into motion as they strap an oxygen mask over your face. “Brain, I think, not drugs.”
They glance toward Deacon, who says, “I’m a trained medic, I get it. Just do your jobs, please.”
✯✯✯✯✯
Deacon paces the waiting room for nearly an hour before sitting in a chair and letting his head hang toward his knees.
“Sergeant Kay?” a nurse asks.
Deacon’s head snaps up as he stands.
“The doctor is in her room now. Wants to talk to you.”
Deacon is silent as he walks down the hallways to reach your room. When he enters, seeing you hooked up to several machines and your arm wrapped tightly, his breath catches.
“I’m David Kay – Deacon,” he introduces, shaking the doctor’s hand.
“She owes you her life, Sergeant Kay. Much longer and the frostbite would have been incredibly severe.”
“And the tests?”
The doctor sighs, looking over at you before answering. “Yes, we ran several tests. MRI, CAT scan, and a few others. Her brain isn’t responding like it should.”
“Will she regain consciousness?” Deacon interrupts, his focus aimed at final answers.
“As far as I can tell, yes, sir, she will. When I say not responding like it should, I suppose I should reword. Her brain is responding, there’s no sign of a lack of oxygen or direct brain damage, but she may never recover fully, and will likely never be the same as the woman she was before. Her brain waves aren’t behaving like a woman of her age and health should be.”
“Thank you.” 
Deacon shakes his hand and moves to the corner of your room, typing a short text to Hicks: Get down here when you can. This will be easier in person.
He knows it sounds like you’re dying, but the idea of never having the real you back seems just as dire.
✯✯✯✯✯
Your eyes blink open slowly against the harsh fluorescent lights. A man is standing above you, and you jerk backwards, pulling against the chain on your hand and the unseen weight holding you down. Prepared to defend yourself, you move to the edge of the bed and let the adrenaline numb your pain while fueling your fight.
“Doc, take a step back for me, please,” Deacon says calmly.
When you hear Deacon’s voice, your guard drops slightly, and your shoulders lose some tension as you locate Deacon. You watch Deacon while the doctor stops beside him, whispering something on his way out.
“She’s not herself, just try to give her space and time. Like I said, this may be temporary, or it may be her new normal,” the doctor reminds Deacon, unheard by you.
The hand that you pulled away from the doctor moves jerkily toward Deacon, and he glances down at your hand and the IV you ripped out. He turns and waves to a female nurse. He stands by your bed, and you watch him, tensing as the nurse touches you to insert a new IV.
“Do you want to be alone?” Deacon asks when the nurse exits.
You don’t speak or nod, but your hand moves closer to Deacon. He smiles, taking it as a yes, before sitting in the chair beside your bed. Deacon knows the doctors’ concern but would do anything to hear your voice again.
When a doctor walks by, you lean harshly against the rail on your bed, and Deacon realises you are uncomfortable around men. Although, for some unexpected reason, you seem fine with him. Deacon stands and closes the blinds on your window, and when it feels like he is the only other person in the world, you fall asleep. Deacon is concerned that you’ll be nervous around him, too, when you wake. Later, when you do wake, your eyes find him, and your body stays relaxed, proof that your relationship with Deacon was not impacted by whatever those monsters did to you.
He looks down at his phone to read a message from Hondo: We got a warrant and a location for Asher. You in?
Deacon apologises as he tells you he has to go. “The team is going after him, and I want to be there. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
You don’t respond, but Deacon taps the edge of your bed as he leaves, only inches from your fingers. While he’s gone, you don’t sleep. The night passes, and by mid-day, when you’ve gone a whole day, 24 hours, without sleep, the nurses give you a dose of melatonin to help you relax. You drift off, falling asleep against your will, and your mind goes to Deacon.
✯✯✯✯✯
Deacon is still gone when you wake, but there’s a computer sitting in the chair he previously occupied. You pull it onto the bed, catching the SD card that slides off the top. After you insert the chip and see only one video on it, you start it after looking out the door.
It’s the men who took you, Matt and the other one, standing over you, threatening you before growing bold enough to carry out some of their threats. When they start touching your throat and talking about your voice, you slam the computer closed and rip the memory card out.
Standing from the bed, you pull the IV cart with you to the cabinet. Your tattered clothes are still in the patient's belongings bag, but someone also brought your backpack from S.W.A.T. HQ. You look out the door again before changing and stay close to the heart rate monitor and IV cart. Once dressed and ready, you duck beside the door, waiting for a large enough group to walk by. When one appears, you rip your IV and pulse-ox off, falling into step behind them. You walk out unnoticed and set out without a real destination in mind. Sticking to the shadows, you find yourself in a familiar neighbourhood.
✯✯✯✯✯
When your heart rate plummets, the machine beeps, and several nurses abandon their stations to run into your room. They check the bathroom and the far side of the bed before finding your commander’s phone number.
“Hicks,” he answers.
“Commander Hicks, she’s gone.”
Hicks hangs up on the nurse but walks into the room less than ten minutes later. He looks through everything, noticing that your bag is gone and your IV was ripped out intentionally. Hoping to find something before your team comes back, Hicks opens the computer on your bed. While Hicks is searching, Deacon walks in with a small bag of your favourite snacks and a book to pass the time. 
“Calm down, Deac, we’re gonna get answers,” Hicks begins.
“Where is she?” Deacon demands.
“I don’t know. The nurses called as soon as her heart rate stopped tracking, so she can’t be more than thirty minutes ahead of us.”
“I’m going to find her.”
“Deacon, stay with me. We’ll call in the team and-“
“I can’t; I think I need to be alone for now.”
Deacon leaves, setting the bag in his passenger seat and wishing it were you instead. He’s lost you twice in the last few days, and once he finds you, he will do everything in his power to keep you close forever.
Walking into his house, Deacon slows when he sees a pair of shoes under the rose bush in his front yard. He pulls his gun and demands the person come out slowly.
You slide toward him with your hands up and your eyes on him rather than his gun. When he sees your face, he holsters his gun quickly and squats to your level.
“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly.
You give your first answer since waking in the hospital: you nod. 
Deacon helps you stand, keeping an arm around you as he leads you inside.
“Help yourself to anything, okay?” he offers as he closes the door. “You can shower, take clothes, whatever you need to be comfortable.”
You pull away from Deacon and disappear down his hallway. He hears the water turn on in his shower and pulls his phone out, his finger hovering over Hicks’ number before deciding to find out why you left the way you did. 
When you reemerge, with wet hair and dressed in Deacon’s clothes, you join him in the kitchen and stand closer to him than he expected. He sets two cups before you: a mug of your favourite tea and a glass of ice water.
“Are you hungry?” Deacon asks. You shake your head, and Deacon adds, “Hey, you’re in charge right now. Whatever you want, whatever you say, goes.”
You pick up one of the glasses and look toward the couch. Deacon chuckles as he picks up the other, placing a hand on your back and leading you to the couch. Once you sit, you keep your free hand in your lap as you drink. Deacon wants to take your hand, hold it, and tell you how sorry he is, but you aren’t ready, as far as he can tell.
Suddenly, though, you turn toward him, and he recognizes the look in your eyes, shaking his head and chuckling before he begins talking. His voice has always been soothing to you, his presence like a safe house. You fall asleep to the sound of his voice, and your head falls onto his shoulder.
Deacon remains perfectly still throughout the evening as the sun sets, unwilling to disturb you, even at the cost of his comfort. His phone begins ringing in the kitchen, and he moves out from under you to answer. You wake when you feel his absence, looking around until you find him.
“Hey, Commander,” Deacon greets. “Yeah, I know… I’m worried, yeah.”
You stand and walk away silently. Deacon watches you, staring down the empty hallway as he says goodbye to Hicks. 
Entering his bedroom, you find your backpack and pull the memory card out. You reappear with the small envelope containing it, and Deacon waits until you nod, wringing your fingers together, to take it. He finds his computer and inserts the card; his headphones are plugged in, and he decides to use them, unsure of what’s on the card.
Waiting, you stand beside the couch, holding your hands together. You can’t hear the video, but Deacon's facial expressions tell you which part he’s watching.
“Where’d all that fight go, huh?” Matt asks, pushing against your throat until you nearly lose consciousness.
You can’t fight back, and they’re enjoying it too much.
“You said one word and then nothing. What am I supposed to think? Maybe you don’t want to talk. Maybe you shouldn’t. That’s why we told the others. And we made sure they believed it before… well, you know.”
“They didn’t even scream,” the other man adds. “Silence is beautiful on women.”
