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helaintoloki · 15 days ago

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Safe Space

pairing: avenger!Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings/notes: themes of ptsd and trauma, violence, mentions of torture, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

a/n: another request piece that was sent in! this took me a while to come up with but i hope you enjoy !

summary: you struggle to return to a life of normalcy after being kidnapped, but Bucky is there to help you pick up the pieces

The morning sunlight that bleeds through the curtains rouses Bucky from his sleep, and the first thing he is greeted with is your loving smile as you gently push his hair back from his face.

“Happy birthday, Sarge,” you coo softly before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Bucky hums tiredly as he stretches out his limbs and shifts to face you in bed.

“Is that today?” He prompts groggily while pulling you into his arms.

“Same day as it was last year, I’m afraid,” you tease softly, giggling at the way he playfully nips your neck in response to your sarcasm.

“Can’t we just treat it like a normal day and stay in bed?” Bucky groans into your neck, relishing in the feel of your warmth against his skin.

“And miss the birthday party Steve worked so hard to put together for you?” You reprimand him with a raised brow. “Not a chance.”

A small huff of amusement leaves Bucky at your comment. After everything he’d been through and all the years he’d lost, he never once thought it necessary to celebrate the time of passage marked by his birthday. Why bother when he’d already missed so many of them? But then he met you, and suddenly Bucky had a reason to look forward to each new day with you by his side. You were patient and understanding of all he’d been through, you never pushed him to do anything he didn’t want to, and you gave him the courage to take charge of his new start as an Avenger.

“Just give me ten more minutes with you and I’ll get up,” he promises, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as he cradles you against his chest. You hum appreciatively at the gesture and entangle your limbs with his own.

“Anything you want,” you murmur, already feeling yourself being lulled back to sleep. “I love you, James.”

“I love you, y/n. More than you could ever imagine.”

Bucky’s solemn gaze has been glued to your photo in his hand ever since Steve took over piloting the quinjet. The edges of the polaroid are frayed from being kept in his vest pocket, but your face remains unscathed and allows your permanently etched smile to haunt his every waking moment.

You’ve been missing for over a month.

It had been a simple assignment that you were more than capable of handling on your own. Fury had assured you it would take no longer than one day to retrieve forgotten files from an abandoned weapons dealer’s warehouse; all you had to go was get in and get out. You had kissed Bucky goodbye before he waved you off, and that had been the last time he’d seen you. Your one-day mission turned into three days, and on day five you’d officially been declared MIA. Your tracker was turned off and no one could reach you, and Bucky was left to grapple with his guilt over your disappearance.

The team had received an anonymous tip with information on your current whereabouts, and without hesitation the Avengers had suited up and made their way to your supposed location. Bucky was restless throughout the entire flight, his only goal being to find you and have you back in his arms once more. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if the tip turned out to be false or, even worse, it had been too late.

A gentle hand on his shoulder breaks Bucky from his contemplative daze as he’s forced to remove his eyes from your photo and look up into the remorseful face of his friend.

“We’re going to find her, Buck,” Steve says resolutely.

“What if we’re too late?” The man utters, agony clear on his features as he looks up at his friend with tears that threaten to fall. “What if this is all for nothing?”

“You can’t talk like that, like there’s no hope,” the blond insists adamantly. “The tip said she’s still alive. That’s gotta be worth something.”

“Sometimes that’s worse,” Bucky murmurs knowingly. A haunted look washes over his features that unnerves Steve, but the Captain isn’t able to discuss the matter further as the team finally makes their arrival to the given coordinates.

The tip had been sent to Fury by a supposed mole from an unnamed terrorist organization. They sought protection in exchange for your whereabouts, and the information led your teammates to a warehouse that had previously been deemed abandoned. No one would have ever thought twice about checking for you here, and that was what made it the prime the location for a secret base.

“We have no idea what we’re up against here,” Steve states as he debriefs the team. “All we know is that y/n is somewhere inside that building, and we’re not leaving here without her. Everyone knows what their job is today.”

Per Steve’s orders, every person is on their own as they spread out across the building and clear the rooms one by one. Bucky’s entire body is frigid with tension as he makes his way down the desolate corridors with his gun raised and his mind on high alert. The soldier is out for blood, heart pounding in his chest and mind frenzied with the endless possibilities of the state he might find you in.

The first few rooms are clear, but it isn’t until he turns the corner that he encounters an unsuspecting guard making rounds through the building. Bucky is on him in an instant, metal arm grabbing him by the throat and hosting him in the air before slamming his body against the wall. The guard’s eyes widen in fear while his fingers desperately claw at the metal arm that slowly crushes his windpipe, but Bucky is unrelenting.

“You have five seconds to tell me where you’re keeping her before I snap your neck,” he all but snarls through gritted teeth. He loosens his hold just enough to allow the man to speak and watches in annoyance as the man takes in spluttering breaths.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the guard insists desperately before immediately being slammed back against the wall.

“I know you have a woman here against her will. An Avenger,” he reiterates bitterly. A flash of recognition washes over the guard’s face that Bucky is quickly able to detect, and the unease it fills him with causes him to falter on his hold.

“I… I know you,” the guard breathes out shakily much to Bucky’s chagrin. “The Winter Soldier...”

“Shut up!” Bucky barks furiously, prompting a faint smirk to form on the guard’s lips.

“You got away, and they decided to take her in your place. Her torture is your penance for your betrayal.”

“Who took her?!” Bucky demands, fist closing tighter around the man’s neck. His patience is thinning as the seconds drag on, but the man finally manages to give his answer despite the pressure to his throat, and the soldier’s stomach immediately fills with dread.

“Hail Hydra.”

The man dies almost instantaneously as Bucky tosses his body aside, but he can’t find himself bothered enough to care as he’s hit with weight of this new revelation. This wasn’t the work of some amateur villain or low level organization; this was Hydra. Hydra had you in their hold for over a month, and Bucky didn’t have to imagine what horrors you’d endured during your time here. He needed to find you, and he needed to find you now before they had the chance to lay a hand on you again.

He’s on the warpath, taking out guards left and right as he storms through the building in search of you. All he sees is red, his ears ringing from the pressure pounding in his head while his sight tunnels to focus on the mission at hand. No one will stop him, no one can stop him, and it’s for this reason only that he finally finds you.

A single door at the end of the hallway is all the stands between you and him. The neatly organized patient chart that hangs on the doorway bares your name, but Bucky doesn’t have the stomach to read any further than that. He uses his metal hand to break the lock on the door with ease before slowly pushing it open. He isn’t sure what he’ll find on the other side, but he just hopes he isn’t too late to save you.

Your still figure lies strapped to a metal table, and the steady rise and fall of your chest assures Bucky that you’re still breathing. The medical grade hospital gown is the only item of clothing you have on, allowing the multitude of bruises that cover the expanse of your skin to be on full display. Your face is sunken and drained of color, and your frail figure indicates clear signs of malnourishment. This is not the same y/n that Bucky had kissed goodbye after seeing her off from the compound, and his heart tightens in his chest at this horrible realization.

Bucky makes careful work of undoing your restraints and notes the scarred skin hidden underneath. It’s evident you’d fought against the straps frequently, and he knows better than anyone the fear that must have consumed you from being held down against your will. He doesn’t even want to think about what else they could have done to you in your time here, so he wills the thoughts away and instead carefully brushes his fingers against your arm in an attempt to rouse you from your sleep.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he hushes softly, harshly swallowing down his anxieties for your sake. “Open those pretty eyes for me. Wake up.”

Bucky watches on with bated breath as you begin to stir, eyebrows furrowing in discomfort and lashes fluttering until you can finally will your eyes to open. You groan, blinded by the harsh lights hanging above you and sore beyond belief from your previous bought of torture. It takes you a moment to grow accustom to your surroundings, and after what feels like ages your gaze finally settles upon the man hovering over you.

“There you are,” he utters softly, eyes brimming with tears as a smile of relief washes over him.

You start to scream.

Bucky is taken back by the shrieks you let out as you immediately begin to fight against him, blindly thrashing around like a caged animal while using your feet to kick him away.

“Please, don’t!” You sob in pure terror. “Get away!”

“Y/n, it’s me!” Bucky insists desperately as he takes hold of your wrists to stop your assault, but this only agitates you further.

“Let me go!”

“It’s me, it’s James!” He reiterates firmly despite the tears that fall down his face. “It’s your Sarge, remember?”

You falter at his words as if clarity has finally taken over your frenzied mind, and after a moment your terrified faces morphs into one of desperate relief as you quietly choke out, “Bucky?”

He feels as if the wind has been knocked out of his chest at the sound of your voice. You look absolutely broken, and it unnerves him to no end to see you so hysterical. Bucky knew exactly what they had done to make you this way because he’d once endured it himself, and he ached with agony at the fact that he hadn’t been there to protect you from any of it. It was his job as your teammate, as your partner, to keep you safe, and he felt like he had failed.

“I’m here,” he assures you, catching your trembling figure as you collapse off of the table and into his arms. He sinks to the floor with you in his hold and keeps you close to his chest while you sob, your screams echoing throughout the building and permanently etching themselves into his mind forever. Tears steadily fall from his eyes but he makes no attempt to clear them away. His focus is solely on your comfort as he carefully rubs circles into your back. “I’m never going to let them hurt you again.”

“I wish they would have just killed me,” you manage to confess while digging your fingers into the fabric of Bucky’s tactical vest. Despite the dread that pools in his stomach, the man merely presses his lips to the crown of your head and nods.

“I know,” he shushes you gently, a look of solemn understanding washing over his features. “I know.”

“Bucky,” a voice calls from the doorway, prompting you to stiffen in his hold while he looks to its owner. Steve stands there with a look of quiet realization on his face as he takes in the sight of your disheveled form in your savior’s arms. You begin to tremble in fear at the new presence in the room, and it’s clear that you don’t register the fact that it isn’t a Hydra agent here to torment you but a friend who longs to reach out for you.

“It’s alright, it’s just Steve,” Bucky hushes in your ear before meeting his friend’s disquieted gaze. “Gather the others and get the quinjet ready. We’ll meet you there.”

The Captain gives a solemn nod before making his exit and hastily following Bucky’s orders. Alone once more, you peer up at your partner with exhausted eyes and trembling lips as you meekly ask, “Do I get to go home now?”

With a watery smile, Bucky gently brushes his knuckles across your bruised cheek and offers you a single nod. He decides in that moment his sole focus in life will be to help you overcome the torture you’d endured and provide you the comfort he’d never been given during his time as the Winter Soldier. Your scars were his to bear, matching the ones he had already held on his own for so many years. His support would be unconditional and unwavering, and despite the long recovery that lay ahead he knew you’d be able to endure it together.

“I’m bringing you home, sweetheart, and no one is ever going to take you from me again.”

~~~

It takes an hour for Bucky to settle you down enough so that Bruce and the team of medics can properly examine you. You’d become frenzied at the sight of doctors and had pulled a scalpel on a poor nurse, but none of it was your fault. How could you be expected to willingly accept care when you’d spent an entire month being physically tormented?

Along with the multitude of bruises and cuts on your body, you were found to be extremely dehydrated and malnourished. You weighed fifteen pounds less than when you last left the compound, and you barely had the strength to keep yourself upright. You couldn’t walk for long distances without help from Bucky, and it made you feel absolutely pathetic. You once had been considered a top agent, cunning and powerful without an ounce of fear in your bones, and now you couldn’t go a minute without jumping at your own shadow. Hydra had ruined you, and you feared the effects might be permanent.

Bruce decides enough testing has been conducted for the day and releases you into the care of Bucky. For now, your main priority is to rest and regain your strength, but that’s easier said than done.

You struggle to remove your clothing while Bucky runs you a warm bath. Your muscles still ache from the beatings you’d endured, and each movement of your limbs sends jolts of pain throughout your body. You let out a quiet cry of frustration at your inability to remove your shirt, tears pooling in your eyes and sweat beading on your forehead as the room suddenly becomes much too hot. Your ears start to ring and you begin to panic at the suffocation your clothes cause you, but the feel of Bucky’s cool metal hand against your arm has you immediately relaxing.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly while carefully wiping away the tear that had fallen from your bought of panic. “Do you want me to help you?”

You give him a meek nod and allow him to undress you. Bucky is careful when pulling the shirt over your head, and he tries not to stare too long at the deep purples that stain your skin or the gashes that litter your abdomen. You’d managed to get out some details of your time as Hydra’s prisoner with loving encouragement from Bucky, and you told him of their attempts to coerce you into revealing sensitive information about the Avengers and, more importantly, about him. Your loyalty was unwavering, and though your silence only earned you brutal beatings in return, you never once let them break you. You were incredibly strong even if you didn’t feel that way, and Bucky made sure to express that to you during your assessment with Bruce.

The warm water burns the cuts on your skin as Bucky slowly eases you into the tub, but you try not to let that show. The last thing you want to do is worry him further, and you hate the fact that you’ve put so much on his already full plate for him to bear.

“Does that feel alright?” He murmurs gently while reaching across the way for your bottle of shampoo. You nod.

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily, shutting your eyes as silent tears begin to fall. “I don’t… I’m sorry for putting you through all of this.”

Bucky frowns, faltering in his movements as he sets the shampoo down and kneels beside the tub. He reaches into the water and gently grabs hold of your hand. You flinch on instinct without meaning to, but he doesn’t let show the sadness it brings him.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures you earnestly. “I wish I could take away all of your pain, go back in time and trade places with you, but the best I can do is be here for you. I want to be your shoulder to cry on, your hand to hold, your rock. The same way you’ve always been mine, because that’s what a relationship is supposed to be. Will you let me do that for you, honey?”

You let out a quiet sob from the overflow of emotions that wash over you in response to Bucky’s confession. You can’t get out any words and are only able to offer a nod in response. You’re in anguish from your trauma yet still grateful to have Bucky by your side, and the amalgamation of emotions you feel leaves you overwhelmed. Bucky lets you cry it out while he lovingly washes your hair for you and provides gentle reassurances every now and then. You don’t know what you’d do without him, and thankfully you’ll never have to find out.

You think that maybe you’ll survive this, so long as you have Bucky.

