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nightowlwriting · 3 years ago

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summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ��40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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tarosin · 3 years ago

Text

The great adventures of y/n, Tommy, Jack and Tubbo

Requested:yes/no

Pairing: Platonic jack/tommy/tubbo/reader

Summary: another day another adventure

Content warning: cursing / I didn't proof read

An: reader has bright unnatural hair I wrote a lot, I can't figure out how to add read more on mobile I'm sorry

The music you were currently listening to was interrupted by the discord group notifying you that you have a new message.

Tommy: Y/N HOW BUSY ARE YOU TUBBO HAS COME TO VISIT AND JACK IS HERE

y/n: I mean I've currently got hair dye on but it’s being washed off and dried in around 20 minutes, why?

y/n: WAIT TUBBO?!?!

tubbo: oh yeah I forgot to tell you

y/n: how did you forget you know what nevermind, I’m glad you’re here :]

jack: we should be here in an hour so you have plenty of time to get ready

tubbo: what colour dye y/n

y/n: you’ll see soon enough as apparently, you’re all showing up at my house

Tommy: I suggest you wear comfortable shoes

y/n: I am terrified

Tommy: you have nothing to fear... for now

•••

luckily it had only taken you just over 40 minutes to get ready giving you roughly 20 minutes to prepare for the adventure ahead. or so you thought, as soon as you sat down ready to check your phone the sound of Tommy and tubbo laughing could be heard from your room, jack sent a message “hey we got here extremely early I’m sorry there’s no rush the others have been distracted by dreams music :)”

grabbing a backpack from next to your bed you had quickly chucked your phone and purse into the bag unsure as to what you’re going to need today.

•••

as soon as you opened the door you were met with an ecstatic tubbo who instantly pulled you into a hug unable to contain their excitement of seeing their friend

“I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN AGES YOUVE CHANGED SO MUCH LOOK AT YOUR HAIR”

“I look exactly the same”

“Now I’m no genius y/n but last time we spoke you didn’t have unnatural hair”

you paused for a moment as tubbo had a point the last time you and tubbo were on face time your hair was classed as a natural colour however today as a fuck you to your school which didn’t allow unnatural hair you decided to dye it your favourite colour.

“you raise a fair point now if you don’t mind releasing me from your grasp I have to lock the door so no one gets in”

•••

“Tommy unlock the door let tubbo and y/n in”

“Y/N YOU'RE HERE- HOLY SHIT YOUR HAIR! JACK ARE YOU SEEING THIS”

“Hello to you too Tommy”

“well if we weren’t going to get noticed at the shopping centre earlier y/ns bright fucking hair will definitely cause people to notice us”

“oh I’m sorry I didn’t expect to be going shopping with a bunch of Minecraft streamers today”

“don’t you stream Minecraft?”

“This isn’t about me jack”

the trip to the shops was surprisingly relaxing y/n sat at the front listening to jack sing along to songs playing on the radio, however, it was clear the boys had something they weren’t telling y/n which became evident through Tommy and tubbo bickering in the back of the car about who was going to tell them. it was a relatively short journey due to the fact you lived close to the city centre

•••

“let’s go shopping boys” Tommy practically yelled to everyone, tubbo held his phone in your direction then looked towards you, nodding at him you grabbed his phone and began recording

“I'm vlogging”

Tommy walked over “YEAHHHHH”

walking past cex you had to put up with Tommy making sex jokes until you made it to game, you stood holding back your laugh as you filmed Tommy and tubbo fighting about who’s paying whilst jack went off to buy a Minecraft squishy and mug despite everyone’s arguments against it. soon enough fans came over asking for photos with you all once the group of fans left jack took over recording for tubbo whilst you went off to quickly buy some games that you could play on stream.