“What if,” Matt begins, drawing a large blade from a case beside the bed. “We made sure you couldn’t talk again? Cops have to be able to use the radio, so at the least, we’ll know you can’t call for help.”
The blade lays against your throat, and your eyes close, silent but physically preparing to fight.
Deacon’s eyes slide to yours before returning to the screen briefly to close the computer. He moves to sit on the arm of the couch before you and looks up at you with big brown eyes. You want to talk to him so badly, but you can’t. Deacon raises his hands, and you don’t hesitate to lay yours in his. He rubs circles on the backs of your hands, your callouses and warmth melting together.
“Everything they said was wrong,” Deacon begins.
Deacon notices that you lean in toward him with each word he says. He stands slowly, concerned that his size or the proximity will overwhelm you, but you keep your hands in his and follow his eyes as he stands. With the new angle, Deacon can see the bruises forming around your neck, from your collarbone up to your jawline. Deacon’s hands raise to rest on your shoulders, bringing your hands along in his. His thumbs rest gently above your collarbone.
“What they said, what they did, was terrible.” And Deacon plans to undo every word and touch, even if it takes forever.
You lean into Deacon’s touch, trusting him with most of your weight as his phone rings again. He moves an arm around your shoulders, leaning back against the couch as he answers.
“Hicks. I only have a minute. She’s here, at my house. She’s safe… Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on her… See you then.”
“Thank you,” you whisper against Deacon’s chest, your voice rough after not using it.
His eyes widen as he wraps his other arm around you. “It’s no problem,” he promises.
You point to the bedroom, and Deacon nods before releasing you. He watches you walk away, and the echo of your voice wraps around him like a warm blanket.
✯✯✯✯✯
When Deacon rises for work the following morning, he has a message from Hicks inviting him to stay home with you if he needs or wants to. Walking into the kitchen, you’re standing in your own clothes with your backpack at your feet.
“Can I go with you?” you ask, voice barely audible.
Deacon doesn’t have the heart to tell you no, so he takes you back to work. As he walks to the car, he texts the team a quick heads-up that they may need to be quieter around you because you’ve been through a lot, and slow behaviour seems to be the key to making you comfortable. He hopes your new unease around men doesn’t extend to the other men who saved your life.
The team tries to follow Deacon’s advice, but when you hear an obnoxious yell from a beat cop, you tuck behind Deacon and grab his fingers. 20-David knew you had feelings for Deacon but seeing him be your safe space like this is a whole new element for them to witness.
✯✯✯✯✯
You, Deacon, and Hondo are watching Hicks interview Asher Nolan. They can’t tie him to any of the abductions, but he seems to know too much about some of the other women who were taken. Hicks is getting nowhere and is ready to walk out.
“I’ll go in,” you tell Hondo. “But only if you come with me,” you add quietly, looking at Deacon.
“She only goes in if I go too,” Deacon adds protectively, looking at Hondo.
As you walk in, Asher’s eyes find you.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he croons.
“Don’t look at her,” Deacon snaps.
Asher’s eyes move to Deacon long enough to ask, “Do you ever smile?”
 “No.”
“Well, you should be with someone who smiles, sweetheart. Come closer and I’ll show you how nice my smile is,” he tells you.
“Tell us where the other women are,” Deacon demands.
“Oh, that kind of information needs to be earned, don’t you think? I have an idea, though, we play poker. You win, and I tell you what you want to know.”
“And if you win?”
“I get to smell her hair,” Asher answers, staring at you.
“No deal.”
You know you need the evidence. Finding the other women is the key to getting a conviction.
“Okay,” you say.
Looking over at Deacon, you hope your look conveys your thoughts: ‘Please win.’
You look at Deacon’s hand, hiding your smile when he tucks a card behind another to disguise his winning hand. The moment Asher shows his cards, asking you to come to his side, you let your lips raise slightly.
“Oh, looks like I missed a card,” Deacon deadpans, revealing his royal straight flush, all spades.
Asher slaps the table, his handcuffs creating a sharp echo. Deacon stands, and you follow, standing behind him.
“Mulholland Drive, by the dam,” Asher admits. As Deacon approaches the door, he says, “I’ll find a better place for you; the best for the last.”
Deacon tries to lunge for Asher, but you step between them and push Deacon out of the interview room. 
“Thank you. For winning and keeping him away from me,” you whisper, your hands still pressed against Deacon’s chest.
“I’ll always protect you.”
Hicks steps out, asking to speak to Deacon, and you nod before walking the other way. Deacon meant it, and you know he will do anything to protect you.
✯✯✯✯✯
You enter the locker room, surprised to find it empty. Sitting on the bench before your locker, you drop your head into your hands. The quiet is nice but also allows your thoughts and memories to run rampant. One thought of Deacon silences the dangerous and painful thoughts, and you will your mind to remember what it was like to be held by him.
Deacon finds you waiting alone in the locker room and moves silently to join you. He sits beside you, and you turn toward him, taking his hand and tracing his fingers.
Your touch is magnetic, and Deacon never wants to let you go. 
“I- I know you watched the video, but I want to talk about it. If that’s okay,” you begin, looking at Deacon’s hand.
“Of course.”
“They told me to stop talking, not to scream, and I listened. I’m sure they were lying, but they made me believe that last girl, Melissa, was still alive, so I thought – hoped – that if I listened, they’d let her live. Focus all of their time and energy on me, you know. Then they started touching my neck and pressuring me to talk. When I didn’t they started hurting me, choking me and laying knives across my neck before leaving.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know Hicks was at the hospital and found the computer, and I don’t know if they recorded it, but they threatened to pull my vocal cords out and put the knife in my mouth. Talking just- it felt like I was betraying her, I guess, even after I knew they were in custody.”
Deacon moves to his knees in front of you, keeping your hand in his as his other hand raises to cup your jaw. He ducks his head and kisses your neck, wiping away the memories of their touch with each gentle movement. When he reaches your jaw, you lower your chin and meet his lips, kissing him.
He knows this is real, not just something to distract you. He doesn’t, however, know that you know that, too. You have loved Deacon for a long time, and…
“Thinking of you kept me alive. You kept me alive, Deacon. I’ve been in love with you for years and being away from you made me realize just how much. I never want to be away from you again,” you confess, holding his hand and heart.
Deacon knows you will be uncomfortable around men for a while, but never around him. He vows to continue his mission of undoing their words and actions, but he will love every version of you along the way.
“They found Melissa, she’s still alive,” Hicks announces in the doorway.
As the door closes, Deacon kisses you again. You saved Melissa, he saved you, and now he knows it.
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verysium · 1 year ago
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some hcs abt the bllk boys doing modeling shoots as pro-players? (like what they’d model for and the ways they captivate their audiences and stuff)? ty and love ur works btw 💞💞🫡
idk why but this ask made my brain freeze up and refuse to write anything for 3 days, so apologies if this is late anon:
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sae would be so done. i mean....he walked out on a literal interview, so what makes you think he won't walk out on a photoshoot? he probably hates the very idea of plastering his face all over billboards and magazines. but his manager said that he was in desperate need of good publicity, especially after that stunt he pulled with the last commercial endorsement. if sae was forced to model though, he'd definitely be as stiff as a board. no facial expressions whatsoever and always sticks to one pose. oftentimes, this involves him facing the wall and only showing half his face. if the photographer wants a full frontal, he's going to have to deal with sae's "i don't want to be here and i'm being held hostage" face. even if sae does try smiling, it looks more like a grimace. the only redeeming quality here is that he is good-looking. if you look at the official art, he doesn't even have to try to get all of you drooling over him. that face card does not decline. like ever. so the shoots usually wrap up pretty quickly because out of the 100 images taken, at least half are going to be usable. he's photogenic from any angle.
kaiser would strike a pose for everything, even his own mugshot. i picture him as that one johnny depp advertisement for dior sauvage. blue lighting. a silk blouse with the top button open to show off a sliver of his sculpted chest. his hair is slicked back with gel, and his knuckles are decorated with silver rings. the tattoo just pulls everything together. if not a perfume commercial, then i think he'd model for adidas or some other german brand (maybe even a beer company if he's old enough). i don't think he has any trouble with the actual modeling part of process. he knows how to flaunt himself. the only issue is that kaiser is a lazy perfectionist. he would show up late to the shoots and then stays even later just looking through the shots and choosing which ones to include. puts a lot of time and effort into things like this. after all, his image and his brand are important to him.