~~~

“My patience is running thin, Agent y/l/n,” the woman hums while filing her nails with disinterest. She never once meets your eyes, behaving as if you are beneath her and her time. You know you could snap her neck with ease if not for the chains keeping your arms hovering above your head; she knows this too, and it’s for that reason she feels cocky enough to torment you from her spot across the room. “I will ask again. Where can I find the Winter Soldier?”

“His name is James,” you murmur lowly before spitting at her. The blood that had pooled in your mouth splatters across the floor and lands on the toe of her boots. She looks down at the mess lamely before lifting her head to her counterpart and giving a single nod. You hold in a cry and grunt through the pain as your smacked across the face by the open palm of a Hydra soldier. A punch to your gut follows, knocking the wind out of you and prompting you to slump forward in agony.

“I have all the time in the world, my dear,” the woman says with a pleasant smile that fails to reach her eyes. You watch with wide eyes as the soldier walks towards the nearby table in the room and picks up a a taser. “Now let us try again.”

Bucky is in the kitchen when he hears you start to scream.

He drops the glass of water in his hands and pays no mind to the way it shatters behind him as he sprints back to your room. Your cries echo throughout the hallway and have probably woken up the entire floor by now, but he’s sure it’s something your teammates are used to by now. Night terrors have plagued your sleep since you were rescued, and though Bucky does his best to ensure your comfort, even he can’t erase the memories that continue to haunt you.

He makes it to your room in record time and finds you struggling to remove the sheets from your body. The kick of your legs is panicked and uncoordinated, and Bucky can tell you’re still in the midsts of sleep and consciousness. He’s at your side in an instant, peeling back the suffocating covers before carefully taking hold of your wrists in order to prevent you from hurting yourself.

“You’re dreaming, y/n,” he hushes you gently as your movements begin to slow. “Wake up, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

You open your eyes with a panicked gasp and shoot up in bed, nearly knocking your forehead into Bucky’s. Your chest heaves as you try to still your racing heart, and it isn’t until you meet his worried gaze that you register your surroundings. The dingy interrogation room has been replaced by your bedroom, and in the place of the callous Hydra operative is your loving boyfriend.

“James?” You whisper shakily, harshly swallowing down the bile that had risen in your throat. Your face is wet with tears and sweat, but this doesn’t stop him from carefully cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips to your forehead.

“I’m right here, doll. I’m always right here,” he assures you softly before meeting your fearful gaze.

“I… I think I had another nightmare,” you murmur shamefully. “Can I even call it that if it… if it really happened to me? If it wasn’t a dream?”

Bucky sighs softly and wipes away your tears before helping you settle back into bed. He makes note to kick the covers far away in order to keep you from feeling suffocated and engulfs you in his arms. You cling to him like a child clings to their favorite stuffed animal and find immediate comfort in his warmth.

“It was a dream,” Bucky assures you, “because you’ll never have to live through that again. I won’t let that happen. We survived, and Hydra doesn’t get to take that from us.”

“We survived,” you repeat quietly to reassure yourself, a grounding technique Bucky had taught you. He smiles faintly and gently runs his fingers up and down your back until you’re lulled back to bed.

In his presence, you’re able to sleep through the rest of the night.

~~~

A month has passed and you’re finally starting to show some signs of improvement. You’ve slowly but surely gained back some of the weight you’d lost, and you can walk around the compound without growing tired or needing to hold onto someone else. Most of the bruising has faded and your wounds have morphed into scars, but you’re still not on the same level of strength you had been when departing for that wretched mission months ago. However, Banner has cleared you to participate in training again, and soon you’ll begin conditioning with Natasha.

The mental wounds haven’t healed as easily, and they probably won’t heal for some time. You still can’t be alone in a dark room, can’t sleep without Bucky beside you, and flinch at any loud noise or sudden movements. The therapist you’ve been seeing at Bucky’s request is slowly helping you work through your trauma, but there’s only so much journaling and meditating can do for you.

You want an easy fix or the ability to speed-run through your cognitive healing. You’d even begged Wanda to warp your mind and rid you of your pain, but she had gently denied your request at the behest of Bucky and the rest of the team. Hydra had already scrambled your mind so much with their methods of mental torture, and your partner knew better than anyone that a mind wipe could only keep the memories away for so long before they began to resurface.

You don’t think you would have had the motivation to survive all of this if not for Bucky. He’s been your greatest comfort and your biggest supporter throughout your recovery, and you adore him endlessly for the unconditional love he gives you every day. No one understands what you’re going through better than him, and he has helped shine light on your darkest hour when you thought it to be impossible.

It’s a quiet morning in the compound as Steve and Sam prepare a nice breakfast for the team. You sit silently at the kitchen counter while they work, the music that plays from the radio hardly registering in your mind as you dissociate. Your mind feels foggy, your body on edge with anticipation despite the absence of any threats. This state of mind had kept you sane during your bouts of isolation when Hydra kept you locked in the dark for days at a time, and you still found yourself disconnecting from your environment at times without realizing.

Bucky notes your sudden silence with a worried frown, keeping an eye on you as he drinks his morning coffee but leaving you undisturbed. He found it was best to allow you the chance to break out of your daze yourself so long as the situation didn’t put you in harm’s way.

“I hate to ruin the mood, Buck,” Steve voices while mixing his oatmeal, “but we have to start preparing for our next assignment. We leave a week from today.”

“There isn’t any way for me to sit this one out?” Bucky pleads after casting a nervous glance in your direction. The conversation doesn’t seem to register in your mind, and for this he’s grateful. He doesn’t want to frighten you or send you into a panic so early in the morning. “I can’t just leave her.”

“Natasha will look after her,” Steve assures him. “I know it’s not the same, but she’ll at least be safe.”

“She needs me, Steve.”

“We need you out in the field, especially for this next assignment.”

“She’s tough, Bucky,” Sam reminds him. The man has just finished plating your breakfast for you and sets it down on your placemat- two eggs with pieces of bacon shaped into a smile and a bowl of fruit. You blink slowly before registering the food in front of you and absently reach for your fork. “And she’s been doing so well. You have to give her credit.”

Innocently and without a second thought, Sam rests his hand on your shoulder to give you an encouraging squeeze. The physical contact startles you back into reality, and almost as if on autopilot you clench the fork tightly in your grasp and swing without warning. Bucky’s eyes go wide in shock, but he’s able to move quickly enough so that his metal hand blocks the impact of the utensil from hitting Sam. It falls to the floor with a deafening clatter that sounds throughout the room, and the three men can only stare at each other in shock.

You come to your senses immediately and look down in horror at the crumped fork that lays at your feet. Your frightened eyes look from the fork to Bucky then back to Sam. Your features are apologetic despite the tears that well in your eyes, and you reach for the man with trembling hands.

“Oh my god, I- I’m so sorry,” you weep, “I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

“I know you didn’t,” Sam utters solemnly, accepting your sorrowful apologies with a hug as you begin to weep into his chest. “I’m alright. No harm, no foul.”

Your quiet cries fill the room as the men exchange uneasy glances. The breakfast is now long forgotten in exchange for the dented fork that Bucky retrieves from the ground and sets onto the counter. It is a harsh reminder of the reality you find yourselves in and the fact that despite your progress, you still have a long way to go.

“I’ll talk to Fury,” Steve murmurs quietly enough for only Bucky to hear. “You’re right.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

~~~

Your therapist suggests a change of scenery might alleviate the restlessness you feel when being benched from missions. Tony graciously offers you one of his many vacation homes to use at your discretion, and you end up in a secluded cabin nestled next to a peaceful lake.

You sit in front of the bay window with a cup of tea in your hands and watch as Bucky chops wood for the fireplace. His muscles are highlighted by the tightness of his red Henley, flexing with the effort he uses to swing the axe down onto the logs. You hum in quiet appreciation for your handsome boyfriend before leaving your place to join him outside.

It’s not often you get to play house like this with Bucky. Your life as world saving heroes doesn’t leave a lot of time leftover for domesticity, so you enjoy these stolen moments when you can. Your kidnapping served as a reminder that the peaceful lives you’d built together could crash down in an instant, and this thought haunted Bucky daily.

“Is my woodsman ready for dinner yet?” You call teasingly from the porch, prompting Bucky to pause his work so he can focus his attention on you. You look radiant with the golden hues of the sun reflecting on your face. Your eyes are the brightest he’s seen them in months, and here at the cabin it almost feels like the old you is slowly starting to peek her head out from the shadows. You’re healing, and nothing makes him happier than that.

“Just about finished,” he grins, meeting you on the porch to pull you into his arms. You melt into his embrace and allow yourself to enjoy the rare moment of tranquility you feel. You haven’t had any nightmares at the cabin, no moments of dissociation, and you don’t shy away from his gentle touch. You’re happy here, and this was a feeling you thought might never be attainable for you again.

“I like it here,” you hum pensively, peering up to meet his gaze. “It’s quiet.”

“You seem a lot better here than at the compound,” Bucky notes considerately, affectionately running the back of his hand against your jaw.

“It helps being separated from anything related to the incident,” you note with a disheartened frown, “but I have to go back at some point. I can’t run away forever.”

“Would it be so bad?”

Your brows furrow with uncertainty as you pull back to meet his stare. “What do you mean?”

“What if we get ourselves a cabin like this? Maybe we go into early retirement, settle down and start a new life together.”

“Do you really mean that, James?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart,” he grins while grabbing hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. “That’s always been the goal. I help keep the world safe so that I can wake to another day with you by my side. It doesn’t have to be now if you’re not ready, but just know that my plan is you. It’s always been you.”

You gift him a saccharine smile despite the tears that flow down your face, but for once they are tears of hope and happiness. All you thought of during your imprisonment was Bucky, about not getting the chance to see him again or say goodbye. You loved him with your entire being, and you knew that there was no future for you without him in it.

“I love you, Sarge,” you utter softly, draping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to meet you in a kiss.