•••

“want a wig bro? jack!”

the four of you walked into the shop, you couldn’t help but stand in awe looking at all the bright colours already questioning what colour to dye your hair next the sound of Tommy and jack being amazed pulled you out of your thoughts

“Gogy goggles, I’m actually buying them”

“i wan’t a pair”

“no, you’re getting a wig jack”

“I don’t want a wig I want George”

“y/n has bright hair and they’re not complaining”

“what do you have against people with colourful hair jack hmm?”

•••

“I'm not happy”

“you look lovely jack”

“we’re getting so many looks”

tubbo stopped everyone to ‘fix’ jacks wig which resulted in everyone laughing once you had finally stopped laughing you noticed tubbo had walked off and you were convinced jack had randomly decided to record strangers until you saw tubbo going up and down escalators

“oh there he goes again”

“pov you’re thinking about bees”

“where to next boys?”

Tommy pointed towards the lift

“Is this a lift for us”

Tommy noticed the safety sign and automatically made comments about it

“keeping us all safe is what I would say if I wasn’t carrying a knife”

“oh same Tommy”

“look you can see me”

taking that as an invitation to join the vlog you stood behind tubbo and pointed at the sign again and looked at Tommy and jack

“keeping us all safe is what I would say if we weren’t about to do this-“

the three of you went to jump up and down

“NO”

the four of you quietly left the lift however you were convinced that the public heard Tommy comment on having a knife and you threatening to jump as once the lift opened everyone was staring at you but it could also be due to the fact you had brightly coloured hair and somehow convinced jack to keep the wig on, you all spent a long time trying to convince Tommy to get a new outfit, eventually you went into another shop a certain keyboard caught your eye

“I’ve found my home, ill stay here at the gamer bunker”

you decided now was the perfect time to sneak off to buy the keyboard that had caught your eye, once tubbo noticed it was too late you stood holding the bag with your purchase leaving you stood in the middle of the shop defending your purchase to him claiming that it was a business expense and not just because you thought it looked cool.

“you told me you wanted to save your money”

“it lights up tubbo and it fits the vibe of my room”

Tommy placed his arm on your head treating you as an armrest as you were shorter than him and he knew it annoyed you

“they have a point tubbo it lights up”

once the recording ended you made your way back to the car

“say y/n you wouldn’t mind if me Tommy and jack stayed the night as tomorrow we were thinking-“

“sure thing”

“YESSSSSS”

•••

the next day you were woken up at 9 am by Tommy stood at the foot of your bed

“hi y/n”

“WHAT THE FUCK- oh hi Tommy Jesus christ do you know how horrifying that was to wake up to”

“Sorry bout that but if I didn’t wake you up now you’d only wake up in the afternoon and we need to go soon I’ll leave you to get ready”

you noticed a note was next to a jumper on the floor ‘hi, thanks for letting us stay the night I really liked your hoodie so I decided to wear it today here’s mine in exchange- Tubbo :D’

normally you’d be concerned that someone stole your hoodie as you live with your parents however today was an exception once you were all ready you set off jack pulled into a McDonald's drive-through so you could all get breakfast

“nice hoodie y/n”

“Thanks, someone took mine and decided to make a trade”

“you’re welcome”

the journey was quiet again you sat next to tubbo in the back Tommy sat at the front screaming at jack and trying to distract him and people around you decided to took a picture with tubbo who now had his arm wrapped around you as it was rather cold in the car and posted it to Twitter ‘@ ranboosaysstuff wish you were here :D’ less than a minute later you received 2 notifications ‘ranboosaysstuff replied to your tweet: same’ ‘ ranboosaysstuff has tweeted: *the spongebob gif*’

•••

soon enough you all arrived at mint golf to say you we’re excited would be an understatement

“can I get the shortest club you have”

you stood hiding your face in the jumper tubbo left you whilst you laughed a few minutes later you received a call from ranboo the others said they’d sort everything for you whilst you answered

“what’s up tall one”

“stay safe okay”

“ranboo it’s mini-golf I’m not fighting criminals”

“yes but I know how clumsy you are”

“first of all rude second of all fuck you third of all jealousy isn’t a good look on you” you managed to say through laughter