shidou would be sponsored by an energy drink brand. like red bull or monster. if not that, then axe body spray lol. as for modeling, i feel like he wouldn't be able to sit still. probably pulls out crazy poses that piss the photographers off on purpose. it always cracks me up how one of his first appearances in the manga is him being muzzled and restrained in a straitjacket inside blue lock's time-out zone. he's so chaotic. you would have to hold him down and shove the camera into his face to actually get a good shot. i also picture him wearing lots of black leather, maybe even silver jewelry (eg. studs, piercings). and of course, you can't forget the hot pink accents.
isagi would model for family-friendly brands. if not that, then just japanese brands in general. i imagine him doing skincare commercials for shiseido or maybe even participating in a campaign for UNIQLO. as for modeling, he would be awkward at first but then gradually get the hang of it. always thanks the team afterwards and is very mindful of the photographer's suggestions. everyone says he is a pleasure to work with.
rin would model for luxury watch brands like TAG heuer or IWC. maybe when he grows older and further develops his career, he might even become an ambassador for louis vuitton or bulgari. overall, his advertisements are very elegant and professional. only endorses high quality products. never looks at the shots afterwards because he hates looking at his own face. gets somewhat embarrassed when his mama points out his billboards and makes clippings of his magazine covers. he absolutely flipped when a brand suggested that he do a collaboration with his brother. so when this collaboration actually did take place, it was like a repeat of the whole messi-ronaldo photoshoot. they didn't actually meet on set. they were just photoshopped together into the same frame.
barou models for calvin klein. lots of denim and shirtless photos. all of the staff got nosebleeds, and his fanbase went wild when the issue was finally released. there's this one image his fans worship religiously where he's posing in his boxers and there's a clear shot of his abs and happy trail. (he's so hot wtf) there's also another shot that wasn't used cus a million people would've been deceased. he's standing there with his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and wearing nothing underneath his denim jacket. his hair is also down, and his skin is all sun-kissed and golden.
reo models streetwear, and this is canon because he has the drip. honestly, his duality needs to be studied because he can go from high class gentleman to bad boy who wears chains and knuckle rings. he'd try all different sorts of styles, and he'd look good doing it. out of all the bllk boys, i feel like reo gets the most sponsorship deals because of his versatility. he does the styling, hair, makeup, posing, editing, etc. honestly, they need to hire him as a creative director already. nagi would tag along behind the scenes, but he'd end up scrolling on his phone the entire day.
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matan4il · 1 year ago
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Daily update post:
They counted over 1,400 dead and over 4,800 wounded, over 200 people who were kidnapped from Israel, among them at least 30 kids and at least 10 people over the age of 60. There are also over 100 people categorized as missing, which means they might have been murdered, or they are held hostage in Gaza.
Tomorrow will be the hostages' third Shabbat in Hamas' hands. In Tel Aviv, a Shabbat table was set for them with all of the empty seats waiting for their return:
The Israeli army continues to fight on three fronts, mainly with Hamas in the south and Hezbollah in the north. Today, a Hezbollah terrorist breached Israel's northern border, made his way to the Israeli town of Margaliot, shot and then wounded one person. The Israeli army is after him, and also looking into the possibility that he wasn't alone when he crossed the border.
As I mentioned in yesterday's update, people continue to tear down the posters with the faces and names of the Israeli hostages in many places around the world. Here's another incident:
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Someone please explain to me how does it liberate a single Palestinian to tear down the posters put up by the grieving and worried family members.
Antisemitic attacks in the name of the conflict continue to take place all over the world.
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In Israel, the war really does touch everyone. Here are just two of the Knesset (Israeli parliament) members who have been called for reserves duty, Yoaz Hendel and Moshe Solomon:
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Those who aren't serving themselves, have a child or grandchild who is, or they know someone who will be fighting. This isn't a war where the uncaring elite is sending the plebes to fight and die for them. This is very much everyone's war, because everyone's experiencing it as a fight for our very existence.
This is Noya Dan, a 12 years old autistic girl (I guess they pointed out she's a Harry Potter fan to explain her outfit in this picture that her family shared).
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Up until yesterday, Noya and her grandmother were considered missing, but then their bodies were identified. What you might not expect is that their bodies were found on the Gazan side of the border (the Israeli army has been conducting small raids to retrieve bodies). In other words, Noya and her grandma were probably kidnapped, and after the terrorists decided this autistic girl will be too difficult to handle as a hostage, they murdered the two.
Someone please explain to me how their murder makes the life of any Palestinian better.
More personal stories:
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(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)
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deathbealady · 7 months ago
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on fixing the end of ACOWAR to create a better transition into and story for Nesta
In my unending grief over how Nesta has been destroyed by the narratives of ACOFAS and ACOSF, I wanna talk about some absolutely wasted potential in the series. Because although I believe there’s plenty of stupid, unnecessary bullshit throughout the series, I find there’s a specific moment that was the death knell for me: Rhysand and Amren’s deaths and near immediate resurrections at the end of ACOWAR. It cheapened their sacrifice, and I think that in the interest of honoring the stakes of the battle/war, they should’ve stayed dead. But since we know SJM won’t let her precious bat stay dead, I would like to instead offer a way to have him not be permadead in a way that’s compelling and can fix a lot of the bullshit, including the shitty attitudes of characters I pretty openly despise (primarily Rhysand, Mor, and post-ACOWAR Cassian, but I think this version could fix a lot more!)
It’s gonna get a bit long, but I promise it’s worth it! Picture this:
Feyre realizes Rhysand is dead. She’s screaming and crying, demanding that the other High Lords bring him back. They all give that tiny bit of power, but it doesn’t work. Why won’t it work?
That’s because this time, only 6 of 7 High Lords have given their power. Someone, perhaps Tamlin, realizes this, and asks Feyre if the power has transferred to her; it hasn’t. At this point, Nesta and Elain are with her, holding her and doing their best to console their sister. The Inner Circle are in shock. Rhysand is gone but the High Lord’s power hasn’t gone to Feyre, nor any of them. It’s not gone to Keir, not to… anyone. Is the Night Court just going to be without a High Lord now?
Helion, with the knowledge of all the vast libraries of the Day Court, suggests that maybe the power hasn’t transferred because Rhysand is not quite dead. Even if that’s true, Rhysand certainly isn’t alive; Feyre can’t feel him through the bond. Maybe it’s at this point that Lucien steps up and takes a long, hard look at Rhysand. The gold eye whirrs and clicks; it looks as though the bits of power offered by the other High Lords is sustaining him, but only just. Thesan takes a look as well, trying to see what healing he can offer, if any, but Rhysand is essentially comatose and on magical life support.
It’s at this point that Nesta whips her head up and asks what that humming noise is. Everyone around her stares at her in confusion, what noise? “It’s so loud, how can none of you hear it?” She turns the crying Feyre into Elain’s arms so she can focus. She stares at the Cauldron, realizing that it’s the source of the sounds she’s hearing.
Nesta closes her eyes and tries to concentrate, trying to peer into the wretched mind of the Cauldron. Though she doesn’t understand what her sister sees in him, the loss of Rhysand has broken Feyre in a way that nothing else in their lives ever came close to achieving. So, as terrified as she is to face the Cauldron like this, she knows Feyre had been brave and strong for them for so long, and she wants to try and do something for her sister this time.
As it turns out, the hateful thing that had stolen the humanity from herself and Elain had been seeking yet more vengeance against the Archeron family. When Feyre had been trying to mend the broken Cauldron to prevent the world’s destruction, the Cauldron itself thought to take Feyre’s life in exchange. It was the perfect retaliation for a number of perceived slights: Feyre’s previous attempt to neutralize its power, Nesta’s success in clawing out more power than the Cauldron had intended to give her, and Feyre’s use of it so Amren would shed her fae form, which had resulted in its destruction in the first place. The Cauldron was ready to kill Feyre, if her mate hadn’t gotten in the way.
It’s unclear if he’d made a bargain with it or what, but it seems that Rhysand is essentially trapped and held hostage in some strange limbo of the Cauldron’s making. As a High Lord, he was powerful enough that he just narrowly survived, if that’s what his current state can even be called. Like it or not, if Prythian is to have any hope of surviving in the aftermath of the war, they need to bring Rhysand back to first restore balance. And to get Rhysand back from the Cauldron, they need the power of something Cauldron-born to break him out.
From here, we would begin Nesta’s story. As much as I hate to center much of Nesta’s journey around bringing Rhysand back, I think it’s necessary for a number of reasons.