Your heart is lighter than it’s been and months, and for once you are filled with hope for a better tomorrow.

~~~

“Like the new suit?” You prompt, shifting left and right to let Bucky take in all the angles. “Tony’s letting me take it out for a test drive.”

“Looks good,” Bucky compliments with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Noting his sudden shift in demeanor, you sigh and carefully rest your hands on his chest.

“I’ll only be gone a day at most,” you utter softly while smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. “Fury says it’s a quick job.”

“It’s not that,” he sighs as he tightly takes hold of your hands in his own. Hesitating, Bucky casts his troubled gaze to the floor before meeting your somber eyes. “I just don’t like that you’re going alone, and I wish I could come with you. Someone needs to have your back.”

“I’ll be okay. I know what I’m doing, and if all else fails this suit has a tracker that will send you an alert if I’m in trouble.”

“You sure your trip doesn’t have room for one more?” He attempts again only for you to shake your head.

“Afraid not, Sarge,” you sigh before pressing a quick peck to his lips. His sullen features make your heart tighten in your chest, and as much as you don’t want to leave him behind you know you have a job to do. “I promise I’ll come back to you. Don’t I always?”

“You do,” he relents with a faint smile before wrapping his arms around your frame and giving you a tight squeeze. “Have a safe trip.”

“I’ll be home before you know it.”

The memory of your goodbye is fresh in Bucky’s mind despite it having taken place six months ago. You’ve both changed so much since then, but he thinks it’s been for the better. You’ve only grown stronger despite what you’ve been put through, and he couldn’t be more proud.

“How’s that feel?” He asks after adjusting your thigh holster. You hum appreciatively and flex your leg to test the range of motion it gives you. “Too tight?”

“Fits just fine,” you note with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“You don’t have to go if you’re not ready. Steve and I can cover your slack.”

“No, I want to,” you insist firmly with a shake of your head. “The doctor says I’m ready, and if I don’t get back out on the field now I never will.”

It’s your first assignment since being sent away by Fury to retrieve those files. You’re nervous, but you’re ready to finally return back to your old life again. Being an Avenger had been everything to you, and you weren’t going to let what Hydra did to you take that away. You’re joining Steve and Bucky in a low stakes reconnaissance mission, and despite your eagerness to be back in action you can tell your partner is worried.

“I’m proud of you,” he utters suddenly, gently brushing back a strand of hair that had come loose from the rest. “And of how far you’ve come. I don’t doubt your ability to hold your own, but as your boyfriend it’s my job to worry.”

“I know,” you affirm with a nod. “I won’t lie to you and say I’m not scared to be going on this mission, but I can’t hide forever. Besides, I’ll have you and Steve with me, and neither of you will let anything happen to me.”

“I have your back,” he reaffirms with a faint smile before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. Despite his worries, he knows that this has always been the goal- to take back the life Hydra had stolen from you both. Your traumas bonded you together, but so did your recovery. Finding hope and positivity after the horrors you’d endured would always be a struggle, but it was a challenge the both of you were willing to take head on.

Bucky was your safe person just as you were his, and together you would always make it to the other side.

#mel writes #request #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #mcu #marvel #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #avenger!reader #avenger!bucky

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lxvebun · 1 month ago

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heart shaped kisses (LaDS edition)

synopsis: kisses/How they kiss you

buns notes: I'm pretty new to the game and I'm aware there are kissing cards already, this is just my version of it🫶 guess my fav lol

content : Zayne/Caleb/Sylus x gender neutral reader. Reader is not mc. Fluff. Slightly suggestive. Lovesick!Caleb my beloved. Forehead kisses. Neck kisses. Eng is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes<3 around 800 words♡

Heartshaped kisses m.list (multifandom) lads m.list

୨ৎ Zayne

Despite his cold exterior (or evol), Zayne's kisses are incredibly warm. It's almost as if you're being kissed by a beam of sunlight on an icy winter's day. His kisses are gentle, soothing, and all too easy to melt into. Does he really expect you not to pull him a little closer and keep him with you for just a little longer if this is how he decides to kiss you goodbye in the morning?

His glasses have long been discarded after fogging up the pretty sight of you, and his once-neat button-up is now wrinkled. You're afraid Dr. Zayne may be slightly late for work.

Then again, his alarm did go off a little earlier than usual today.....how odd.

୨ৎCaleb

Ugh this man. I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Give him to meeee

He knows what he's doing... Looking at you so tenderly as you talk about your day, eyes soft and admiring, darting from your gaze to your lips and back. He's listening, he is! But every syllable leaving your lips, the sound of your voice so melodic in his ears, makes it hard for him to concentrate. His hands itch to make their way to your waist and pull you into him, his mind already getting a little foggy in a mist of hearts and flowers. He never really asks you to give him a kiss; you've just learned to pick up on his incredibly non-subtle hints. And truly, it would be cruel to resist, no?

But he's as sweet as he is annoying because the moment you lean in, he pulls away. He fixes his posture, stands up to his full height, and looks down at you with this stupidly handsome smirk. He chuckles a little as you roll your eyes at him and sigh. You know what he wants; he knows it's coming. You can tell by the glimmer in his eyes, bordering on giddiness. He likes it when you pull him down by his necklace to meet you in a kiss<3 so curling your fingers around the delicate silver metal, you're barely even pulling as he's already starting to lean down to capture your lips in a sickeningly sweet kiss~♡

Caleb's kisses are passionate. An overwhelming amount of Devotion bordering on reverence bleed into every kiss. Marking a trail from your lips to the softness of your jaw, down to the pulse point in your neck, lingering there before kissing his way back to your lips. Frenzied, it sometimes feels like he craves you more than the air he needs to breathe. Should it scare you? Maybe. But the sweetness of the silent "I love you's" pouring out through breathless kisses and little love nibbles is enough to distract you from the sharpness of his teeth as they near your pulse and the way his hands seem to sink into your skin, a little too rough, a little too desperate for there to be nothing behind it.

୨ৎSylus

"A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism."

You're reminded of this quote every time Sylus kisses you. Feverish. Hungry. Truly, it feels like he's trying to devour you whole in the sweetest ways possible, desperately trying to let some part of him linger on you, melt into you, and become one with the blood flowing through your veins. Trying to burn a permanent place into your body, heart and soul, so you could never, ever forget him.

However, he has his softer moments—kisses that are no less passionate and feverish, but a whole lot calmer. No hitched breaths, no clashing teeth. It's sweet kisses to your cheek whenever you walk past, pressing a few extra here and there as he cradles your face, rubbing comforting circles into your jaw with his thumb before releasing you and letting you get back to what you were originally doing.

And It's soft forehead kisses as you sleep when the slight frown on your face tells him you're having a nightmare. He smooths out the furrow in your brow before pressing his lips there, hoping the kisses trancends into your dream, acting as some sort of protective shield against whatever monster your mind decided to conjure up. He hopes it looks nothing like him.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads sylus #lads caleb #sylus x reader #caleb x reader #lads zayne #zayne x reader #lads x gender neutral reader

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butterymangowrites · 11 months ago

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permanent fix

soulmate au + a/b/o

paring: alpha atsumu x fem beta reader

warnings: bullying, dub-con, atsumu is not nice, smut, slight breeding kink, biting, blood, choking, mirror sex, possessiveness, jealousy, alpha rut, atsumu talks shit, dramatic atsumu

word count: 2.2k

english is not my first language. please excuse any mistakes

Born as a beta, you never thought fate would toy with you by giving an alpha as your soulmate. Especially not one like Miya Atsumu, the one whom you went to school through college with and still having to see his face ever so frequently as if he had sworn to never let you live in peace.

For someone who made faces when seeing the lunchboxes your mom packed for you and proclaimed a beta was weak when you first presented at fifteen, Miya Atsumu couldn’t seem to detach himself from you.

So when you had a crush on one of your colleagues at twenty five, having his nose in your business as usual, Atsumu knew instantly.

“Another beta.” Lying comfortably on your couch, Atsumu scoffed. “Predictable.”

“Didn’t ask for your opinions.”

“I’m giving it anyway,” he said in a singsong voice, but his face was without mirth. “You can fuck whoever you want, but I’m getting my fix. That’s non-negotiable.”

Oh, yeah. His fix.

He patted his lap. “Come here.”

Then it all began again. Him cradling you in his lap, hands going all over, lips spilling hateful words.

‘Weak fucking beta.’ He would say. ‘Even Osamu got an omega soulmate. Makes me jealous as fuck.’

But then he would kiss you like the world might end tomorrow, doing everything opposite of what he said. This time was no different. His hot tongue was everywhere he could reach, acquainted itself with yours before leaving a wet trail down your neck.

You protested when he nipped a little too hard, scared he might leave marks. He did that once. The deep purple hickey you saw in the mirror after he left your apartment scared the shit out of you. A little more force and teeth could have broken the skin, and that thought caused chills to run all over your body. You didn’t want to bear his marks.

Yet, Atsumu didn’t care. He never did. His hands were now on your buttocks, squeezing hard through your thin pajama bottoms. He moved you to one of his thighs for better concentration. The hands on your butt now rolled your hips back and forth, to the point your moan finally slipped out of your tightly zipped lips and you forgot about the harsh nibbling on your neck.

“Go whore yourself out,” Atsumu whispered. “Like I fucking care.”

Same here, asshole.

You thought, didn’t say out loud.

Touching each other lifted the heavy weight in the heart caused by the act of not accepting the soulmate bond. Nothing more, nothing less. If not for this calling of intimacy both of you obliged to feel, he wouldn’t be here. You knew that. He said it way too many times.

Still, your cheeks were licked, your lips were tasted, neck wet with saliva. You felt like a prey about to be eaten every time he was close. Yes, he may not care. But he sure was possessive enough of things that were given to him.

Whenever you tried to wiggle out of his firm grasp, he tightened his fist. This time was the hardest you ever felt.

—

In more than twenty years of knowing each other, never once did Atsumu come to you when he had gone into rut. So when he called you two in the morning one week after his last fix, ordered you to pack a bag and tell your boss you would be on leave for a week, you were baffled. It was never more than kisses and touches with him. Your clothes were always intact and on. The idea of that being changed had you flat out saying no.

That didn’t stop Atsumu from coming to get you one hour later though. When he saw that you did nothing to get ready, his jaw was clenched. A split second later, he packed your bag himself, shoving clothes and toiletries in without any care. You were still in pajamas when the passenger door was slammed closed and he hit the gas.

—

There were reasons why betas are not for alphas. Physically, they were incompatible. Betas weren’t designed for alpha’s stamina, not to mention one in rut. At one point, you did not care to count anymore how many times you had blacked out. Fading in and out really fucked with your memory. All you remembered was the non-stop pounding, Atsumu’s breath against your face, and his uncharacteristic cooing, praising you as his good girl.

“Knew you were built for me.” The blond menace pulled on both of your wrists, never stopped his thrusting. “Let me knot you again, okay?” When you shook your head, face wet with tears, Atsumu shushed you softly. “Shhhhh. You can do it, I know you can.”

And you could. But it was not without pain.

“Shouldn’t have waited this long,” Atsumu said close to your lips. “You almost got away.”

He talked too much. But it would have been a big fat lie to deny that his words didn’t turn you on. That his vile confession didn’t affect you.

“Bold of you to even think I would let someone else touch you.” He sounded out of breath, closing to his end. “All the effort goes to waste. No no no no.”

You felt it coming, just seconds before. Then your whole body was taken by the waves of thrills and your whole vision turned white. Atsumu was not your first, but as if he was the harbinger of agony, it hurt when he first penetrated, hurt when he knotted. And when you felt a sharp sting at your sensitive neck, you knew he defied the rule of nature once again by marking you.

Fruitless. That was what it would be. Betas were not made for alphas. Mating bites did not forge any bond with the wrong person and would fade over time. But Atsumu had always been stubborn. One bite turned into two, three, then countless. All you felt was pain and the wetness of blood before darkness took your consciousness like the many rounds before.

—

The mating bites faded within two weeks, all except the first mark, proving to you that even biology could not win over destiny. Same went with all other beta-alpha soulmate couples out there after you had done some research. They were rare, but they were there. You shouldn’t have let Atsumu bite you. Should have known better that things could get weird when it came to soulmates. Now, he wouldn’t get off your ass, had the audacity to move his things to your apartment and yours to his, calling you his girlfriend in front of everyone and expecting to see you at his games.

You didn’t even like volleyball to begin with. And as you watched his magnificent tosses to any players he deemed to have high chances to score, you thought of a way to get out of his clutch.

He needed an omega, the correct designation he always longed for. Because even with all the protective caresses and the promise to never let you go, Atsumu was still mean. Like going back to the ninth grade when you put makeup on for the first time and he gave you the nastiest comment that made you go wash everything off in the school toilet, his words still stung badly when he chose to weaponize them.

‘Samu’s mate smells like she needs to be bred.’ He said that nonchalantly one day at Onigiri Miya, sitting side by side with you at the counter where his twin and his mate helped each other with cooking and serving the hungry athletes who were there to celebrate the day’s victory ‘Don’t know how he stands that. So sweet’

Hearing that made your conversation with Hinata pause. His steely gaze was the first thing you saw when turning to face ‘your boyfriend’.

It didn’t end there. For days Atsumu was in a devilish mood, his jabs that you knew most of them were meant to just rile you up for fun had become a real emotional harm. He still fucked you, make no mistake about that. And it was as devilish as his temper.

‘Too hard, Miya. Too hard.’ You still wouldn’t call him by his first name.

Veiny hands wrapped snugly around your neck, Atsumu only went faster after hearing that. The bathroom mirror was foggy with hot steam from the shower, but you could see enough. One of your legs was perched on the counter, allowing the view of his cock pistoning in and out of you, your breasts bouncing fast.