“jokes aside please come to the UK boo”

“oh sure I’ll go book a plane ticket now” *ranboo ended the call*

ranboo made jokes like that before however this time sounded a lot more serious and you had no idea why he called you so you made a mental note to call him again later. once with friends again you were met with Tommy telling the worker all about you all

“yeah we’re big on the influencing”

“What on earth did I walk in on”

“no time to explain let’s go golf”

you were handed a club and a ball and were dragged away by jack

•••

tubbo joked about getting a hole on one as soon as it was his go, you bet £10 with jack he wouldn't

“hand over the money y/n”

you looked at Tommy who was now recording you handing jack the money “so today we have learnt to not underestimate your friends and that gambling is bad. you lose your money to a tall bald guy”

to put it politely you and Tommy found out that mini golf is not your calling in life

“ill stick to streaming“

“you’re both losing by the way”

“yeah well- why and how does tubbo have soup”

tubbo stood cradling the soup as though it was a child

“Some things I can’t explain to you”

you stood tilting your head to the side questioning where the hell he got soup from

“eh”

“soups like a small child I take care of it as if it was my own”

you couldn’t contain your laughter at this point the confused faces of your friends alongside tubbos happiness of soup sent you over the edge so you decided to just sit down before you fall as your knees were already weak from laughing too much

“where did you get the soup from”

“I manifested it”

•••

after a few solid minutes of arguing over soup you and Tommy dropping the phone you all continued with bowling.

“tubbo get out of the way of my dream ball”

you stood recording jack cheering him on tubbo had different plans and kicked the ball away resulting in jack giving up and copying what you had been doing most of the rounds, after missing the hole 3 times each go, picking up the ball and placing it in the hole however again he missed

“you can’t be serious”

“golf isn’t for everyone big man”

Tommy took the phone from you to record “pov you’re me golfing”

•••

“how do we get across there”

“probably the bridge”

Tommy pulled to rope moving the bridge across the gap

“Why thank you, Tommy, wouldn’t have been able to do it without you”

you laughed

“you're extremely welcome y/n it was extremely easy because I’m a big muscly man”

golf was finally going well till you hit the ball a bit too hard causing it to go over the fence tubbo was able to get the ball back

“I’ve been watching a lot of doctor shows” you stood amazed at how far you made the ball go

“see the issue is its mini golf. if this was regular golf I'd have got a hole in one I'm telling you”

•••

“I'm never being in your vlog again”

jack looked at you and tubbo who was now laughing at you pretending to worship the can of soup in the hole

“Tommy please come back”

the rest of the game was chaos, you kept missing the hole then claiming to rage quit golf tubbo and Tommy kept making jokes jack left his drink somewhere then had to go back and find it, no one had been paying attention to you which allowed you to take the score sheet and make it so you had won the game eventually he game was over you had declared yourself the champion of golf despite the fact everyone was better than you including Tommy

•••

the journey back was chaos you called ranboo who claimed he only called you to plan a video/stream with you however it was clear that wasn’t the reason tubbo whispered to you so no one could hear

“I think he wants to be here with us I think he’s jealous”

you laughed and nodded

“of course”

eventually, you all made it back to yours, ranboo said goodbye to everyone then ended the call now it was time for you to say your goodbyes. since your love language was physical touch you hugged everyone. As you walked into your house Tommy yelled “Y/N HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT PLANES”

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oliviayamaoka · 3 years ago

Text

The Roseville Murders (Chapter 2)

Hi, just wanted to say I adjusted the plot slightly and will go into more detail with the story next chapter! This was a bit experimental and I wanted to write the growing relationship / rivalry between Y/N and Danny. I also wanted to write Y/N as a girlboss and to be just as witty as Danny!

Anyways, please comment any ideas or suggestions you may wanna see in future chapters! I have this planned out but would love any ideas or stuff I can add into the story! Tysm for reading!