The loss of Rhysand is a huge blow to Feyre. I imagine she would be inconsolable, having lost him after she had fought so hard for so many years. In his absence, she can hardly keep herself together enough to work with the IC in running the Night Court (not that they do much of it anyway, but you know…). I don’t think it’s something she can come back from so easily, and I think seeing Feyre like that would light a fire in Nesta to act. If I recall correctly, Nesta and Rhysand’s relationship, though hardly cordial, only became really adversarial post-ACOWAR. Nesta setting aside whatever feelings she has toward Rhysand to bring him back for the sake of Feyre is something I can see her doing as an act of love for the sister she just began to get close to in adulthood
Nesta journeying to try and bring Rhysand back would show the IC a different side to her. It would mean interactions with them that didn’t dredge up old trauma for her in the worst ways possible, and they would learn to appreciate her on her own merits. They would also have to give an actual shit about her not falling victim to her depression, self-hatred, and fear. Nesta is their only hope of rescuing Rhysand, and they have to give her the same care and respect they gave Feyre if they want their High Lord back
Nesta could’ve been the one asking to train. She wants to learn to wield her powers properly, not just because she can feel them eating away at her, but because she knows she’ll need to be able to use them to retrieve Rhysand. And she even admits that although she isn’t good at combat and doesn’t want to be a warrior, she’ll need to be able to hold her own in a physical fight, so she asks for Cassian’s help in that
With Rhysand and Amren gone, and Feyre out of commission, the Eris alliance could’ve been Mor’s decision. They had tried asking Lucien first, if he could help Nesta learn to manager her powers, but her flames are stronger than his, and different. And as much as Mor hates and fears him, she acknowledges that Eris has decades, if not centuries of mastery over his flames compared to Lucien; he could be the key to Nesta taming hers. If they want a chance at getting Rhysand back, that’s what it’s going to take.
We could have a compelling love triangle between Nesta, Eris, and Cassian here. Eris, shrewd and cunning, sees through to Nesta’s potential. And, ever the courtier, he has the charm and wit to draw her attention like all the heroes of her favorite books too. He sees his perfect match in her, and tells her as much. Cassian, on the other hand, is inexplicably keeping Nesta at arm’s length despite their undeniable attraction to each other. He hasn’t forgotten what he said to her when the King of Hybern was poised to kill them both, but he’s scared. He would’ve been leaning on Rhysand and Feyre to help him navigate a courtship with Nesta, but they’re both unable to help him. He doesn’t know how to approach her after so much has changed, and now he’s relying on her to save his lost brother. To top it all off, he has that “brutish bastard” chip on his shoulder and fears he can’t compete with Eris
Maybe this time Cassian could actually make good on his fucking promise to protect Nesta
Nesta saving Rhysand might finally drag his head out of his ass far enough that he might learn to respect her. Maybe even respect her and her power enough that maybe he would offer her a spot as his second in command, in place of Amren. Of course it’s for his own benefit by keeping her alliance to the Night Court, but also in a bid to keep her around for Feyre and Cassian’s emotional well-being. Nesta is still torn between her feelings for Eris and Cassian, but where once she had given up hope to fit in with Cassian’s chosen family, she’s offered a specific position in recognition of her deeds and abilities, from Rhysand of all people
Maybe Beron fucks up Eris’s chances with Nesta by saying something to make her think Eris had been manipulating and using her. It’s not true, or maybe not entirely, but it’s enough that it deeply affects Nesta and she can’t trust Eris as she did before. She won’t break the alliance, she and the Night Court need him just as much as he needs them to support his bid for High Lord of Autumn, but the relationship is irreparably damaged
Beyond this, I haven’t thought much about what I would do to give Nesta a better storyline. I think there are plenty of ways to still work in a lot of elements existing in ACOSF (Nesta befriending Emerie and Gwyn, wielding the Dread Trove, facing Briallyn, etc.) while vastly improving both the development of individual characters and relationships between them. And although I admittedly haven’t thought too deeply on it, I would argue that you could still explore the mental health struggles Nesta experiences without abusing her the way that ACOSF did, and I’m almost certain it’d be a far more healing storyline than the bullshit SJM gave us.
Anyway thanks for coming to my TED Talk. Also for the record, I cannot write this out as proper fanfic because I simply do not have the time or patience, and more importantly I am not a writer (trust me, you don’t want me writing it anyway, it’d be shit)
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atopvisenyashill · 3 months ago
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Feed my delulu bestie… Sansa & Theon book canon??? Your posts give me hope when I shouldn’t have it lol.
there's so much canon evidence dammit! i always get a lil put out when people say it’s a show only thing. certainly the show made it more popular but you can say that about like 90% of the ships in the fandom! and there’s a lot here already without the obnoxious sansa bolton show arc!
For one thing, theon straight up dreams about marrying sansa-
Sansa was the pretty one. He remembered a time when he had thought that Lord Eddard Stark might marry him to Sansa and claim him for a son, but that had only been a child's fancy.
I think this is very similar to Sansa’s fantasies about Willas Tyrell-
She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.
For both of them, they dream of a marriage that signifies a return to the safety and welcoming of childhood, of home. Notice the focus for both of them on Stark Identity - Theon wants to be accepted as true kin by the family that raised him in an attempt to cope with his status as a hostage while Sansa focuses on the idea of having children named for her lost family members in an attempt to cope with her continued instability also as a hostage.
Which brings me to their shared status as child hostages! While not a unique social status in the world of Terros, they are unique in being our only two PoVs that really dig into the harm of being a hostage. From Theon’s longing to be a Stark and the way it's held against him by Balon to Sansa’s longing to be Joffrey's queen turning to resentment over being “made a Lannister”, both of them go from a sort of rose colored happy go lucky outlook to an extreme drop into brutal reality as Theon reckons with his trauma while sacking Winterfell and Sansa is shoved head first into the danger of politics and intrigue.
As their time as child hostages morphs into a status that is more murky but considerably more dangerous - who knows what the fuck Littlefinger is planning, and whatever Ramsay has cooking it's obviously nothing good - both of them take on another identity in Alayne Stone and Reek. They are both forced into this identity by the person in control of them, becoming subsumed into this new identity. Here is, imo, a very interesting aspect of both their characters as they exhibit a sort of...mental break of a sort when they change identities. They "kill" their old identities and truly become this new person; they act different, they speak different, they actively reject reminders of their former identity, with their chapter names even changing from "Theon" and "Sansa" to their new names. And yet that former identity is a key part of who they are and it cannot stay buried for long-
I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though.
The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. "Please." He fell to his knees. "A sword, that's all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek."
Again, both Theon and Sansa focus on their connection to House Stark - Sansa as the blood of Winterfell, Theon as a ward of Ned. For Sansa, it’s about going to the home she took for granted, the home Theon years for; a place she felt safe, a family that loves her, a space she can reflect on her memories and grief with peace and understanding. For Theon, that home never existed at all! It was something he made up in his head, cobbled together from half remembered feelings of love from his mother, a dream of what it might have been like to be an older brother and beloved son. Ultimately, Winterfell and the North represents to both of them the concept of reconciling reality with the dream & delusions they’ve built up in their minds, taking a step forward and growing into adulthood.
Now….the thing about adulthood is it typically involves marriage and that is something I think a lot of people don’t take seriously when it comes to Theonsa - oh theon is too gross or whatever. But the thing is that Theon experiences this kind of sexual violence and helplessness that he himself visited upon others and enabled and I think it puts him in this interesting and unique place of finally understanding a) how gross he actually is and b) connecting to Sansa through a shared sexual helplessness. Now I’m not saying like, ~theon being reek’ed was narrative setup and punishment for theonsa~ but i AM saying this is a natural stepping point (imo) of Theon’s arc.
Think about like. Theon looking the other way while his men rape the women he’s captured, uncomfortable but feeling like this is what is necessary to be seen as A Man (and pay no mind to what they means To Be A Woman). Bedding down with the miller’s wife just to enable the very brutal murder of her sons. Taking his frustration and powerlessness out on Kya sexually. And Kya still tries to escape with him (who else could have possibly helped her?), and he dwells on the ways in which he helped lead her to her death. Dwells on the boys whose bodies he hung on the walls. Dwells on the similarities between his own falling apart body and Jeyne’s bite marks and injuries from Ramsay. For me the next step is - Theon forced to see his own helplessness as a hostage of the Starks and then a captive of Ramsay’s when he confronts Sansa, who was a hostage of the Lannisters and [wild gesture] like the kept pet of Littlefinger’s. I think seeing his own suffering so acutely reflected in the girl he projected his idealistic fantasy of happiness and home onto would be fascinating!