‘Would have been pregnant already if you were an omega.’ The sentence came out coated with his accent, thicker than normal, like he didn’t have full control of how he spoke. ‘But that’s alright. I can take my time with you. We’ll get there,’ he purred. ‘Still, what a shame, huh?’

Shame his ass for saying that and not letting you leave. ‘Go fuck an omega then.’

He smirked. Pissed you off. ‘Nah.’

As his toss to Sakusa scored a winning point, the loud cheer brought you back to the present. You saw Atsumu eyes staring up at you from the court below and knew what you had to do.

—

Getting an omega who wanted to spend a heat with Miya Atsumu was easy enough. Sending her up to your apartment where he was already there waiting for you was as simple. You drove away then, not far, stopping at your favorite 24-hour cafe because you needed somewhere to sit and waited for the first feedback from the omega girl. Half an hour later, you got a call.

The screen showed the female omega’s name. You picked up and said hello, expecting to hear that everything went well and that you could go find somewhere else to sleep for the next five nights.

But you only heard cries. Not of pleasure, just a full-blown crying with hiccups.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, frowning. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“He—he screamed—at me,” she spluttered, almost incoherently, “and only asked where you were.”

You cursed quietly, finally able to stop stirring the poor coffee you ordered without any interest in taking a sip. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know,” she cried. “He left—after the screaming.” Her voice wavered all the more when she kept on trying to speak. “You had to see him. He looked murderous. There was not even a hello. He straight up shouted at me, accusing me of breaking in. When I tried to explain—mentioned you, his face was all red.” A hiccup interrupted the long babbling. “He said he was married to you and showed me the ring.”

You were not sure what crack Atsumu was on, but there was definitely no ring or marriage.

The call was still on when you heard the cafe’s door pushed open. And it was as if you saw the devil with your own naked eyes.

Atsumu walked in.

His strides declared no peace or mercy when he saw you, ignoring the greetings from the two night shift baristas.

Not wanting to cause a scene, you stood up, didn’t say anything when he put his hand on your shoulder and led the way out.

The drive was silent. Your car was left at the parking lot near the cafe, you would have to come and get it as soon as you could before the parking fee turned as murderous as him. When asked where he was going, he answered solemnly, “My place. Yours stinks.”

You just knew it was going to be a long night.

—

Atsumu was the one who got the car out for you the next morning since he was the one who could still walk without wobbling. The sheets you slept on were rumpled. They reeked of cum.

You reeked of cum.

‘You think you’re so funny?’ he asked, knowing you couldn’t answer with his cock occupying your mouth but did it nonetheless ‘You wanted me to fuck her? What was going on in that pretty little head?’

He pulled you by the nape of your neck before pushing your head down, forcing your throat to take more of him till you felt the urge to gag.

‘I thought we had an understanding, baby,’ he said, finally relenting his grip on your head. ‘No whoring yourself out.’ Then he stressed, ‘And no whoring me out. I’m yours.’

‘Do you understand?’

You only nodded.

‘Words.’

‘Yes, Miya.’

‘Atsumu,’ he said, looking like he wanted to throw up. ‘You’re not fucking my brother. Don’t make me imagine that. Call me Atsumu.’

‘Yes, Tsumu.’

Looked like you delivered. Atsumu grinned from ear to ear. ‘Good girl. My best girl.’

That was last night.

A warm kiss to the cheek woke you again, must have dozed off after Atsumu left, but those scenes were not a dream. You heard him whisper,

“I got your car. Parked it at your place.”

He looked like he got a ten-hour sleep while you could not move a limb without feeling sore. Not fair. And the way he looked so good in sheep’s clothing, his wolf’s skin all hidden. Not fair at all.

“Shower.” Your voice was hoarse, but you got the message through. That was good enough.

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu smut #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu x you #haikyu fanfiction #haikyu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu dark content #soulmate au #a/b/o au #omegaverse #a/b/o #haikyuu x reader

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moonchildcovenxx · 3 months ago

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Scissoring With Sevika

a/n: Guys i got possessed!! It’s the voices I swear! this is loosely based off of @justhereforsubsevika’s post so go check that out if u like mine :)!!

first time tribbing with sub/switch sevika??? you know what hell yeah!

Sevika prided herself in her poker face. It was an ability that came naturally, and the years of being Silco’s second in command had perfected this trait. It took a lot to break your stoic, brooding, girlfriend. That is until it didn’t.

Sevika had simply stopped moving above you. It was uncharacteristic of her to quiet so quickly. “Vika baby…” you trail off as you shift your hips to look at her. You always craved to feel her closer.

Sevika’s warm muscular body against yours never failed to make you needy. She could hardly believe it herself when you suggested scissoring in place of her fucking you stupid with a strap. Sevika hated to admit when she was wrong, But it felt good. Better even. So good in fact that you both froze when a soft mewl fell from her parted lips.

“Shut up.” Sevika immediately rasped out as your intrigued yet teasing giggle filled your dimly lit bedroom.

“Didn’t know you could sound like that Sevika.” The atmosphere in the room has reached a drunken, hazy, stupor and your eyes darken as Sevika tucks her lower lip between her teeth, her thighs shuddering atop yours. “Don’t—Stop that.” Sevika attempts to chide, but she cuts herself off with a breathy gasp as your clits kiss oh so gently. It has her pretty grey eyes rolling back, it’s a small touch, but she can feel everything. “F-fuck.” Sevika pants, dropping onto her elbows to cage around you.

It’s taking all your energy to stay as quiet as possible to hear the absolutely devastating noises that are leaving your girl.

Something in you blooms as you watch Sevika’s usually sharpened, reserved facade crumble. Her cheeks dust rosy as your eyes roam her figure not knowing what or where to settle on. Sevika’s already pussy drunk—completely stupefied. That much you can tell. The way her eyebrows furrow, arching upward is merely one sign. A permanent shiver racks her body at even your slightest change or quirk of your body. A beat passes where both of you are still, clearly waiting for someone to make a move. And then it clicks. What Sevika wants you to do. and all of a sudden you find your hand at her throat pulling her into a deep kiss. “Yeah like th-that ohgod.”

Sevika leans closer finally letting your hands guide her hips where you want them. And where you want them is bucking down onto you. You need her clit against yours. You need to feel the way her cunt just drips as you coo praises up at her. “So pretty like this, huh?” Your words are slurred from the pleasure each time she grinds down onto your now sloppy pussy. Sevika shakes her head fervently trying to keep some semblance of dominance. Trying and failing to pretend she was unbothered by your vulgar words and even sultrier actions, but it wouldn’t work. As you leave biting marks on her collarbone, the resulting noise that you drag out of her is so throughly debauched you moan back her name in response.

“I’m going to stop if you don’t speak up.” You tsk up at her. Your words are nothing but lies. You need to cum just as much as Sevika does, but you’re in love with the indignant, pained expression that falls over her features, her restraint finally snapping when you threaten her. “No—ah-baby please it feels so—so good oh god oh my god!” Sevika all but wails into your chest, as you meanly hum in mock thought, you’re sure that the throbbing in your cunt gives you away. When was the last time you were this wet?

“Hmm. Should I let you cum Vika? you’ve been so….” you cut yourself off by squeezing her neck ever so slightly, and in result Sevika’s mouth drops open, this time staying there as you continue to toy with her. “so ‘bratty’…” You giggle, as Sevika shakes her head again. “I’m-fuck-‘m not a brat.” Sevika hitches out indignant. Her deep raspy lilt long gone, in its place a broken whimper. “Please I’m—Please I’ve been good I wanna-“ She cuts herself off as her eyes roll back for the nth time of the night. The pleasure coils painfully in your tummy, the tightly wound knot ever so close to snapping.

“Then cum for me Sevika.” you manage breathily as your clit rubs against hers oh so addictively that your hips buck up to meet Sevika’s erratic thrusts.

“Oh God-hahh—”

Sevika falls into you, head burying into your shoulder as she all but creams on your overly sensitive pussy.

“Just like—ah- that I got you.” You purr comfortingly, managing to hook your leg around her thigh holding her still. The silence envelops the two of you comfortably as you breathe in an overwhelmed yet satisfied breath. The quiet continues and you think that Sevika has simply fallen asleep on top of you as you lean back into the ruffled up pillows.

“I…wouldn’t mind doing that again.” Sevika’s husky low lilt is amusedly back—like it had never left, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you nod eagerly cuddling closer in her arms.

#sevika smut #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika #wlw #lesbian #wlw smut #sevika my love #sevika x female reader #sevika x reader smut #arcane sevika #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika drabble #sevika headcanon #lesbian smut #sub!sevika #sub!sevika smut

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d-z20 · 4 months ago

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Hers and Hers Alone

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: Agatha Harkness’s possessive nature burns brighter than ever when she claims you, not just with her words but with her magic. In the charged intimacy of her study, the line between dominance and devotion blurs, leaving no doubt that you belong entirely to her.

-OR-

She marks you with a magic tattoo cause you're oblivious to people flirting with you

Warnings: Possessive Agatha, reader is an idiot when it comes to flirting, magical marking, jealousy/obsession, claiming trope, slight angst, kind of dark romance is implied (at least their relationship is in my head), some dom/sub dynamics, reader gets called a good girl

Words: 1.9k

A/N: FuckMarvelEveryoneLives AU :P I errrr had carried this fic into the smut but then realised the request didn't ask for it so I guess what happened will just stay in my head :))

AO3 | Masterlist

Agatha Harkness always gets what she wants.

That’s the first thing you learnt when you fell into her orbit—her sharp eyes, her wicked smirk, the way her presence alone felt like it could strip you bare. It wasn’t just her power that made her dangerous; it was her confidence, the knowledge that she could claim you with nothing more than a look. And claim you, she did.

Tonight, that claim becomes permanent.

It starts earlier in the evening, though you’re far too oblivious to notice. Another witch—a newcomer to your coven—has been lingering a little too close, her compliments flowing like honey, her hand brushing yours just a bit too often. You think nothing of it, laughing at her jokes and responding with your usual warmth, but Agatha sees it all. She sits across the room, her wine glass in hand, her gaze locked on you with an intensity that sends lesser witches scattering. It’s subtle at first—the narrowing of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head—but as the other witch leans in and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, Agatha’s smile falters, replaced by something far sharper.

Jen sidles up beside her, an amused glint in her eye as she tracks Agatha’s gaze. “You’re going to set the room on fire if you keep glaring like that,” she says dryly.

“Perhaps,” Agatha mutters, her tone deceptively smooth. “But how could anyone blame me?" Her gaze flicks briefly to Jen before settling back on you.

Jen’s laughter is soft, a knowing sound that holds no pity. “She’s not doing anything. It’s you who sees it as a challenge.”

“A challenge easily won,” Agatha snaps, her irritation slipping through. Still, she doesn’t move. Not yet. She knows you too well to make a scene in public. No, this required precision.

—

The air buzzes with conversation, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that dance across the stone walls and when you finally turn toward her, your face brightens at the sight of her. You weave through everybody, the scent of burning herbs mingling with the faint tang of red wine, excusing yourself with a polite smile and a brief touch of hands that only fuel Agatha’s determination. By the time you reach her, she has composed herself into a picture of calm.

“You’re being antisocial again,” you tease lightly, tilting your head to study her. “Should I be worried?”

“Hardly,” she replies smoothly, though her voice dips into a tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “Although perhaps you should.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Agatha steps closer, her fingers brushing your wrist lightly. The contact sparks against your skin, her magic coiling beneath the surface. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you feel the weight of her presence settle over you like a velvet cloak.

“You’ve been quite generous with your attention tonight,” she says softly, her voice carrying an edge that makes your heart skip. “Perhaps too generous.”

Your brows furrowed. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” She laughs low and dangerous. “No, darling. Jealousy is for those who doubt their place. I know exactly where I stand. Do you?”

Her words linger in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, and then Agatha’s fingers trail up your arm, her touch deliberate and slow, leaving behind a faint, smouldering heat. The air between you thickens, charged with her magic and something even more primal. Her breath brushes your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You don’t understand yet,” she whispers, her tone laced with a dark promise. “But you will.”

“Come with me,” she commands, making your pulse race.

Agatha doesn’t speak as she pulls you down the hallway, her grip firm but not painful, though there’s no mistaking the fire in her movements. You trail after her, a little breathless from trying to keep up, still half-confused about what’s gotten into her. It’s not until she shoves open the door to her study and drags you inside that she finally stops, turning to face you. The door clicks shut behind you with a wave of her hand, the air in the room thickening, charged with something electric and unrelenting.

“Agatha—” you start, but her sharp look cuts you off.

“Do you enjoy parading yourself like that?” she asks, her voice deceptively soft as she steps closer. “Letting them think they have the right to touch what’s mine?” The words cut like a knife, her tone equal parts petal and thorn, daring you to challenge her claim.

Her words sting, but there’s a flicker of defiance in your chest. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong, yet the weight of her gaze makes you second-guess yourself. “What? She was just being nice."

“Nice.” Agatha repeats, a dark chuckle escaping her lips as she closes the distance between you. “That wasn’t ‘nice,’ darling. She was flirting. And you…" Agatha pauses, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. For a fleeting moment, there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—not doubt, exactly, but something close. Vulnerability that is quickly buried under her usual sharpness. “You’re far too sweet to see it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die in your throat as her thumb brushes your bottom lip, lingering just long enough to make your heart stutter. “You’re mine,” she says softly, almost like a warning, her eyes darkening as she leans in. “You can laugh and smile at the others all you want,” she continues, her voice like silk laced with steel. “But they’ll never know you the way I do. They’ll never touch you like this.”