It rained softly outside as you took a seat at your workplace. The desk was a bit cluttered with your art, notes, junk, and your papers regarding your current investigation.

One of the drawings on your desk was a sketch of Ghostface’s mask, attached to it was a few notes regarding the origin of the mask. Did Ghostface care for the history of it, anyways? You already theorized he was a narcissist who took pride in his work. Perhaps, he admired Edward Munch and his infamous “The Scream” artwork? Or maybe he based his persona off of it? You weren’t too sure but you did research the distribution and the company that made the masks. It wasn’t a particular popular company but it only distributed to the USA, Canada, and Brazil.

Ghostface didn’t seem too caring when it came to where he stabbed victims. As long as there was a lot of blood and something only he could perceive as art. And maybe you too. You felt excited, you already had a three year timeline. Maybe, you could get ahold of other states and ask if there’s been similar killings. Maybe even Brazil and Canada? You had to pinpoint a location and see if you could find just one name, any name.

Three years. Three countries. A part of you doubted he was Brazilian. Maybe Canadian? You weren’t so sure, you were pretty sure he was American. Y/N would probably have to go to the library tommorow to do research and use the slowly growing internet. Your research was suddenly halted when you knocked your sketchbook over.

Our slid a page. You kneeled down to pick it up, holding it as you examined the dark sketch. On the paper was a sketch of claws? No, they also looked like tentacles. Ever since the incident, you had dreams of these tentacle claws grabbing you and pulling you away from life as you know it. It must’ve been a sign of trauma or maybe it represented what happened through the nightmares? You slid it back into your sketchbook, deciding not to dwell on it. It would only make your room feel more depressing.

Beside your sketchbook was your leather journal. Y/N wrote everything in there, for mental health reasons. You included the incident and what Jonathan did for you. Your previous therapist said journaling your thoughts helped the healing process. It worked but journaling about how you killed your abuser was hell.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when your phone rang. It was a chunky, black mobile phone you got about a week ago? Y/N reached for it and answered.

“Hello?” You answered, using your other hand to organize your desk.

“Hello?” A voice answered, it was a male by the sound of it.

“Hi, who’s this?” Y/N asked, paying no mind to the phone call as she started to put some of her stuff away. Art supplies.

“Who’s this?” He replied.

“Y/N L/N, am I who you’re trying to reach?” You asked, sitting back down.

“Ah, you’re no fun, detective.” He chuckled as you stopped, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. Who was this?

“My apologies but, this is my personal phone. Can I ask who gave you this number?” You questioned him.

“Why does it matter, gorgeous? I know it’s you now.” He responded.

“Please don’t call me that. And yes, I am indeed a detective but I’d feel more comfortable discussing anything with you on my work phone.” Y/N said sternly.

“Oh, yeah… Detective L/N, huh? Think you’re some sort of hotshot because you’re new? Where did you come from? Washington? Gonna take more than the feds to catch me.” He said to you.

You listened intently and stopped for a moment. Catch him? Must be a stupid prank. Although, not a funny one since he had your personal phone number. An eyebrow raised as you looked at your notes on Ghostface.

“You still haven’t told me your name. Let’s not be rude, yeah?” You responded, being a little more cocky since you were off-duty.

“Awe, don’t tell me you forgot my name. I’ll give you a hint… I’ve been quite famous lately. In fact, I think you’ve taken quite the interest in me, Y/N.” The man teased. It was 100% Danny.

“I asked for a name, not an alias.” You said.

“Maybe after dinner, hotshot.” Danny said to you as you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I’m not in Roseville to play games. Either verify you are who you claim to be or quit wasting my time.” Y/N spoke with a stern tone.

“My last victim had three stab wounds to the throat. It was going to be two but their scream wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. And they had a tattoo on their upper thigh. Bella Smith.” He said as you froze for a moment.

It was true. The latest murder victim was a middle-aged woman named Bella Smith who worked at a convenience store. She had multiple stab wounds but it was pretty much impossible to see she had three wounds on her throat just looking at photos of the crime scene.