And equally fascinating is Sansa’s perspective - I’m sure she WILL initially see his torture as some sort of cosmic retribution for betraying Robb! But the same as she ultimately only saw another child suffering when Joffrey died in front of her, I think she will see that whatever Theon deserves for what he’s done, being flayed and tortured by Ramsay is not retribution, it’s just more suffering. And once she starts to see past her anger, Sansa too I think will be quite disarmed by the similarities between them. To have been a hostage, to have been some sort of captive under an identity forced on you, to have that captor use his power to force sexual situations you are not asking for onto you, I think it would make Sansa wrestle more with her own place In The System - similar to how being a hostage makes her realize how fucked up her conception of knights and chivalry and court is when compared to the reality, seeing the effect she herself helped have as A Good Hostage Taker will make her reflect. Theon realizing Sansa is her own person with her own inner life and Sansa realizing the same about Theon!
Once again, its about what I talked about re: Sansa and Arya being the only Starks left in Winterfell or Sansa and Jon meeting first! To grow up and embrace adulthood by growing to appreciate the reality in front of you and not the fantasy you conjured up as a child. For Theon to love Sansa for who she is and wrestle with the REALITY of what marriage would be like - both in a sense that he’s physically traumatized & no longer “handsome” but also like, having lived through the concept of “They will make a STARK out of me” and thinking about what it means in the context of sex and relationships. For Sansa to love Theon for who he is and wrestle with the reality of, like, herself in the Lannister shoes in this position, and what being an heiress and marrying actually means for her going forward. Two people who are defined by their identities being eclipsed and overlooked, wrestling with whether they’re repeating that pattern on each other or actually healing and grieving and figuring out how to define themselves on their own and not against someone else.
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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 5 months ago
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Retaliation: Final Part
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader
Word Count: ~1.7k
Summary: Everyone can see just how much you're suffering, Spencer more than most. When he confesses to the team about your nightmares, Derek takes matters into his own hands.
Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill
Season Five Masterlist
Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.
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When they come through, Emily points to the person she saw helping Schrader out of the car he wrecked.
"That is the guy. That picture is ten years old but that's him. Garcia, it's the first one you sent over."
"His name is Joe Muller. He has a wife and two kids."
"That's definitely the guy. Where is he now?"
"I'll hit you up when I know."
The team doesn't wait for Penelope to do her job. Instead, they start asking around at people who might have known him or do know him. Even people who know his wife and children.
"Muller's not at home," JJ says. "No one is. His wife didn't show up at work and the kids weren't at school yesterday or today."
"Schrader probably has them hostage," you say.
"Where? What could Joe do for him?"
"The only thing that's left. He can get him the money."
"No one even knows where it is."
"Schrader does. He must have hidden it someplace safe. Though, I don't think he'd use a bank. His face is circulating all over town. The only way he would is if Joe walked in," you say. "He'd have to have a key, though."
"Where's the physical evidence from the Schrader case?" Emily asks.
"We don't have it."
"Well, if we can figure out where Schrader hid the money, we'll know where he's going."
You and Derek go to the police station that has the evidence from the original case, and a woman named Betty is working inside the cage where all the evidence is held. She looks up when you three approach her.
"Can I help you?"
"We're with the FBI. We're working the Dale Schrader case," Derek says while flashing his badge at her.
"Is Joe Muller helping you?"
"No, why?"
"He was just here."
"When?"
"Two minutes ago."
"He'll still be in the parking lot," you tell Derek.
You and Derek rush outside and find Dale and Joe inside a car that is about to leave the parking lot. You and Derek raise your guns and stop them before they get far. Joe is the one driving but Dale pulls him close and pushes a gun into the side of his head.
"Stop the car! Put your hands where I can see them!" Derek yells.
"Don't shoot!" Joe pleads.
"Schrader, put it down!" you yell.
"Are you really gonna let me blow his brains out?"
"Drop it or I'll shoot!" you say angrily.
You're channeling his anger to fuel your own. You're not normally this angry but you can't help it.
"What's wrong, agent? Upset I hurt one of your own? Huh?" He smirks at Joe and yanks him closer. "Look at her. She is pissed."
"Please don't kill him," Joe begs.
"See that look in her eyes? She is going to do it. Come on, what are you gonna do?!" You don't say anything so he turns to look at Derek who moves the gun from Joe to Derek. "How'd your aim?"
You take this opportunity and shoot Schrader in the head through the windshield. Joe freaks out and immediately tries to get information on him but Schrader is already dead. 
"Where are they? Where's my family? Tell me where they are!"
"Back up! Get away!" Derek argues.
"She just killed my family!" Joe gets out of the car and stalks toward you. "You killed my family!"
"Calm down!" you yell at him. 
Joe grabs your shoulders and tugs you towards him in anger. Your entire body freezes as you're brought back to the moment when you were taken by your rapist.
"Let me go! Help! Somebody help me, please!"
"Let me go! Please let me go!" you beg in horror.
"Hey! Stop!" Derek yells and yanks Joe off you. He slams him against the car next to you and holds him in a way that he can't go anywhere. "Calm down!"
Yeah, you need to go to therapy for sure. You back away and try to control your breathing without having a complete breakdown. Once Joe is calm enough and you're confident you won't break down in tears, you and Derek take him back to the station while you let the local police deal with Schrader's body. Joe explains the situation with Schrader and produces a photo that he took of Joe's family to prove they are alive.
"He was the only person who knew where my family was and now he's dead." Joe looks at you but you can't seem to look at anyone. "I had every chance to kill him but I couldn't. He had my family."
"This photograph is the only proof of life?"
"Where's my phone?"
Joe takes his phone out of his pocket and plays a voicemail he got from his wife for all to hear.
"Joe, honey, it's me. He got us. All of us. I don't know where we are. God, I am so sorry."
"Help us, Daddy!"
Hotch looks away in pain when he hears the son call out for his dad. It reminds him of Jack who reminds him of Haley and what happened to her.
"Just do what he says, okay? Please do whatever he says."
"I'm gonna get Garcia to trace this," Derek says and dials Penelope. "She might be able to help."
"Were there any other phone calls?" JJ asks.
"I tried to get him to let me talk to them again but he wouldn't."
"There must not be anyone there watching them. He hid his family where no one would hear them call for help. Maybe someplace remote? The cabin?"
"No, the locals tore it apart. There is no one there," Emily states.
"Where are they?" Joe sobs.
"You saw Schrader since he's had your family. You saw something or heard it. There's got to be some clue. Y/N?"
"Yeah, I'm on it," you sigh quietly. You get in front of Joe and hold out your hands. You don't feel like telling him what you can do and he doesn't ask. He puts his hands in yours and you close your eyes to concentrate. "When was the last time you saw your family?"
He explains it as you see it. There is a one-story house with three cars in the driveway. Joe's wife is getting the kids in the car and once done, she approaches the car Joe is in. They kiss and both go their separate ways. 
"Did you notice any cars on the street?"
"Nothing." Joe drives away and she waves him off, but there are no other cars on the street. "Our routine's the same every day. The kids have to be at school by 8:15, then Molly heads to work."
"She didn't make it to either yesterday. What was her route?"
"North on Route 7 and East on 22."
"Is that route isolated during the morning commute?"
"No."
"If he was watching, there's a good chance she never left the driveway," Hotch sighs.
"I drove out first. I just left them there."
Joe wants to pull his hands away but you keep them firmly in yours.
"Where did he find you?" you ask.
"At the hardware store."
Joe just got done in the hardware store but before he can even put the keys in the ignition, Schrader slaps a picture of his wife and children onto his window indicating him of their danger.
"He told me how for eleven years he'd been trying to figure out how he got locked up. He knew Otey had ratted him out for the robbery, but that wasn't enough to put him away. He said I was the piece that didn't fit. He figured out I was a cop."
"He took your family." Hotch holds up a picture of Stacy. "Did you ever see this woman?"
"Yeah. I think she's some junkie. I saw her right after he told me, 'You help me, your family lives. You don't, they die.'"
Joe is driving Schrader around town and stops at an alleyway where Stacy is pacing. Schrader hops out and starts talking to her but they are disagreeing. You can't hear what they're saying but her body language suggests she is angry and impatient and Schrader is anxious and annoyed with her.
Suddenly, he stabs her and drags her to the car. Joe can't do anything but watch as Schrader shoves her in the front seat and climbs in next to her before ordering Joe to drive.