Your breath hitches; your body already betraying you as heat pools in your stomach. Agatha’s hands move to your shoulders, steady and deliberate as she turns you around to face the desk. You feel the press of her body against your back, her breath warm against your neck as she leans in. “Don’t move,” she murmurs, the command dripping with authority.

You stand still, barely daring to breathe, though your mind races. The weight of her gaze, the heat of her power, wraps around you like an unrelenting grip. A thrill courses through your chest—half fear, half longing—as you realise what she’s about to do. This is more than a claim; it’s a declaration, a tether, and deep down, you’re not sure if you’d ever want to break free.

Agatha brushes her fingers down the column of your throat and across your collarbone before stopping over your chest. Her touch is gentle, but the power swirling from her is anything but.

“Right here,” she murmurs, her voice a dark velvet caress. Her fingers brush over your chest, leaving a tingling trail of magic in their wake. “This is where my claim belongs—above your heart, so no one ever forgets who it beats for.”

A surge of violet magic blooms from her palm, tendrils of shimmering light twisting and curling as they seep into your skin. It’s not just energy—it’s alive, sparking and crackling like a storm contained within your chest. Heat rushes through you, both foreign and familiar, as if her power is carving itself into your very being.

You gasp, your body arching instinctively as Agatha mumbles soft incantations under her breath. When she pulls her hand away, your heart is racing, and you feel it—a faint, lingering hum where her magic settled.

“Look,” she instructs, her voice soft yet commanding.

There, etched into your skin in delicate, curling lines of violet, are Agatha’s initials. It’s an ancient and commanding mark, pulsing faintly with magic. You feel it thrum in time with your heartbeat, as though Agatha herself has left a piece of her soul imprinted onto you.

You blink, lips parted in surprise, but before you can speak, Agatha’s fingers ghost over the mark. The second she touches it, a wave of pleasure rushes through you, leaving you trembling as a choked gasp escapes your throat.

“Sensitive, isn’t it?” She murmurs, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk. “Maybe now you’ll remember who owns you.”

You shiver under her touch, the magic from the mark sparking with every deliberate brush of her fingers. She leans in close, her voice a low purr against your ear. “And if you ever let anyone get that close again, I’ll make sure you cannot walk for days, darling. Do you understand?”

You swallow hard, nodding wordlessly, and Agatha hums approvingly. “Good girl.”

Agatha’s approval drips like honey into your veins, the warmth of her magic lingering just beneath your skin. Your body betrays you completely—breath shaky, pulse fluttering, and heat pooling low in your stomach. Every brush of her fingers near the freshly marked skin pulls a soft gasp from your lips, and you can feel her smile against your ear.

“Sensitive already,” she husks with dark amusement, the words sending a fresh shiver down your spine. Her fingertips ghost over the mark again, just enough to make your knees buckle, and you clutch at the edge of the desk for support. “Such a pretty reaction. I could play with you like this for hours, you know. Watch you squirm. Hear you beg.”

"Agatha,” you breathe, her name tumbling from your lips in a desperate mix of frustration and longing.

She tsks softly, her free hand trailing down your side, gripping your hip firmly enough to hold you in place. “Do you feel it yet?” she asks softly, tilting your chin up to force your gaze on her. “The way you need me now?” Her voice drops lower, the teasing edge softening into something deeper, more possessive. “That mark isn’t just to ward off wandering hands, love. It’s a tether. A reminder of exactly who you belong to.”

You can only nod, unable to find your voice as the thrum of magic beneath your skin grows more insistent. The mark feels alive—Agatha’s initials pulsing faintly, like they’re echoing your own heartbeat. The sensation deepens when she leans closer, her lips just grazing the sensitive skin below your jaw, and you let out a shaky whimper before you can stop yourself.

“That’s it,” Agatha whispers against your neck, her breath sending another ripple of arousal through you. Her lips curl into a smirk as she presses a kiss there, followed by a deliberate flick of her tongue. “You’re already so desperate. My mark is working beautifully.”

Her hand trails down the front of your body, teasing but never quite satisfying the ache that’s grown unbearable. “I could make you cum just by touching it,” she continues, her voice like velvet as she strokes a single finger lightly over the mark once more. The pleasure spikes instantly—so sharp and overwhelming that your head falls back with a gasp, your thighs pressing together in a feeble attempt for relief.

Agatha pulls back just enough to watch the way you tremble, utterly at her mercy. “Tell me, darling. Do you understand now? Do you know who you belong to?”

“Yes,” you manage, the word escaping in a breathless, desperate whisper.

Her smirk widens. “Say it.”

“You, Agatha,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “I belong to you.”

“Good girl,” she hums, her voice softer now, almost tender. Her fingers trace the edge of the mark, drawing a shuddering breath from your lips. “You wear it beautifully,” she murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss just above the sigil. Her magic lingers there, warm and possessive, as she cups your cheek with a rare gentleness. “Mine,” she whispers again, more for herself than you.

-----

I just need to take a moment to appreciate the way Kathryn looks at the camera in the gif used at the start... the woman is staring into my soul and ughhhh the piercingssssss 😩😩😩

-----

Taglist: @danveration @aceday @alwaysharmony

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aouiaa · 7 months ago

Note

So, I was wonder if maybe u could write something about a very fluffy, touchy and messy make out/sex session with abby!!! Like, she just needs you closer and closer but she's so tender with it and sooo in love with reader. Pretty please and thanks <3

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 : sexual intercourse between the same sex, softdom!abby, sub!reader, praising, reverse cowgirl, scissoring, spanking.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : first off, i just wanna apologize for disappearing. i know, i know. tumblr hasn’t been the same since i left but i’m back now!

the sight before abby was gorgeous, captivating even. your sweet moans and the way you clenched around nothing as you repeat a singular motion fueled by a need for your anticipated release. It was hypnotic, beckoning her closer.

in a sudden burst of desire, abby's right hand came down with a harsh slap, making you jolt and let out a drawn-out moan. you look back, gaze met hers, and she was utterly bewitched, her eyes heavy with lust. she pressed you down further, helping you grind against her. blunt nails digging into your skin, gripping tightly, and for a moment, you wished they would leave a mark, anything to remind you of this moment.

you call for her, a plea for more, and she responded with a guttural groan.

"i know, baby—fuuck, look at you.” she half chuckled, amazed by the sight in front of her. her breathing growing irregular as her hand reached back to tug at her disheveled braid, the action a testament to her own arousal. "fuck," she let out, her gasps ragged. it wasn't enough, she couldn't let it be. despite being closer to you than anyone had ever been, it wasn't close enough.

suddenly, she halted all movement, beckoning you to straddle her waist, her leg lifted and resting firmly over your shoulder. a smile tugged at her lips, "oh—god, yeah.” she swallowed thickly, curses escaping her as she pushed herself into the pillow. her large hands held your waist, guiding you with a gentle touch, helping you find the perfect rhythm.

it wasn't long before abby felt the familiar, tingling sensation, the harbinger of her release. with her hand at the nape of your neck, chest to chest, skin to skin, she pulled you down into a searing kiss, her lips hungry and desperate. it was a tangible expression of what she had been holding back, unable to vocalize.

her movements didn't leave you in the dark for long either. another sharp slap landed on your ass, followed by a grip that felt like a vice. erratic and needy, she met your movements. filthy, guttural moans echoed through the room as she broke the kiss to press her forehead against yours, her eyes holding you captive.

"abby.” you called out, your voice thick.

"tell—tell me you love me.” she pleaded, gasping for air.

"i love you.” you confirmed, her name on your lips as her movements grew even more frenzied.

"again.” she demanded, her need apparent.

"i love you—ah, fuck!” you breathed, your breaths quickening.

"again!" she insisted.

but the urgency in her voice was met by your own orgasm, a powerful wave that crashed over you. you slumped against her, limp and spent, as she helped you through the euphoria.

amidst of recollecting yourself, you finally share your awaited request, "i love you, abby."

requests are open, don’t be shy :3

PERMANENT TAGLIST, @dyk3ang3l, @elliesprettygirl, @les4elliewilliams, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @marsworlddd, @bready101, @abbysleftbicepp, @airenaa, @caraphernellie, @astralnymphh, @whore87, @kaiilectric, @sapphicontherun, @mikellie, @nihilisticangelbby, @be3flow3r, @ppuussyyy, @clairoscharm, @lvlymicha, @brackishkittie, @loveyru, @drunkonnatasha, @leosw0rld, @visupremacysstuff

REQUESTED TAGS, @picklesarenice69, @lesbian-useless, @graviewaviee

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Meat.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x Reader (Genshin).

Word count: 4.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Branding/Burning, Prolonged Imprisonment, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Descriptions of Gore, Implied Stalking, Mentions of Pregnancy, and Suicidal Ideation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You always thought you would wear red on your wedding day.

It was a family tradition – passed down with dutiful care for as long as anyone could imagine. Your grandmother had given her dress to your mother who had gifted it to you, her only child, on your eighteenth birthday, years before you would so much as think about getting something as permanent as marriage. Still, you safeguarded it with a religious devotion, never going more than a week without laying it out to check for signs of moths or mold. When you found yourself on a boat set on a course for Inazuma and could bring nothing but what could fit in the space underneath your bunk, her dress was the only item you truly could not bear to leave behind.

It was one of the few things Ayato let you keep, when he first brought you to his estate. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d known that you’d throw yourself off the nearest cliff if anything ever happened to that dress. You still would, if he so much as touched it without your permission.

The kimono you were being fitted for now was not red. The fine silk was pure white, the detailed embroidery along the hems and sleeves dark blue and bright, shining gold. The symbol of his archon glowed violet on the swell of the train – meant to appease the other factions of the tri-commission who protested when Ayato announced his intent to not only marry a commoner, but a foreigner. You hated that embellishment most of all, more than the sickly way his colors crawled over your body, more than the irritating smoothness of his favored silks where they hugged against your form and groped at your skin. It marked you as a tool, something to be used to one end or another. It marked you as a sacrifice – and an unwanted one, at that.

“Just as exquisite as I knew you’d be,” Ayato announced, his voice strong and unabashed. You’d begged him not to, but he’d insisted on sitting in on your appointment, making sure you couldn’t correct seamstress or overrule any of the choices he’d made on your behalf. The tailor hummed as she fastened a temporary sash around your midriff, tight enough to press uncomfortably against your ribs. If you needed to cry on your wedding day (which, in all likelihood, you would), it would have to be loosened. “How do you like it?”

You hated it. You despised it. You wanted to claw it apart with your own pristine nails, separate each thread and seam with your very own teeth. You would’ve set yourself on fire just to see it turned to ash that much sooner.

“It’s perfect.” Your own voice sounded distant, distorted. There was no façade of sincerity. He knew as well as you did that there was nothing he could force onto you that you wouldn’t loathe, and you knew that any word uttered as to your hatred for him outside of the privacy of your shared bedroom would result in a collection of fresh rope burns to decorate your wrists, the better half of a night spent bent over his knee. “So long as it pleases you, my lord.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor, attempting to spare yourself what suffering you could, but your resistance didn’t matter; you could hear the sharpness of his smile, picture the way his head tilted to the side as he basked in his own self-satisfaction as he went on, addressing the tailor. “If there’s a veil, you can get rid of it.”

You didn’t think you would ever get used to the way his voice seemed to grate when he was happy with himself.

“I think my heart might give out if I’m not able to see my beautiful fiancé’s lovely smile.”

After meeting Ayato, you began to dream in red.

It was more of a pink, at first – during the first few weeks of his courtship, when the extent of his intrusive affection was a few dendrobiums left on your doorstep and a lingering glance as the handsome young commissioner passed your stall during his weekly stroll through the city market. For a short while, after his possessive habits began to rear their head and you were able to catch his guards in your peripheral more often than not, your subconscious was tinted a near-violent shade of scarlet, the kind that would leave you drenched in your own sweat and half-suffocated by the time you forced yourself to wake up. Recently, since he announced your engagement, they’d taken on a darker shade; choking velvets and deep crimsons blurring the distorted setting as Ayato’s faceless body moved on top of you, as his mouth unhinged and his lashing tongue dragged you down his waiting throat. On your worst nights, he’d tear you apart with his hands, first, divide you into neat, orderly pieces that he could slip past his lips and savor one at a time, one after another, until there was nothing left of you. He’d always preferred you in your most consumable form.

It was ironic, really, considering just how little red he let seep into your waking life. Maybe you had a deficiency; like a pregnant woman craving fish to make up for a lack of calcium. The closest you got to red from the doorway to his study were a few cherry blossoms fluttering past the window, their color dulled by age and their tree nearly stripped bare by the approaching winter. He looked away from his paperwork as you shrugged past the screen door, his pale eyes lighting up as he saw the tea tray in your hands. It was Thoma’s handiwork, but you doubted Ayato cared. He wanted to see you in the role of a caretaker, playing out the part he wrote for you to the best of your limited acting skills. What happened behind the curtain was none of his concern.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked as you set the tray on his desk. “I can’t remember the last time you visited me on your own.”

You flashed him a small smile. “Can’t I dote on my soon-to-be husband freely?”

He visibly straightened at the word ‘husband’, a familiar zeal infecting his expression. There was a quirk to his grin, a light tap to his thigh, and the tea went ignored as you obediently fell into his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you snug against him. If he was a monster, he’d be one with a thousand hands and a million fingers; he couldn’t seem to go a full minute without clutching at your hips, groping at your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, relieved sigh. “Husband,” he repeated back to you, all spellbound awe and deceiving wonder. “Archons, I can’t wait to be your husband.”