“Okay and how did you get my number? I imagine the infamous Ghostface doesn’t have access to these types of things. How do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank orchestrated by my coworkers?” You questioned.

“Honey, I am Roseville. Also sounds like you have experience with these kinds of things. You ever get humiliated like that?” Danny asked, grinning widely.

“No, it’s just a very logical conclusion. And why would you be talking to me anyways?” You asked him.

While you spoke to him, you quickly wrote down what he said and what he sounded like. You quickly speculated what his age may be, maybe 25?

“I keep tabs on the cops who are investigating my work and to be honest? They’re all stupid, it’s pathetic. Although, I noticed something about you. You come from one of the big cities, don’t you? You’re actually smart compared to those other pigs.” He said.

“Those pigs you speak of have tried their best in pursuing you. They have families too.” You responded.

“Really, huh? You’ve only been here three weeks? I think you should just trust me on this one because those other officers really don’t know what they’re doing. If you actually find out who I am, are they gonna give you credit? The newbie? A woman?” He asked.

“I don’t understand why gender is an issue. And why would they try to steal credit?” You questioned.

“They’re stuck in this shit hole city and I bet they could just really use a promotion right now. They want so badly to be the hero that arrests me… but first, they’ll let the freshly graduated detective do the work. It’s so easy to overshadow women in this world.” Danny said.

“Well, I don’t care. As long as you’re put behind bars.” Y/N responded.

“The bars at this station? I must say, your desk is quite cute. A bit plain but I like your style… interesting files too.” He mused.

“Huh?” You responded, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Your lil’ office at the station, I like it. This place has always been easy to break into. You noticed it too, didn’t you? Their security sucks and their morgue is just too damn small.” Danny said as you frantically looked around, shoving your shoes on.

“I’m going to call them right now and tell them you’re there. That was a stupid move on your part.” You said, practically yelling.

“So young and naive. I’ll be long gone.” He responded, chuckling as you hung up.

“Fuck, shit!” You said, quickly dialling the number to the police station.

You practically flung your door open, sprinting down the hallway and out through the front doors of the apartment complex after three flights of stairs. Your heart rate increased as you continued running down the sidewalk, feeling more frantic when there was no answer.

“Answer…!” You yelled, calling the emergency number.

“911, how can I help you?” A staticky voice answered as you continued running.

“I’m Detective Y/N L/N! Please inform the police station that there’s an intruder! He might be armed and dangerous! Do not touch anything since there may be forensic evidence!” You instructed.

“Oh—yes, right away, ma’am!” The dispatcher answered as you hung up, continuing to focus on your running towards the station.

Back at your apartment complex, there stood Danny with his own mobile phone. It couldn’t be traced back to him since it was stolen and he didn’t leave any DNA on it. If anything, it had the previous owners. Bella Smith. Your apartment complex had fire escape stairs outside your window. Easy enough, he thought. His outfit was black and had some stuff hanging off it. Strings? Ribbons? Danny was quite quick and extremely quiet when it came to climbing the set of stairs.

He reached your window, pulling it open gently and hoisting himself through, landing gently whilst kneeled down. For precaution, he had his knife gripped in one hand. This was purely for investigation and to see what you truly had on him. His head tilted curiously as he noticed your desk. Your art and notebook. His gloved hand reached out to your sketch of him.

Danny was truly impressed at how detailed and good it was. He read through your sticky notes and theories. Other than the fact he was blown away, he knew you were a threat since you successfully guessed his age range and height. Wait, his height? You did a careful examination of the footage he was in, looking at objects around him and his boots to correctly guess a height.

“What the fuck…?” Danny muttered as he looked at your notes.

The Scream by Edward Munch and a costume company? He skimmed over your notes and the psychological profile you built on him. He felt somewhat panicked since you were indeed no joke. His gaze averted towards your leather notebook. Eagerly, he grabbed it and opened it. Most of it was your thoughts and causes of your stress and anxiety. He stopped flipping through when he saw a darker page. It was dark because of the writing and how crumpled it seemed.