"You didn't know what she was talking about?"
"No."
Joe drives to an open area on the side of the road and tosses Stacy down the hill where she is ultimately found. You take your hands away from Joe since you're done seeing what he is willing to give. You explain what you saw to the team and they try and piece together what happened.
"He could have left the body in the alley. Why didn't he?"
"He didn't want to draw attention to that place."
"Where was it?" Hotch asks.
"South of Van Wyck. It's an abandoned side of town that the junkies took over."
"It's a perfect place to leave hostages," you state.
"Can you take us back there?" Emily asks.
"Wait, you think she knew about my family?"
"Her murder was the only thing that didn't fit. Now it makes sense. Schrader killed her to shut her up."
With your help, you're able to lead the team inside the abandoned building to where Joe's wife is. She is battered, bruised, and dirty but alive. The kids aren't with her so you use her energy to guide you to where they are. With his family safe and Schrader dead, this is a case closed.
Derek had given you the choice to start therapy sessions Monday morning but you feel like you need to get this done and over with. You don't want to be here even if you know you have to be here. The therapist you chose, Melissa Patterson, had an opening right when you got home to Virginia and suggested you take it so she could get to know you and establish a rapport.
However, you've been in her office for twenty minutes and have been silent for seventeen of it. The ticking of the clock makes you more anxious, anxious enough to want to blurt out how you're feeling.
"I don't even know why I'm here. I'm fine."
Of course, you'd say that. Everyone wants to be fine. No one wants to feel like their world is falling apart.
"That's not what I hear," Melissa says and crosses her legs.
"Yeah, I went to prison for a crime I didn't commit. It could happen to anyone."
"It didn't, though. It happened to you." You go silent and look at your lap. You don't think you can look at her face without crying. "Why don't you start by telling me a bit about yourself? That doesn't seem so bad, does it?"
You take a deep breath and finally look at her in the eyes.
"Where do I begin?"
"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and of unspeakable love." - Washington Irving
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Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)
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ghostlycomputerartisan · 5 months ago
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This Was Unexpected Pt.4
This Was Unexpected Pt.4 (Polyamorous Relationship with Shota Aizawa and Hizashi Yamada)Reader is Female and uses she/her pronouns
This is kinda like part 3.5 cause I'm kinda doing these by months. I don't know if that was obvious or not but.. yeah...  But basically, this is like a Christmas Edition since it was December... I think this may either be a really short read, or a really long one... but I haven't written anything for it yet so I have no idea... but anyways, ENJOY!
!!!WARNING: LANGUAGE
Word Count: 4776
Today was the beginning of Christmas break at UA. After school ends, both your husbands will be home for a few weeks! Except for Shota's mission that he has to go on. Which sucks because it's right before Christmas. Literally 4 days before Christmas!! It's always been stressful to try and figure out what to get for Shota. Hizashi's an open book. Easy to read and is always mentioning something he wants, so buying for him was a piece of cake!! But, Shota is quite the opposite. 
"Hey baby! I'm home!" Hizashi exclaimed, excited to be back and take a break for a few weeks. 
You smiled up at him and got off the couch, where you had been scrolling through Amazon to find something for Shota but you noticed that he wasn't with Hizashi. You hugged him and gave him a few kisses, "Welcome home, babe! Where's Sho?" You asked.
"He had to stay back. They had a meeting about that mission he's going on next week," he sighed. "What were you doing before I got back?"
"Looking for a present for him," You whined, annoyed that you still couldn't find anything.
He chuckled, "I'll look with you, come 'ere baby!" He pulled you to the couch, sitting down first before pulling you on top of him to sit on his lap, his arms making their way around your waist. Your back against his chest and his chin resting on your shoulder You grabbed your laptop off of the coffee table and sat it on your own lap, continuing to scroll.
"What's something of his that's really worn out, or broken... or something he needs??" you mumbled.
"I honestly can't even think of anything..." your partner muttered back.
"We could get something sentimental. I know he kind of prefers gift of the practical kind, but I feel like something sentimental would be really sweet too..."
"Babe, you're gonna get something so good for him I won't have anything to get!!"
You giggled, kissing his cheek as he pouted. "You'll find something, I'll help!" you cheered, smiling at him. You looked back at the laptop, "What about this!! He loves coffee, so what if we get him a personalized coffee mug!!"
"Ooooo! I bet he'd love it!! We should get him a gag gift too! I think it's become a tradition at this point" Hizashi laughed.
"What about a pair of boxers with our faces on them? I think he'd wear em'"
"If he ran out of his 7 pairs he has! Especially if I start taking his again"
"I'll help too," you winked, finding cute pictures to stick on the mug of the three of you. "Ordered!"
"What's ordered?" Shota mumbled, kicking off his snowy shoes.
You exited the tab as fast as possible, "your present~"
"I told you guys you didn't need to get me anything," he grumbled as you and Hizashi made your way to him.
"But we wanted to!" the blonde explained. 
Shota sighed, "fine, fine! But we need to talk. All of us. It's about the mission kind of..."
You and Hizashi looked at each other, nodding. You all sat down around the slightly messy dining table, waiting for Shota to speak.
"On this mission, obviously our goal is getting Kai Chisaki under control," you both nodded, "but, recently, Midoriya found out he's got a child. Whether she's biological, or some girl that is being held hostage... she's in a bad situation. Obviously we have no idea what's going to happen, but this mission is going to be riskier than originally."
"Do... do you think she'll be okay?" You muttered.
"I hope. Things are looking up for us. Don't get too worried. Everything'll be alright." Shota replied.
"You better be safe."
"I will," he got up, kissing Hizashi's forehead, then yours. "Now, I gotta go shower, you should too Zash. Got way too much hair gel, its gross" He mumbled.
You giggled at his comment. You heard the bedroom door shut, "he seemed very off right?" you glanced at Hizashi.
"Definitely. I think he's worried."
The two of you sat in silence for a minute. 
"Well. I'll go start dinner. What do you want?"
A few days later, the day of the mission
Shota was ready to leave. Both of his lovers still comfortably cuddled up in bed. He kissed their temples, hoping to slip out before either of you woke up. But of course, like the light sleeper you are, you woke up at least a little bit. You groaned, rolling over towards him. With half lidded eyes, you reached up for him. He reached down and wrapped his arms around you, your legs wrapping around his waist. He picked you up, one hand rubbing up and down your back, the other holding your ass firmly. You rested your head on his shoulder, nuzzling your nose into his neck.
"Can't hold you for long baby. Gotta go get my students ready." He whispered, kissing your temple again.
You nodded against his shoulder, giving a few sleepy kisses to his neck. "Be safe," you muttered.
He hummed, "try my best."
Hizashi stirred awake after trying to find either of you on the bed. His eyes barely opened before pulling Shota to sit down on the bed, finding his way behind his husband and wrapping his arms around Shotas waist. Yours no longer interlocked behind his neck as Hizashi rests his head on the shoulder you're not on. (I can't explain it any further... Your straddling front, Hizashi is hugging from behind) 
Shota sighed, "I'll be back tonight. I promise. I'll be safe." He mumbled, "I'll be okay."
You nodded, slowly falling back asleep. Hizashi muttered a soft, "Just be careful... okay?"
Shota turned his head, pressing a kiss to his lovers forehead, "I will," he spoke, before kissing your shoulder. "I gotta go, take her for me?" 
"Mhm"
The blonde got up, helped peel you off of Shota and held you the same as the latter had. "I love you, babe."
"I love you too"
A few hours later, you and Hizashi were slowly waking up, still curled up with each other. The blonde kissed your lips gently, pulling you impossibly closer to him. You kissed him back gently. When you pulled away, you peeked your eyes open, his slightly agape.
"G'morning," he rasped out, his morning voice low in your ear.
"'morning," you sniffed, nose slightly blocked from the cold weather.
"You 'kay?"
You nodded, eyes drooping closed again.
"Do ya wan' go out for breakfast?" he mumbled against your hair.
"Sound' good"
"Can we go now...? I'm hungry" 
You sighed, "Yeah"
Hizashi got up a lot faster than you expected. You lazed around in bed for a little bit still, knowing it would take him longer to get ready than it would for you. You got up and started getting ready, and you were still ready before him. 
"You ready, babe!" He asked cheerfully!
"I've been ready for like 10 minutes," you said, rolling your eyes playfully. "Come on, let's go!"