You wondered, sometimes, if it was his childhood that made him the way he was. After so many years of loneliness, so many tiny disappointments and frigid betrayals, you could only imagine he’d be eager to grab the first warm body he could and refuse to let you go. But, he let Ayaka come and go as she pleased, and seemed to take a certain delight in sending Thoma off on long-winded, far-flung errands. Whatever cruelty his upbringing had bred, it was clearly reserved for you.

His hand slid underneath the slit of your yukata, his breath turning hot and unpleasant against your collarbone, and you drew back with an airy laugh. “I do have an ulterior motive,” you admitted, hoping his curiosity would offset his insatiability, if only for a few seconds. “It’s about my wedding dress.”

“The breathtaking and priceless dress I’m having made by the nation’s most talented tailors so that all of Inazuma will know that I’m marrying the most beautiful person in Teyvat?” He raised his head, clicking his tongue. “What about it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you said, because he wouldn’t listen to you if you didn’t and you needed him to listen to you. “It’s just— I’m such a long way from home, and I know my family won’t be able to come, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing back the bile that threatened to spoil your sweet smile. “I was hoping we’d be able to incorporate my mother’s dress, somehow. If it’s not too late.”

It wasn’t. You’d been tracking the progress of his tailors meticulously, counting down the days until your wedding like a prisoner waiting for their execution date, and if it was one of his whims, another row of bedding added onto the sleeves or a new embroidery pattern worked onto the train, you knew that there’d be all the time in the world to make any adjustments he asked for. Still, his smile wavered, a brief sigh slipping past his lips as he shook his head. “My love,” The petname lulled off of his tongue as if it’d been coated in sugar and syrup and all the worst things you could think of. “That’s quite the risk to take. The poor thing’s so old, it might fall apart as soon as the tailor’s needle touches it.”

He'd been crueler, before – called the dress a rag as he looked at you with disdain-tinted pity, swore that your reliance on the filthy relic must’ve been caused by some inherent failure of your homeland – but your heart still clenched just a little tighter in your chest at his veiled disdain. “I’d like to try, at least.” Your hands curled around his collar, your frown taking on a more pleading note. “Please, my lord?” A pause, a tightened hold. “Please, Ayato?”

It was his given name, loving and tender and so rarely spoken in your voice, that did him in. He relented with an airy groan, letting his head roll forward in faux exasperation. “We’ll see.”

You beamed, but he was too lost in you to notice, already preoccupied with pressing open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your neck. The sash of your yukata was drawn loose, your sleeves pulled down to your elbows and your body shifted onto his desk, where he could spread your legs apart and bury his face between them. Your eyes drifted back to the cherry blossoms trickling past the window, but whatever tree they’d been falling from had finally been stripped bare. All you could see was the bright, cloudless sky – blue enough to leave you burnt and begging for a storm.

Two springs ago, the Kamisato Estate had been overrun with finches.

It’d been a comedy of errors, in hindsight. Ayaka had taken up a fondness for a new kind of flower – one native to Sumeru, introduced to her by an outlander with golden hair and knowing eyes. Thoma, the miracle worker that he was, quickly found a way to propagate it in the estate’s garden, and within the month, little violet blossoms had consumed all that they could reach despite the best efforts of the gardeners to keep them in-check. It would’ve been a delightful problem to have on its own, but the peak of the infestation happened to align with an annual migration of a type of finch that happened to hold a particular shining for a plant with a similar shape and color and— well, anyone could’ve guessed what happened next.

It was a nightmare for Thoma and the other groundskeepers and, since Ayato was staying in the city on business, paradise for you. You spent your days in the courtyard, showing the servants’ children how to braid crowns out of vines and press flowers between the pages of books stolen from Ayato’s personal library. You and Ayaka fed seeds to the red-crowned invaders and coaxed them close enough to pet and sketch, as little talent as you had for the latter, and she listened as you rambled excitedly about the crane-headed whistles you used to make every summer for a very wealthy ornithologist with very slippery fingers. She was just as lonely as her brother, albeit significantly less deranged, and you – trapped, isolated, desperate you – were the perfect victim for her. The two of you were never quite friends, but you came close that spring.

And then, Ayato returned. The flowers were uprooted, the children sent back to their chores, and the finches driven away with nets and stones and salt. You sobbed for hours the day the final flock left, and by means of consolation, Ayato presented you with a blue-speckled wren in a cage of pure silver, silk flowers bound to the bars with yellow ribbons as a reminder of your lost haven. To this day, you still aren’t sure if he meant it to be as cruel of a gift as it was.

You made it all of two days before risking another month spent shackled to Ayato’s bed and sneaking past the guards posted at the estate’s frontmost gates, the golden cage tucked against your chest. You released it in the woods, somewhere with plenty of tree cover and places to hide while it remembered how to be a wild creature, and watched with a smile as it fluttered past the cage’s door and into the open air, eventually landing on the leaf-littered ground.

It hopped all of three tiny steps before a fox emerged from the underbrush and swallowed it whole.

“Are you still with us, love?”

You should’ve gone limp. You should’ve acted as if the pain had gotten to you. You should’ve pretended you were dead to the world and that you couldn’t feel his cock languidly thrusting into you and that you’d gone numb to the searing iron slowly cooling into against the small of your back but, for as resentful as your mind was to him, your body was entirely subservient to Ayato. You tried to respond verbally, and when your voice caught in your throat, you forced yourself to nod, the motion small and shaky. Ayato rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a fleeting touch to the curve of your spine. A hundred pinpricks of purified agony accompanied his touch.

The silver brand had been commissioned from the finest metal crafters in Inazuma City, made to resemble the warped camellia that was the Kamisato Clan’s crest, and you let out an agonized scream as Ayato drew it back and pressed a calloused thumb into the tender patch of burnt skin. “You always do make such pretty noises for me.” He circled the shape of the white-hot bloom, drawing out another ragged whimper. “It’s a shame I only get to hear them when you misbehave.”

You wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, but try as you might, you couldn’t seem to remember what you’d done wrong. You hadn’t tried to run away. You hadn’t talked to any of the servants. You hadn’t done anything aside from smile and sit beside him as he spoke with the head of another clan – an older man whose eyes burnt into you for the entirety of their brief conversation. As far as you could tell, he was just a particularly shameless nobleman trying to decipher the curiosity that was the Yashiro Commissioner’s reclusive bride, but Ayato hated letting other men gawk at you at the best of times. Such prolonged exposure would’ve surely brought out the worst of his possessive habits.

You felt something tighten in your chest, catch in your throat, but you only realized you were crying when Ayato’s lips ghosted over your cheek, the gentleness of the gesture quickly replaced with the brutality of his fingers tangled in your hair, your head forced down and into the plush of his bed. You body threatened to collapse, but his free hand fell to your hip, keeping your back arched and your ass raised as he ground lazily into your cunt, in no rush to put you out of your suffering. “I think,” he groaned, lust heavy in his voice. “We’re going to have a big family. Half a dozen kids, at least.”

You beat your fists against the mattress, shaking your head violently, and he twitched inside of you. “They’ll have your eyes,” he went on, a sadistic delight in his voice. “And my swordsmanship, and I’ll love them as much as I love you.” He paused, the head of his cock scraping against something deep and vulnerable inside of you. “Well, almost as much as I love you. As much as I can.”

You tried to struggle, to get away from him, but Ayato held you close, his grip as unrelenting as his slow, aching tempo. With a calculated sort of grace, he leaned towards you, slotting his chest against your back and bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “You don’t think it’s too soon to start, do you, darling?”

All you could do was try and fail to scream in response.

The first gift Ayato ever gave to you was a necklace the color of freshly split sapphires.

He insisted that you not think of it as a present, that you consider it little more than justified repayment for an item from your stall broken by the clumsy fingers of one of his couriers, but it was a present, it couldn’t be anything else. His courier had paid for the ruined pottery days prior, and yet, he’d sought you out in person to apologize with that sun-bright smile, to let his fingertips brush against yours as he passed you a satin-lined case with a perfect, ocean-blue velvet choker tucked safely inside. It was a beautiful thing, embellished with silver and dripping with transparent crystals, but you’d liked the color most of all. It’d reminded you of Ayato, and there’d been a time when you treasured any excuse to think of him.

You’d worn it the first time you saw each other properly, too. The occasion wasn’t formal enough to warrant something so needlessly extravagant, but you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for the entirety of your brief-meal-turned-seven-hour-conversation, and as your night came to an end, perched on the edge of a cliff underneath the Raiden Shogun’s palace and breathless from laughing, he told you that if you weren’t careful, he might just fall in love with you. You’d told him that, if he waited a few more days, you might fall in love with him, too.

You’d been wearing the same necklace when he broke your heart for the first time. It’d been an overcast day, the sky a clouded blueish grey and the shogun’s fury just barely audible in the far distance. He told you, with that perfect grin and those lonely eyes, that it really was terribly improper for the lover of a commissioner to run some meager stall in a sweat-soaked market, that he owed you better than a cramped room on the outskirts of the city where you had to wade through hours of farmland to reach anything of importance. When you said that you enjoyed your work, that you adored the back-breaking labor of your craft and loved having neighbors who would leave baskets of cabbage and lavender melon on your doorstep in exchange for misshapen cups and off-pattern bowls, he laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and cupped your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss deep enough and sweet enough to make you forget whether or not you’d agreed with him.

You were brought to the Kamisato estate less than a full month later and had yet to leave since.

The final garment was delivered two weeks before your wedding day. You watched from your pavilion as Ayato met the courier at the estate’s gates, accepting a large package wrapped in scarlet silk and brushing off the guards’ attempts to carry it on his behalf. You were embroidering, that day – a delicate, time-consuming art that Ayato praised in comparison to the messy, unpredictable medium of clay. You loathed the monotony of it, the strictness of the patterns, but it meant Ayato was less likely to break your fingers when he found you scrounging away spare mora in the hopes of some perpetually eventual escape and so, you embroidered.

“My mother’s dress,” you said, as soon as he was close enough to hear you. The wooden hoop was forgotten in your lap as you stared up at him, hope written clearly across your expression. “Do you know what they did with it?”

His grin widened. “Eager, are we?” You nodded frantically, and he added, “If I’d didn’t know better, I’d say you care about a dress more than your own betrothed.”

He settled next to you, the package laid across his thighs. He moved to unwrap it, then pivoted – his attention shifting as his gloved hand took hold of your wrist. He’d been touching you more delicately, lately, something you couldn’t help but link with his long-brewing but only recently materialized desire for children. It was a problem you elected to deal with later on, after the wedding, if only for your own inability to process just how horrific of a problem it was.

(There was a part of you which knew, even before your conscious mind could bear to accept it, that you would never be able to love something he put inside of you. Ayato’s obsession was enduring, able to feed off of nothing and contort reality to suit its needs, but your love had always been a rational thing, bound to end the moment it became inconvenient to house. Your love for your homeland died with your mother. Your love for Ayato died with your abduction. And, whatever love you could’ve had for a child— no, a shackle would die the moment the foul creature was born. You could hold no affection for a child that was made in Ayato’s image, that would be cleaved from your flesh for the sake of his happiness, and if by some miracle you did love the monstrosity, then you could only assume it would be because you’d abandoned all hope for yourself. Both futures seemed equally grim.)

“Ayato,” you simpered, leaning against his side. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, playing soft as he handed you the oversized package. “It should be wrapped separately. I said I didn’t want to see the finished product until the day-of.”

Your hands shook as you undid the many knots. A smaller bundle sat within, separate from the tumor of ivory fabric you forced yourself not to linger on, and you took it up with a desperate sort of keenness, practically trembling as you tore it open with no regard for the integrity of its packaging. The crimson silk was torn away to reveal—

Blue.

Dark, never-ending blue.

“The color came out so beautifully. I’m glad you protested the way you did – otherwise, I might’ve never known we were missing something on our wedding day.” This time, you didn’t fight as he tore the remains of your mother’s dress out of your hands, holding out a sash the shade of apathetic night. You searched for something familiar, for something you could use to ground yourself, but it was absent of all recognizability, desecrated to the point of being all-but alien to you. “It had to be dyed, of course, but I’ve been told the process only cost it a moment of its integrity. The tailors—”

You blinked, but your vision remained black when you opened your eyes. Your body was lurching forward, and then you were in Ayato’s arms, limp and buzzing. Ayato was laughing, as shocked as you were drained, and you made no effort to pull away from him. “My poor little wife. I know – the anticipation’s almost too much to bear.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “Why don’t we spend some time together, like we used to? I think I can push my obligations aside for the day, considering the occasion.”

You didn’t respond, but he gathered into his arms regardless. He had always seemed to prefer you as dead weight.

You did end up in red on your wedding day, but you doubted you’d be getting married, anymore.

His own sword slid and out of his back with a wet, gripping noise – only interrupted when the blade slipped in your hands and hit bone rather than viscera. Blood splattered against the white of your kimono with every plunge, staining the susceptible fabric easily and leaving you struggling to keep your feet underneath you as the puddle of scarlet grew deeper, as the screen walls began to drip and your lungs filled with copper and iron. Ayato, the ever-worried lover that he was, had come to check on you before the ceremony, fussing over your blank eyes and the tear-tracks that had ruined your make-up twice, by then. He’d been concerned, but giddy, unable to keep himself away from you despite his many promises of tradition and decor.