December 23rd, 1992

I was walking down an alleyway two weeks ago. It was cold so I had a jacket over my uniform. I suppose that’s why the man didn’t know I was an officer.

At first, I thought that he was going to try and rob me. It took me a while to realize that my money and belongings wasn’t what he was after. I suppose it would be appropriate to say that I was in shock for a moment. He never finished what he started. Despite being in shock, I was able to feel everything and the adrenaline only helped my rage.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me? After getting him off, I pulled my gun out and he stopped. I still remember the look on his face after I shot him. He was scared and pathetic, as he was in life. I don’t regret killing him. I never will. I just feel utterly violated. Never once have I been touched like that so violently. Is this what this fucked up world has come to? What if I didn’t have my gun and training?

He definitely did this to other women… he deserved to die. And I would do it all over again to him and to other men just like him. Of course, I had to call the police. They were going to charge me with manslaughter but they said that they would push this all under the rug, just as long as I never tell anybody. Did I contribute to corruption in the police force? This getting out would ruin everything. I don’t know but I do know that this was my gift.

Freedom was my gift for killing that man. It felt oddly exhilarating. I hope nobody remembers him, I hope his family know what kind of monster he was. Anyways, I’m being reassigned somewhere. They said they’ll give me my first investigation. In a smaller city.

Danny’s fingers trailed over the page. He felt angry and sad for you. That this happened to you. But, something arose in him when he kept re-reading that paragraph. You… enjoyed it? Behind the mask, he had a soft expression on his face. He imagined your beautiful face full of blood with you and your gun. He smiled gently as he kept the notebook.

He did indeed feel bad for you but he wasn’t satisfied with his limited knowledge of you. Danny decided to use this notebook of incriminating evidence to hold some leverage over you. Not only that but he figured he’d get to know you better if they had something interesting to talk to you about. Danny couldn’t help but grin when he thought about your journal entry and the sketches you made of him. So smart yet so naive.

Danny quickly took a look around your apartment to see all points of entry. He took a peak into your bedroom, it was neat and tidy. He seemed somewhat paranoid so quickly went back to your living room window, making his swift little escape. Not without taking some of your notes on him and your sketchbook.

About two hours later, you rubbed your eyes in frustration as another officer came to talk to you. There was a forensic team still investigating your little office space. Apparently, there was nobody here and your office seemed untouched. For about thirty minutes, you inspected any points of entry and tried to look for out of place shoe marks since it rained outside.

“Detective, are you certain it was the killer who called? We get prank calls a lot.” He said as you nodded.

“Yes, I’m certain. It was him, he knows I’m going to catch him soon.” You said as he nodded a bit.

“Okay, well, we’ll take it from here. Come early tommorow.” He said as you sighed.

“I will but please, don’t miss anything. I’m starting to think he was lying. It was him though.” You said as you turned, walking down the hallway towards the exit.

It seemed to be evening at this point and the rain stopped pouring. It was slightly humid but the city looked oddly beautiful when it was wet? You couldn’t stop thinking about your phone call with Ghostface earlier. Y/N already had some tech professionals try to track the number he called from and all of the information regarding the phone company. You’d have to wait two days at the latest for the results to come back.

As you walked through light puddles, you felt more and more tired. All the running and frantically searching for him was enough to just make you exhausted. It was all last-minute too. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks when she felt her mobile phone ring. You pulled it out of your pocket and answered it.

“Hello?” You asked, tired.

“Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted to apologize for my little deception trick earlier.” He responded as your eyes widened.

“Ghostface…” You responded, shocked that he had the courage to call you again.

“God, hearing that from you…” He said with a slight husk as you took a deep breath quietly to calm yourself.

“You know I’m close, don’t you?” You questioned him as he chuckled.

“Of course, I do… only these hands of mine can do wonders for you.” Danny said to you as you scoffed.