Hizashi and Shota made this plan not too long ago. Shota knew you'd stress out and worry about him, so him and Hizashi decided to make a plan to distract you from worrying about your lover. So it all started off with breakfast somewhere and then afterwards, some fun surprises!!
When you arrived at the small cafe, you realized it had been a place that you had been wanting to go to for awhile, but knew that it wouldn't be cheap so didn't mention a lot. Your jaw dropped upon realizing though. Hizashi noticed and chuckled, "Shocked?" 
"I mean.. yeah! I kind of expected just- the usual!" You exclaimed.
He grabbed your hand pulling you towards the entrance. He opened the door for you and you entered, him following behind you. You were in awe of our beautiful and aesthetic the whole cafe was. You two ordered some coffee and food, heading over to a cozy little love seat with end tables on either side. It was kind of secluded, with some cute decorations. You couldn't help but be distracted by every part of the little cafe. 
"They called our order, be right back babe!" Hizashi said, knocking you out of your trance.
"Okay!" You smiled.
After you were finished with the peaceful meal and light conversation, you were ready to head home.
"Do you wanna go shopping?" 
Your head whipped around, confused. You and Hizashi always enjoyed shopping, but Shota hated when you two went out and spent too much money. "Of course I do!! Once we find a house, we can decorate the baby's nursery... OOOOO!! I'm so excited!! Wait... but we don't know the gender and-" You continued rambling as he drove to an outlet mall. 
"Well we technically can find out the gender at the next appointment right?" 
"I think so! But it depends... I think for it to be 100% it has to be past 18 weeks... so they might not be able to tell." 
He sighed, "well, we can at least get some necessities! Or we can just go shopping for us~"
"Both..?" You asked questioningly.
"Shota might kill us but yes!!"
You two walked around the mall for awhile, you found some cute things for your new house, no matter where you end up. You sighed, your feet started to hurt and you were losing your breath much easier. As a hero, you never would've had such issues after a little bit of walking. 'Stupid pregnancy symptoms...' you thought, your mind started to wander to the months ahead, then to Shota. You must've zoned out enough for Hizashi to notice.
"Babe?"
You looked up at him, "huh?"
"You zoned out, baby. You okay?"
"Hm? Oh, yeah! Can we sit for a few minutes?"
"Sure!" 
You pulled him over to a nearby bench, sitting all your things next to you on the bench, Hizashi sitting on the other side. You sighed and rested your head on his shoulder. 
"What were you thinking about?" he mumbled, resting his head on top of yours, his hand gently rubbing circles on your thigh.
"First... I was thinking about this stupid pregnancy, shit," you grumbled. "Y'know the shortness of breath and swollen ankles bullshit..." you were silent for a moment, "then... it shifted to Shota... I hope he's okay.."
"I'm sure he's fine!!" 
You knew he was only saying that to make you feel better. He worried about him just as much, but you knew deep down inside, he was scared out of his mind about his partner. You sighed, closing your eyes, just trying to enjoy the peace around you. 
"Do you wanna go home? We can eat something and then cuddle and take a nap?" he asked, "We can turn our ringers on all the way up just in case."
You smiled, lifting your head and looking at him. You kissed him gently. "Yeah, that sounds relaxing."
You both headed towards the car, holding hands. He opened the passenger door for you, letting you get comfy and closing the door. He put all of the bags in the car before getting in on the driver side.
"Ready?"
"Mhm!"
You reached your hand towards your husband, and he held your hand on your thigh. He drove carefully, trying to go back roads to avoid traffic or some random villian attack. You stared out the window as the blondes thumb caressed the back of your hand.
"Still worrying?"
You groaned, "I can't help it!"
"I know," he sighed. "I do the same thing..."
After you arrived back at your apartment and ate lunch, you and Hizashi cuddled up on the couch. Hizashi laid on his back, his hand resting on your lower back, gently rubbing with his thumb. Your leg over his thigh and your hand over his chest, head resting on his shoulder, face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Your cat jumped up next to you, climbing to rest on Hizashi's stomach. You moved to pet your furry friend, purring softly as you scratched his head.
You huffed a small laugh, "She's only here cause Shota isn't."
Hizashi did the same, "I know. What do you wanna watch?"
"Idk," you mumbled. "We're gonna fall asleep anyways, so put on anything."
"Fair"
He put on a random show neither of you had ever heard of and held you close. He kissed your forehead and grabbed your phone, making sure the ringer was all the way up, as well as his own. Eventually you both had drifted off, although it wasn't long before you did get a call.
You shot up upon hearing your phone ring, scaring the sleeping cat. You rushed to grab your phone, making Hizashi groan when your knee dug into his hip.
"Hello?" You answered, voice full of worry.
"Hello! I am calling from Osaka City hospital! Is this Y/n (Aizawa, Yamada, Yamada-Aizawa, L/n)?"
"Yes! Is everything okay?"
"Yes! We were just calling to inform you Shota Aizawa was emitted here about half an hour ago." The receptionist said.
"Is he okay? Was he seriously injured??"
"Yes, he is okay. We cannot give you any other details about it."
"Okay, thank you."
"Of course"
And with that you hung up. Hizashi sat up, wrapping his arms around your hips.
"Can you move your knee?" he pouted, eyes still drooped close.
"We need to go to the hospital!! Come on!!!!"
"What?? Is he okay??"
"They said he was emitted half an hour ago, but said he was okay"
"Good, let's go."
When you arrived, you had asked for his room. It felt like an eternity before you finally made it there. You opened the door to see your husband, he was facing away from you, still in most of his hero costume. He was putting his shirt back on, you noticed the stitches on his back. He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned around. You quickly made your way to him, tears welling up in your eyes, Hizashi had followed close behind. Shota held you tight against him your arms wrapped around him, not fully against his back, not sure where the stitches were. He moved your arms so that you could hold him tight. Shota let go with one arm bringing a tearful blonde into the other side.
"Shhhh, I'm okay, I told you I would be " He kissed each of you heads.
"I-I was s-so wor-ried whe-en they call-alled" you sobbed.
"I was gonna call you guys myself after they finished the stitches but they had already called you by then" he sighed. "I didn't mean to worry you two"
Hizashi kept his face hidden in the crook of Shota's neck. After when you two finally calmed down, sleepiness overtaking your body.
"Hey, I gotta go check on all my students and the other heroes. I think..." he trailed off.
"We'll come with you!!" Hizashi muttered.
"Okay," he sighed.
You followed him to each room, checking on Midoriya last. He wanted to talk to the green haired boy alone. You watched as they walked down the hall. You and Hizashi followed suit. You all paused in front of Eri. You got teary eyed again. The young girl with light blue hair was feverish, breathing heavily as she slept.
Shota spoke to Midoriya: "She's being quarantined for now"
"Quarantined? Really?" The young boy asked.
"You know, they made that call based on your description of what happened back there. She's got a dangerous Quirk and no control over it. If something provokes her enough to activate it again, I'm the only one who can stop her. You were only able to touch her because you kept destroying your body faster than she could rewind it, right?" (Season 4 Episode 14) Aizawa spoke. His voice fading as he walked down the hall to the elevator.
"He's the only one that can stop her quirk..? Is it that powerful...?" You mumbled, "Is he gonna have to stay here... watch her?"
"I don't know..." Hizashi replied.
You and Hizashi made your way to the elevator. When you got up there, you headed towards where you had seen the boy and Shota turn. You gasped, covering your mouth with your hand. Hizashi's eyes were wide, his fingers tightening around yours.
"Sir nighteye won't make it for much longer. Say what you want to now," the nurse told you all.
"I wanna go home," you muttered, silent tears streaming down your face.
Hizashi hugged you, tight. You all had seen this kind of stuff before... You were heroes after all, but seeing a fellow hero be killed in such harsh ways was hard.. "Come on, we'll go sit down at that bench down there till Sho's done. Then we can go home."
You only sat on the bench for maybe, probably not even half an hour. You let out a shaky sigh when you finally say Shota's hand reaching out for yours. You grabbed it, getting up and hugging him tight. Shota flinched slightly as your hand brushed over his stitches, but held you for a minute.
"Let's go home"
When you all arrived back at the apartments, you had fallen asleep, exhausted from all the crying.
"I'll carry her"
"Okay... she was worried you know..."
"I knew she would be"
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah"
"Positive?"
"Yeah... are you?"
"I think so."
"What about Eri?"
"When she gets out of quarantine... I- maybe we save this one for when all 3 of us can discuss it."