He'd made it three, maybe four minutes before beginning to toy with the clasps running down your chest.

You’d taken up the first thing you saw – a hand mirror gilded with shining rose gold – and brought it down on his head.

That, on its own, would’ve left him with a scar and little else, but you’d worked quickly, drawing the sword from its sheath on his belt and bringing it down into anything that seemed vital, anything you could reach, anything that bled calming, soothing red. He stopped moving on the fifth strike, his uncalled upon Vision going dull on the sixth, and on the seventh, you heard someone call for the guards.

You waited until you could hear their footsteps before falling to your knees, bringing the point of your blade to your stomach and clenching your eyes shut, praying to any archon who would listen that you’d hit something they couldn’t be healed, that they’d lend you a more merciful fate than another jail cell, another lifetime of entrapment. You plunged the blade into your stomach and—

And were met with little more than a cold, blunt sensation and a bottomless pit of despair.

You opened your eyes, your gaze flickering from your ice-coated blade to the doorway of your dressing room, now occupied by Kamisato Ayaka, one hand raised and her Vision pulsing at her side. Guards rushed in on either side of her, grabbing at your shoulders and wrists, but your stare never left Ayaka, her parted lips, her flushed cheeks.

Her bright eyes, just as blue and just as lonely as her brother’s had ever been.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere kamisato ayato #yandere ayato #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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acosmicbee · 7 days ago

Text

Black Sheep

(FYI, I have a couple of requests I'm working on rn (including one for a mafia mom which is top of my list) but I got my wisdom teeth out today so I felt like editing something to distract myself from the discomfort and also just because I felt like it so have some mafia/gang family while you wait. Enjoy! Also some TWS: Mention of harm towards Y/N, death threats towards Y/N, infantilism at the very end)

The basement was cold and humid. You could feel your clothes sticking to your skin, partially because of the moisture and partially because of the dried blood. They hardly ever took your blindfold and gag off, other than to feed you the bare minimum and give you some water. It had been this way for the past few... days? Weeks? You couldn't tell down here.

All you knew was that you had been walking home from school when you'd been grabbed. You knew why before they'd even talked to you: your family were leaders of a gang. Everyone was involved, well, minus you. You were just the accident kid who everyone pretended didn't exist. Basically, if your kidnappers, who were 100% from the other gang in the city wanted anything, no matter how small, they grabbed the wrong kid.

You could hear them coming again. Fancy shoes clicked on a stone staircase before the door to the room you were in was unlocked. You'd long since lost feeling in your hands and legs, both bound to the chair with a coarse rope that dug into your skin. It would leave permanent marks, you were sure, if you ever got out of here.

You flinched as the gag was harshly pulled from your mouth. The action caused your cracked lips to begin to bleed. You ran your tongue over it, tasting your blood as you waited for your captor to speak.

"Who are you?" He asked. His voice was harsh and cold. "You're part of the L/N family, no?"

"Depends." He growled and in the next moment you found yourself soaked with ice cold water. You spluttered and tried to escape the frosty feeling that was creeping into your bones.

"Answer me!" He demanded. "Are you part of the family, yes or no?!"

"Yes! Yes, I'm a L/N!" You were shivering. Your body trembled against the ropes, causing them to dig deeper into your flesh.

"If you're truly a L/N then how come you claim to know nothing?! Tell me, what are your family's plans!"

"I don't know! I'm not part of the gang stuff!" You pleaded. Of course, you'd been trying to plead your case since you got here and no one had listened. You doubted they were going to suddenly listen now.

"You're useless! At this point we should just kill you or put you up for ransom." He stated, clearly furious. "Wilson! Bring me the video camera!"

You heard shuffling and talking for a while. You weren't paying attention, couldn't with how cold you felt. It would be a miracle if you didn't get sick... or die from cold. Finally, someone pulled your head back and something was pushed against your neck.

"Look L/Ns. We have your child, Y/N. If you ever want to see them alive again you will pay us $550,000. We will be in contact with payment details, but know this. If you try to attack us, or get the police on us, they're dead." You flinched when you felt pain on your neck, followed by the feeling of warm blood dripping from a new cut. "This time it was shallow. Next time? Next time it won't be."

As he packed up, you heard him ordering his people around, you finally found your voice.

"T-they aren't gonna pay." Your voice quivered as you shook, trying to stop your teeth from chattering.

"Excuse me?" He asked, sounding just as angry.

"They don't like me much. They aren't gonna pay you." You reiterated.

"We'll see about that." He said, leaving the basement.

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"What...?" The Hartshorn family were all sitting around, reading a letter that had arrived from the L/N family. The ransom recording had been sent out earlier that day, and they hadn't been expecting a response so quickly. What was even more surprising was the contents of the letter.

'You thought that would hurt us? That they were worth $550,000?? Well, you're wrong. They're barely worth $55. Do what you want.' The letter was typed and they clearly hadn't spent very long on it.

The family were conflicted. Of course they could do what was expected and kill you, it would be simple. However, they had taken you and tortured you when you hadn't deserved any of it. You had been right all those times you begged to be let go and claimed ignorance of your family's plans.

"Colton, are they still in the basement?" Calista asked. She was the middle child, three years older than you were.

"Of course? Where else would they be?" He asked, feeling a bit bad about that bucket of water he'd thrown on you.

"Colt you idiot!" She yelled, running from the room.

"What did I do?" He asked, looking to his parents for answers. His mother and father both had grim looks on their faces while his younger brother sat on his mother's lap.

"Colton... what temperature is the basement? On top of that, what happens when you mix soaking wet clothes with cold temperatures?"

"Hypothermia..." He paled, running after Calista. Bronwyn Hartshorn sighed, placing her youngest child onto the floor and waving him off to go play before she turned to her husband.

"We need to talk."

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"Have you come to kill me?" Your voice was weak and slurred. Your entire body felt numb. They'd forgotten to put the gag back in after they recorded the ransom video. You couldn't even make a noise of shock when the blindfold was pulled off your head.

"No." It was the girl this time. Her voice was firm. Your eyes closed before she jolted you awake.

"You can't go to sleep right now. Stay awake." She demanded. "Colton! Go grab some clothes from my room! It doesn't matter which ones!"

You drifted off again before you woke up burning. You screamed, water splashing everywhere. Your frozen brain couldn't process you were in a bathtub full of warm water, not a boiling pot.

The girl talked to you the entire time, scrubbing off dried blood. By the time you were pulled from the bath, the water was pink. Your wrists and ankles were bandaged, along with the cut on your neck and the other injuries all over.

By the time you were redressed in warm clothes and tucked into an actual bed, not even a hurricane could've woken you up. You were completely oblivious to the conversation your 'new' family was having at that moment.

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Soft classical music was playing somewhere. You felt so light, almost like you were dancing along with it. Only the music never stopped and you just kept on spinning. Faster and faster, round and round until your eyes opened with a start and you rolled onto your side, spluttering up stomach acid.

You coughed, throat burning, before collapsing back onto your back. Still the music continued, drifting on and on like some wordless lullaby. Your mind drifted with it, feeling free to fly. After being in pain for so many days, not feeling the sting of cuts or the throb of bruises was bliss. You could barely register being lifted from a bed as someone changed your clothes. You were placed back onto clean sheets and gently tucked back in.

At one point a straw is gently placed into your mouth and you taste a rich broth. Your mind never truly surfaces during this time, your consciousness just below the surface. You can hear talking, but you can't process it. You can feel yourself being moved sometimes, but you can't protest. Until one day, the hazy mist begins to lift a little.

You start to remember the conversations you hear. Then, you can finally twitch your fingers as you slowly begin to wake up. Your eyes open and slowly adjust to the room you're in. Theres a projector going that looks like a stuffed animal, making green stars, moons and comets dance all over the ceiling. You can barely make out anything in the dim light minus the bed you're laying on, the nightstands on either side of the headboard, the chair beside the nightstand closest to you, and a wardrobe.

Your body trembles as you sit up, still a bit weak as you start to recover. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet sinking into the cozy carpeting as you try your best to stagger over to the closed curtains along one wall. Pulling them open was hard, but when you did you could see the moon outside.

It had been so long since you saw the sky that you just stood there, leaning against the wall staring up at the full moon. Despite the city lights blocking out the stars, you could still imagine them there, above the lights and clouds, twinkling away. It was an enchanting view, one you'd taken for granted before how ever many days or weeks you'd spent in that... torture room.

You absentmindedly reached down to itch your leg only to find it covered with a bandage. You were momentarily distracted from the sight of the moon as you began to inspect your body. Every cut you'd received had been tended to. Including... your hands found the bandages covering your neck. Immediately you were back in the basement, tied to that chair as a knife was dragged across your neck.

You only snapped back to reality when someone grabbed your shoulders. Even when you tried to struggle to break free, you were just lifted into someones arms before being shushed and rocked back and forth. Tears streamed down your face and you couldn't tell if it was due to humiliation or the trauma you had suffered.

It took a while before you stopped shaking and tears stopped falling. Then you were left staring at the ceiling covered in the projection of the night sky, pitifully sniffling every few seconds. The same classical music was still playing in the background, slow and never changing.

"You're okay, sweetheart. It's just the pain medication messing with your brain a little, hm? Although it is relieving to see you up and moving." A deep voice said. It was obviously a man, but it didn't belong to your father or any of his men that you knew. Now that you thought about it... where were you? Did your family pay the ransom? Did they actually love you?

"W-where?" Your throat was dry and scratchy and your voice shook. It was probably from whatever meds the man had mentioned, which was also why you were so fuzzy headed. The man chuckled, carefully walking back over to the bed and setting you back down.

"You're where you need to be, honey. Just close your eyes and sleep." He said, tucking you back in. You made a noise of protest, trying to sit back up again. You didn't need sleep, you needed answers.

"Who are you?" You asked, fighting as hard as you could when he tried to push you back down. He sighed, apparently realizing you weren't going to play along without the reply you wanted. He sat down in the chair at your bedside. You could barely make out his face in the light from the projector.

"I am your dad, Y/N." He stated.

"No, you aren't. I know who my father is." You said.

"If you'll recall I said 'dad' not 'father'." He said, leaning back in the chair. "Your father essentially gave you to us, so we will step up, as your new family."

"What does that even mean?!" You demanded. You were getting worked up when a woman entered the room. She sighed, looking at the man, after giving you a weak smile.

"I just managed to put Andy back to sleep only to find you here keeping them awake. Let the child sleep Dominic. You can explain more in the morning." The woman lay her hand on your forehead, her fingers cold. "Your temperature is coming down. You've had a bad fever for quite a bit, dear. I promise, you're safe here, so go to bed and all will be explained come morning."

"Ah, Bronwyn is right. It is rather late. Good night Y/N, we will talk more in the morning." The man said, ruffling your hair before leaving the room.

"Good night, dear. I promise you'll get your answers and that nothing will hurt you here. Sleep tight darling." She kissed you on the forehead before exiting the room herself. You were left all alone with the projection of the sky, the classical music, and the storm of thoughts raging inside of your head.

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At some point you must've managed to drift off to sleep, because the next time you opened your eyes you were being gently shaken awake. The classical music had stopped at some point, you faintly realized as you began to wake up. When your eyes finally opened you were a little surprised to see a child, kneeling on the edge of your bed, shaking you.

When the kid saw that you were awake he grinned before hopping onto the chair beside your bed. He looked to be possibly five or six, which only confused you more. He sat in the chair, picking up a teddy bear that had been placed there, and toying with it in his lap as he stared at you. You stared back, still waking up and trying to process what was going on.

"Breakfast will be here in a few minutes." He finally informed you.

"Where are we?" You asked. He just blinked up at you for a second before shrugging.

"Mother and father will tell you that kinda stuff. They said I'm not allowed to." He answered, playing with his bear's arms. With that answer, and him clearly being interested in his bear, you took a moment to look around the room you were in.

You were laying in a large, cozy bed covered in fluffy blankets and quilts. There were practically a million pillows between you and the headboard as well as a few stuffed animals. There was a beanbag in one of the corners of the room and the whole floor was covered in a white rug. The walls were lined with some bookshelves and there was a large desk and a desk chair on the other side of the room. Three separate doors lined the walls, you assumed a closet, bathroom and the exit.

Muffled talking slowly became more and more audible outside the room. It sounded almost like bickering. The voices were familiar but you couldn't exactly place where from. Beside you, the kid just rolled his eyes, jumping from the chair.

"I'll go get mother and father." He said, going to the farthest door and opening it. You got a peek into the hallway before your eyes locked with another person and suddenly, you were back in that room. You were still tied to a chair with those cruel eyes looking down at you as you were cut and hit. As a knife slid across your neck... As... As you froze... cold. Why were you so cold all of a sudden??

You flinched back as you felt a pressure near you on the bed, striking out when someone touched your shoulder. The blow never connected, as whoever was touching you gently gripped your wrist, slowly moving your hand to rest on their chest.