“You’re disgusting.” You say to him.

“Don’t lose your temper now, detective. There’s… things we should discuss.” He cooed.

“Things? Seriously?” You asked him, already tired of his bullshit.

“Yeah! Like, this lil’ notebook of yours! Really deep stuff… Victor Houston, was it? The serial rapist? Must’ve felt real good to put him down, didn’t it? Did it feel as good as you said it did in this thing?” He asked as you froze.

You probably let out a small whimper of shock as your hands trembled. Your heart pumped hard and fast. It was all you can hear as you felt your face heat out of pure embarrassment and shock. He… read your journal? This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good.

“W-What…?” You asked as he cackled.

“God, you’re so hot when you sound scared. Don’t be offended though, babe. You still sound real sexy in your cop tone.” He said as he continued.

“Yeah, I read all about the guy you killed. And how it was all covered up to accommodate you. Are you a star student or something? It’s hard covering up murders… or has it always been easy for you?” He asked.

“I-I, um… how did you get that…?” You asked him, trembling.

“You see, Y/N… we’re the same. You and I are too smart for Roseville. It’s just that I got the upper hand this time. While you rushed to the police station, I took a quick trip into your apartment.” He said as you let out a light gasp.

“Yeah, that’s right! I know where you live, I know where you’re from, and your number. I know who you truly are, Detective Y/N L/N.” Danny said mockingly.

“And what are you going to do with it?” You asked him.

“Always so straight to the point. I might give that annoying little journalist Jed Olsen. You’re trying to work with him, aren’t you? You mentioned in one of these notes… you also think he’s handsome.” He said as you covered your eyes.

You fought tears.

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask.

“I should be asking you that. I’m a bit jealous you find someone like Olsen… attractive. He’s so boring, so normal, so… ugh, I hate talking about him. Still though, nice to know I have another fan besides him.” He said to you.

“Where are you going with this?!” You snapped as he chuckled darkly.

“I won’t tell anybody. Just as long as you halt your investigation for a while. I still want to have fun in Roseville here and well… get to know you.” He said.

“Go to hell.” You muttered.

“How original… so what’ll it be? I kinda need to know now since I’m also on a bit of a time crunch.” Danny asked you.

“W-What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit back and watch as you kill more innocent people?! I won’t let you.” You said with a venomous tone.

“What are you gonna do? Stop me behind bars?” He asked mockingly.

“Fuck you.” You said.

“I’m sure we will. But first, I just want you to sit back and not do anything stupid. We’ll see each other eventually. I’ll call you from another phone soon.” He said, hanging up.

You held your phone in disbelief and quickly made sure you had your gun. How the hell could you have been so dumb?! It was genius, leading you away from you apartment and finding such leverage against you purely out of luck. Your breath trembled as you walked back to your apartment, having your gun ready in your pocket as you did so.

#dbd x reader #ghostface x reader #the ghostface #ghostface dbd #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #jed olsen #danny johnson #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight

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storydays · 3 years ago

Text

Season 1, ep 7, p2

(3rd POV)

You hummed softly, walking down the hallway with some fire flakes in your hand, and paused seeing Korra spying through a keyhole. You went to grab her shoulder when she stood up straight with a horrified look on her face. "Kor--" she ran down the stairs before you could finish your sentence.

You followed her, slower, and listened to her babble an excuse. "I forgot it's my turn to airsit the babybenders..I-I mean babysit the airbender kids. See you later!" They turned to you with confused looks and you shrugged, swallowing more fire flakes. "It's one of Aunt Pema's daily baby checks." Nevermore squealed in delight as she ate majority of your fire flakes.

"Hey!" You splashed her with water, making the little hothead sizzle. Everyone laughed at the two of you, the old butler even concealing a chuckled behind his hand. "She's been getting so fiesty lately and I don't appreciate the rebelliousness, young lady." You complained and then chided the dragon.