"Okay"
You were placed gently on the bed, still sleeping peacefully. You already had been in comfy clothes since you came home from the mall. Hizashi and Shota changed into their sleep clothes getting into bed, the black haired man in the middle.
"Missed you y'know...." the blonde muttered, snuggling into his husband.
Shota chuckled lowly, careful not to wake you as you had cuddled into his other side. "I was only gone for a few pretty much a school day."
"I know... but I was worried."
"'m sorry," his hand rubbing up and down his lovers back.
Aizawa was at the stove, finishing breakfast, and sipping on a cup of black coffee. Hizashi sat up on the counter next to the stove watching his lover cook.
"G'morning." you mumbled, wrapping your arms around Hizashi's waist resting your head on his waist and stomach. His hand combing through your hair and rubbing you upper back gently.
"Good morning baby!"
Shota's hand came to wrap around your waist as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your temple before he continued cooking. "We gotta talk about something while we eat, 'kay baby?" He asked you.
"'Kay," you murmured.
Hizashi lifted your head and held your face in his hands pulling you in for a kiss. You both pulled away and you rested your head on his shoulder. He chuckled and held you close.
"So sleep pretty girl" He whispered into your hair, kissing your forehead, "so pretty," he mumbled, peppering your face with kisses till you started giggling.
Shota watched, smiling to himself, plating the food and putting it on the table. You all went to sit down and eat. Shota took a few bites before speaking.
"Eri can't control her quirk. Anything could happen to trigger her quirk and I'm the only one that can stop it if it does activate. I... I know we have a baby on the way... but I think we should adopt Eri. I wanted to talk to you guys first though."
"We don't really have much room for her right now with the apartment. I'm okay with adopting her, but where is she supposed to stay?" You asked.
"Well, we need to buy a house. And really soon now because of Eri. We can for now tidy up the office and set up a room in there for now. It's mainly just a storage room so if we work on cleaning it out today, we can set up something temporary. And Christmas is in 3 days so we should consider some toys she may want"
"I'll get some toys! I'm good at picking out toys," Hizashi said enthusiastically.
You rolled your eyes playfully, "that'll work for now!"
After breakfast, you and Shota worked on cleaning out the office/storage room while Hizashi bought some presents and gift wrap that would appeal to a young girl. Although you were still working on cleaning, but you were deep in thought, kind of mindlessly organizing and throwing things away.
"Sho?"
He hummed in response, "hm?"
"Do you think Eri will be okay? Will she accept us?"
"I..." he paused, carefully considering his words. "I think she'll be okay. She might need time to get used to us, but from what Midoriya said when he first met her, she was attached to him and mirio when she didn't even know who they were. Just recognizing that they were good people."
You hummed in response this time. Once everything was finished being tidied up, Hizashi had made it back with some toys and a small bed for her temporarily. Shota set up the small twin size bed for her, while you took some time to wrap hers and your lovers presents. By now, it was around 6pm. Eventually, you hear someone knock on the bedroom door.
"You can come in, I did both yours first!"
Shota opened the door, "the hospital called about Eri, she's being released from the hospital tomorrow. She woke up today and they did some testing, just checking to make sure she was okay."
"Okay!" you smiled.
The next day, you and Shota headed to the hospital to pick up Eri. Obviously Hizashi wanted to go but he had to patrol. Plus, he can be overbearing at times. Once you both explained who you were, she relaxed but still seemed timid. She attached herself more to Shota, having recognized him from the fight and realizing that he saved her and Midoriya. She held tight to Shota as you walked back out to the car. When you got back home you and Shota explained that you wanted to adopt her and all sorts of different things. She came around to you pretty easily. You both talked about and showed her pictures of Hizashi which seemed to help her be more comfortable. You helped her change into some comfy clothes that you had gotten her and you all relaxed at home so you didn't overwhelm her.
When Hizashi got home, he tried his best not to scare her. He introduced himself and was smiling softly at her. She seemed to have calmed down a lot quicker with him since he was being silly with her. Eventually he went to go get a shower before coming out for a delicious dinner you had prepared while Shota watched some cartoons with the little blue haired girl.
That night when she started getting sleepy you tucked her into bed, and left the door cracked to her room. You sighed softy, going back out to the living room where your lovers sat, Shota somehow pulled onto Hizashi's lap which was a rare occurance as it was usually the other way around.
"Wanna watch something for a bit before bed?" You asked.
They both agreed and stayed seated where they were. You sat down next to Hizashi, your head in Shota's lap, your hand resting on his thigh. Shota sat sideways, resting his head on Hizashi's, an arm around the latters neck while the other tangled in your hair. One of Hizashi's arms were around your waist, the other around Shota's.
You were all comfortable, relaxing in each other's holds, surprsingly, Shota was the first to fall asleep which is when you decided that it was time to head to bed yourselves. Hizashi lead a half awake Shota to the bedroom and laid him down. You and the blonde joing mere minutes after.
He didn't know what time it was, 2? Maybe 3am? In his hazy state he didn't even realize what woke him up. The city was silent. Did one of you snore too loud and it woke him up? Did something hit the window? Did the cat knock something over? He sat up in bed blinking a few times, looking next to him where he had just been spooning Hizashi who was spooning you, noticing that the cat had been curled up on the pillow that laid in front of you.The black haired man slid out of bed, waking up enough to go investigate what had awakened him. He heard a quiet whimper as he closed the door to your shared bedroom.
He opened the door to Eri's temporary room and noticed she was wollering around in a fitfull slumber, crying quietly. He walked over to her bed, being quiet as possible as to not startle her. He gently brushed his fingers through the girls hair, trying to soothe her. After a few minutes, she startled awake pulling away from him as quickly as she could trying to hide away from him.
"Shhhh, hey, 'ts 'kay. 'm not gon' hurt you," he soothed. She quickly realized it was just Shota and flung herself into his arms. "'ts 'kay." he hummed, pulling his fingers through her hair gently and rubbing her back. "D'ya wanna come sleep with me and y/n and 'zash?"
She nodded against his shoulder, tears slowing down. He carried her back to your shared bedroom, noticing the cat had moved and Hizashi had taken over the space that he had been sleeping in. He sighed quietly, sitting on the bed and laying back with her on his chest. He held her close, trying his best to stay awake till she fell asleep.
In the morning, you had shifted closer, probably trying to stay warm in the cold winter when Hizashi hogged the heavy comforter. Your face was pressed into Shota's neck, an arm loosely wrapped around Eri and your leg over his. He was the first awake, and obviously unable to move. He squeezed his arm out from between you two and slid it around your back, gently rubbing your waist where your sleep shirt had shifted up. 
He turned his head carefully and kissed your hairline. He sighed in contentment. He had everything. A beautiful wife and husband, a sweet child, as well as one on the way, and an adorable cat that loved all the attention. His thoughts were interrupted when a quiet whine from the man on your other side sat up, pouting at how he was left out of the cuddle puddle. 
"Come 'ere," the black haired man muttered, trying his best not to wake either of you up. "And bring the comforter, Y/n's feet are freezing."
Hizashi smiled, tossing the large blanket over the three of you before sliding behind you and wrapping one arm around your waist, holding Shota's hand where their hands met. The blonde nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck and kissed you wherever he could reach. 
You moaned lowly, lightly pushing Hizashi off in your still very sleepy state. "'m s'eepin..."
"You're seepin' baby???" Hizashi mocked in a baby voice quietly, nipping gently at your neck.
"Go be 'orny s'mewhere else" you mumbled, pressing yourself impossibly closer to Shota. 
He whined, "not horny, just wanna give you attention."
You sighed as he cuddled up closer to you again, easily falling back asleep with the warmth of your lovers around you. And in a few days, Christmas will be here!!!
A/N: Now that I finished this, I realized it was going to be a really long part when I was halfway through since I decided to add the part of Aizawa on the mission to save eri and how Eri became a part of their family and stuff. I personally feel as thought I was everywhere and had no plain set plot. I think that it turned out okay but I think I could've done better. I don't know when I'll have part 5 out honestly cause i struggled to find time to write this part. I will try my best though and I know for a fact that I want to finish this storyline and plot! My next part will probably be of Christmas morning so kinda a little mini story. If anyone has any ideas on what should be a part of part 5, please share!! I can tell where I started getting lazier and lazier and a lot of it I think was from how LONG this part was. I feel like all I'm doing is making that whole morning sickness prominent, and losing ideas of other things to add. Also, I really like angst, so that's probably why if you've read all the parts that you might be questioning why there's so much more anxiety and dread and more sad or depressing kind of themes.
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