"There you go, breathe with me." A voice coaxed you. It was gentle and kind. Your mind slowly began to work again, you felt your lungs burn, forcing yourself to take a stuttering breath. Your cheeks felt wet, yet you couldn't remember if you started to cry. When your eyes finally opened again, when the world finally came back into focus, you were staring into unfamiliar green eyes. Your captor wasn't here, yet you'd already figured out where you were.

"You're Bronwyn Hartshorn." It was a whisper. You watched as her face tightened for a moment before she took a deep breath and nodded. A tense silence settled over you as you pulled your hand back, watching her warily.

"Yes. I am." She stated. "I believe... there have been some major conflicts and misunderstandings. For that, I as the mother of Colton and Calista Hartshorn, deeply apologize. My husband, Dominic, feels the same. Especially after some... details have come to light."

"Your parents said they didn't want you." The same kid said, entering the room. Bronwyn gasped and gave the kid a sharp look. You felt like your emotions had just been hit and run over by a train, yet you couldn't find it in yourself to be surprised.

"Andy, that is not the kind of thing we say." She said, picking the kid up and placing him in her lap. "Apologize."

"I'm sorry your parents don't want you." He said. Bronwyn placed a hand over his mouth.

"I'm sorry. We hoped to break the news to you a little more gently... Andy isn't at the age where he fully knows what he should and shouldn't say."

"I... I knew it. I knew they wouldn't come for me." You murmured. Despite that, it didn't make the truth of the situation any less hurtful. Now you were stuck on enemy territory with no way out. At least it didn't seem like they were trying to kill you anymore...?

There was a knock at the door before it opened. A man came in, kissing Bronwyn's temple before he smiled at you. Behind him a maid trailed in, pushing a cart with some food and a tea set on it. He didn't seem as effected by the tense air and waited until the maid left before speaking.

"Are you settling in alright? How do you like the room? I know the walls are a bit bland and the bookshelves are pretty empty, but once you feel up to it you can help decorate. Is there anything you feel you need to be comfortable in this room right now?" He asked. The questions confused you but you could barely get a word out before he pulled a small wooden tray from the cart and set it up, forming a bed tray table. He then placed the plates and a teacup onto it.

"I would offer you some coffee, but with all the fever reducers you've been on the past couple of days I'm not sure it's the best idea." He said, finally handing you a fork.

"Wait, can we go back to the room thing? Why would I need to decorate?" You asked, pushing away the sinking feeling in your stomach. "Speaking of which, what's with the sudden good cop act? What is going on?"

"Its simple, we've decided to become your new family." Dominic stated, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. Bronwyn rolled her eyes from where she sat on the edge of the bed.

"What?! Why?! Is this some sort of guilt thing? I'm fine. If anything, I'd probably be better alone." You argued, the sinking feeling returning with a passion.

"Sweetheart," Bronwyn ignored your glare, holding Andy on her lap as he played. "You deserve a family. Even if we didn't meet through the best of means and we have a lot to atone for, this could be the start of something beautiful. We want to not only make it up to you, but make you feel loved."

"Although, we should probably work on helping you move on. Calista and Colton tried to come by earlier to apologize. Do you remember what caused your panic attack so we can try to remove it?" Dominic asked.

You couldn't see a way out right now so you had to force yourself to comply. Maybe in the future there would be some instance where you could find a way to freedom. "Eyes... Their eyes..."

Dominic blinked. His eyes were similar to theirs, but a shade lighter of blue. Just different enough to not fully cause you to panic. "Well, we'll see what we can do."

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The next few months were hard to adjust to. Colton and Calista had eventually been allowed to visit you, although they'd been wearing colored contacts since then. The entire family seemed to swarm around you, trying their best to make you feel welcomed. Your room had been filled with your favorite books and hobbies. It would seem like a dream come true on the outside, but you knew better.

They had gotten you a phone, but it had every tracking and monitoring app on it known to man. Dominic offered you free use of his black card, but you knew he would know exactly what you ordered and any packages would be checked before they were given to you. The clothes you were given had little trackers sewn into the seams in places you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking.

As the months flew by you felt more and more trapped. Your mind was deteriorating a little everyday. You needed to be outside alone. You needed to go somewhere alone. You just needed to be completely alone. So you 'borrowed' some clothes from Colton and Calista, waited for the right moment and the second the family was busy and focused on some major issue with your 'old' family, you slipped out the door and disappeared into the night. Hopefully, never to be found by them again.

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It was warm inside the small cafe next to the bus station. You kept your hood up the whole time you purchased a bus ticket across the country, lying to the ticket person about divorced parents when she asked why someone your age was traveling alone. You used the rest of the cash you swiped on your way out the door to buy a nice hot cup of tea and some sandwiches for the ride.

Outside snow was steadily falling, landing in powdery drifts. Every so often a snowplow would drive by and you would hear the shovel scrape the road as they went. You wish you had grabbed warmer clothing, but these were the best you could do in your situation. You were wearing one of Colton's sweatshirts, with one of Calista's shirts and a pair of her sweatpants. You made sure to take a clean pair of Colton's socks as well as Calista's snow boots, which were a size too big. The scarf and mittens were Bronwyn's and the large hat you wore was Dominic's.

The cafe was cozy and warm, thankfully, and had a large screen displaying the bus arrival times. Soft jazz music was playing through the speakers, and the overhead lights weren't too harsh. All in all, it felt safe but you refused to let your guard down. You know that by now someone would've discovered you were missing. The only good thing about the snow was that your footprints would be hidden by the time anyone came looking.

The real struggle would be deciding what to do when you finally got to your destination. You had no more money. No phone, wallet or ID. You had nothing but the clothes on your back and the few sandwiches you'd bought for the trip. However, you decided that would be a problem for future you to deal with.

'The 10:45 bus is now arriving. All ticket holders please proceed to boarding area A with your luggage. I repeat, the 10:45 bus...' A voice spoke over the small intercom, interrupting the jazz. You took the last sip of your tea, throwing the empty cup into a recycling bin as you made your way to the boarding area.

You were one of the first people on the bus as you didn't have luggage to load. The bus driver gave you a once over as you handed him your ticket, but ultimately decided he didn't care enough to question where a teen your age was going by themself at 10:45 at night. You chose a window seat near the front of the bus, happy that it wasn't too uncomfortable. You pulled your hood further over your eyes, leaning on the window as the bus loaded. You were lucky to end up with an empty seat beside you, so you fastened your seatbelt before closing your eyes and falling asleep.

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When you woke up, you had the feeling something was wrong. It was pitch black outside, probably the middle of the night. It seemed you and the bus driver were the only ones awake at the moment. As you continued staring out the window you saw headlights on the road behind the bus. The car was going fast and your heart started racing when you saw the black sports car pull up beside the bus. The same sports car Dominic had been so happy to drive you around in whenever you let him.

You knew you hadn't brought any trackers with you, you had been so careful to cover your tracks, so how had they found you? They wouldn't have planted a tracker in you... right? Slowly, in the dim light of the bus you ran a hand along your arms and neck, feeling for any kind of raised bump you didn't remember. You wouldn't find it until you checked your legs, feeling a small lump right above your left ankle.

At the moment there was no way to take it out. You didn't have any kind of razor on you, and even if you wanted too there was no guarantee you wouldn't cut something important and bleed out. In fact, you'd likely pass out from the pain before you could even get it out. There was no way out of this, you realized.

The car shot forward, before pulling ahead of the bus and slamming on the breaks. The bus swerved, unstable on the icy road. Before you knew it, you felt weightless and then the bus slammed into the ground. Your head hit the window and you blacked out for a few seconds. When you came to you heard people screaming and talking. Blood dripped down your forehead and you had to take a moment to remember what had happened.

Your hands shook and you realized you couldn't undo your seatbelt without falling. The bus was on it's side and you were on the side up in the air. Your ears were ringing and you grabbed for anything to steady yourself as a wave of nausea passed over you. You couldn't move, couldn't think. You just wanted to take a little nap, just a teensy tiny sleep.

That was when the window beside you shattered. Tiny shards of glass cut your cheek and sliced your hands. You couldn't even react as someone reached in and pulled you out of the bus. The wind was cold and the snow stung as it melted on your wounds. You could see the snow on the ground turning red as you bled onto it.

Someone was holding your face, trying to talk to you, but your mind was just too spacey to hear them. You were cradled in someones arms as they brought you to a car, ignoring your whimpers as the crash replayed in your head. That... that had been your fault. You had caused all those people to be put in danger, possibly killed.

A hand ran through your hair, shushing you as tears fell down your cheeks. The car sped off down the road into the snowy night as you were brought right back to where it all began.

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You could barely recall what happened after the bus crash. It was mostly a blurry haze of pain and too-bright lights. You remembered being shook awake a few times, muffled voices talking around you and a persistent ringing in your ears. Eventually you were carefully fed some medication and allowed to rest. You fell asleep with gentle talking around you and a hand playing with your hair.

The medication made you tired and hazy. The few times you were awake you were either being fed, being helped to the bathroom or crying. You felt immense guilt for what happened with the bus, you didn't know if anyone had died or not. Even if they hadn't, any injuries would've been your fault.

It was always the worse when you woke up crying from a guilt induced nightmare. In a second someone would be by your side, shushing you as they gently tucked you in again. You'd have to listen to them coo words of love and affection, knowing it was this same obsession that caused the accident in the first place. You shouldn't have tried to run. You shouldn't have fought back.

Slowly you were weened off the pain meds as your brain healed. You'd had a pretty serious concussion, Dominic told you when you were lucid enough to understand. You were lucky though and their doctor didn't seem to think you'd have any lasting damage.

The first day you were finally sober enough to do simple things like stand for a bit and walk around, the family had finally confronted you about what happened. They'd pulled up chairs alongside the bed, minus Dominic who sat on the edge of the bed and Andy who cuddled into your side.

"For how far you got, it was a good attempt at tag." Dominic said, as if this was a game and not an attempt at escape. "Next time, lets reduce the amount of collateral damage, okay?"

"Tag?" Your voice was shaking with confusion and anger. Was this just a game to them? People had probably gotten hurt in the crash if your own injuries were any sign, yet they were treating you like a kid who was upset they lost a game.

"For the time being, we'll have to move your room sweetheart." Bronwyn said, reaching for you only to retract her hand when you flinched away. "We just think the room you're in right now is a bit too dangerous for you. Especially since you proved you can't be trusted with something as simple as random clothes."

"You're going to be moved to the room next to ours and across the hall from Colton's room. That way theres a bit more surveillance. We don't want you to accidentally hurt yourself trying to 'run away'." Dominic said. The way he spoke gave you the impression that he didn't believe in you at all. He truly believed that your running away would fail and they'd always manage to drag you back here.

"Now that you're off the meds enough to move and thus be a danger to yourself, we're gonna move you to your new room, okay? We already decorated for you which is why we hadn't moved you before." Calista told you, waving Andy away as she began to untuck you.

"Don't worry darling. I made sure the projector and music box made it into your new room. That should help you sleep the first few nights while you adjust to the new space." Bronwyn said. As you were hoisted into Calista's arms. She was shockingly strong for someone who looked to be only a little bit older than you and carried you like it was nothing.

The new room was much of the same, except for the security camera in the corner which could see the whole room. On top of that the decor seemed more attuned to a child, not a teenager. There were more bright colors and fluffy stuffed toys than had been in the first room.

"There's an en suite bathroom for changing." Bronwyn showed you. "But this way we'll be able to monitor you almost 24/7."

As you stared into the blinking security camera, pointed straight at the bed you had been placed on, you could only wonder where your life had gone so wrong.

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"Y/N! Y/N! Colton took my teddy bear!" Andy barged into your room yelling. It was something you'd gotten used to over the past few months here. The general lack of care for your privacy still made you uncomfortable some days.

"Hey! Y/N isn't involved in this. You can get your stupid bear back when you tell me where you hid my phone you little thief!" Colton hissed, barging in after him. You just groaned, realizing you weren't going to get any sort of peace and quiet.

"Boys!" Bronwyn hissed, appearing in your doorway with a tray of apple slices and other small snacks. "You can argue about this in your own rooms. Leave Y/N alone, you know they enjoy their quiet time."

The boys bickered as they left, Colton swiping a few apple slices as he went. Bronwyn groaned, setting the tray on your bedside table. "Honestly, you'd think they were both seven with the way they act. I brought you some snacks since you didn't seem to eat much at lunch. Calista is still on her... 'business trip' but your father should be home for dinner tonight."

You apathetically nibbled on an apple. You knew full well where Calista was, she was out training to take over leadership of the gang from Dominic when the time came. Apparently you were 'too fragile' to just be told that.

There was a sudden crash out in the hallway followed by more yelling from the boys. Bronwyn groaned, rising to her feet. "Honestly your brothers are going to drive me mental one of these days. Enjoy the snacks while I go sort this out, okay? I'll be back soon and then we can spend some bonding time together."

As she left the room all you could do was finish your apple slice as you stared at the blinking camera, hoping that one day this nightmare would end.

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