"You know, I read something in a book that says animals tend to imitate their loved ones behavior." Asami teased, making you playfully roll your eyes. "I've been hearing that a lot," you sigh, making your bangs puff in the air slightly. Nevermore curled on your shoulder, chirping happily. "Come on, let's go find my secret stash of fire snacks." You grinned, as Mako and Asami laughed before following you to get some snacks.

*Timeskip*

You blinked, as your Aunt, Uncle and friend storm up to the Sato mansion. "What's going on?" Mako demanded, pushing Korra's shoulder, wincing when you gripped his arm. "Why are they asking more Hiroshi more questions?" "I overheard him on the phone yesterday. Asami, I don't know how to tell you this, but I think your father might be involved with the equalists." "What?! I don't believe this!" She stormed towards her father's office. You followed her, trying to calm her down.

"A-Asami, maybe this is just a misunderstanding." She turned her green gaze to you, "Don't talk to me, (Y/N)! You were in on this, and you didn't think to tell me?!" Your (e/c) eyes burned sadness into Asami's, as she stalked off. You sigh, running a hand through your hair before trailing sadly behind her, before walking into the office, standing in the corner. You studied everyone from the corner of the room, and you were biting the inside of your lip before closing your eyes, listening to everyone's breathing, and focusing on what Toph taught you.

"My father is innocent. Just because we're not benders, doesn't mean we support those awful Equalists." She went to stand next to Hiroshi. "Is that this is about?" He demanded. "I can assure you, I have nothing to do with those radicals." Mako butted in, "Yeah, you don't know your're talking about Korra." Mako accused. "I overheard you on the phone. You said that Cabbage Corp investigation bought you time, and your getting ready to strike. Explain that." Korra placed her hand on her hips, staring into the man's eyes.

He chuckled, before looking into the Avatar's eyes. "This is all a misunderstanding,resulting from the Avatar's over-active imagination. My number one competitor was knocked out of the game. It's providing me with an opportunity to strike the market with a new line of Sato-mobiles. It's just business--"

You studied everyone from the corner of the room, and you were biting the inside of your lip before closing your eyes, listening to everyone's breathing, narrowing on Hiroshi's breath hitch. Your (e/c) eyes flew open as you declared loud and cleared, "Liar." All eyes turned to you as you approached the now sweating man. Asami looked at you with hurt and betrayal in her face.

"(Y/N), how could you? You've known my father for a long time, and you know he's not apart of th-" "And you know me, Asami. I was listening to everyone's breathing, and Hiroshi's hitched when he spoke just now." "That doesn't mean anything!" (E/C) eyes stared into angry green, as everyone watched you silently. "I was trained by the Greatest Earthbender of all time, I'm a spiritual master, and a waterbender master, if anyone knows about lying signs, it would be me. I'm sorry that your sweet fantasy is being destroyed, but---"

SMACK!

A sharp sting burned on your cheek. You met her emerald eyes, and with a bright red handmark on your cheek, you turned your eyes to your Aunt. "I know your troops are outside and waiting, but you should use your seismic sense and you'll find something in the workshop behind the house. Clearly, I'm not wanted here, so I'll be anywhere else." You avoided Asami's gaze and stalked out, and hopped onto your polar bear dog. You clicked your tongue and soon you and Neo took off. Your (e/c) eyes watered, from both the wind and from the pain you felt in your heart. You willed them away, and the next thing you knew, you were by a secluded part of the park, no one around. You hopped off Neo, and knelt by a nearby pond, placing your hands in the water, before soothing your stinging cheek, wincing at the faint scratch marks from Asami's nails.

'You know, Cub,' you didn't jump when Neo laid next to you, watching you carefully, 'It's okay to cry when your heart aches.' You shook your head, settling into a lotus position against him. "No, I promised someone special to me that I won't ever cry. That I'll be strong." He rumbled against your back, with a disapproving growl. 'I sincerely doubt that's what she meant.'

You huffed, your bangs puffing slightly. "Hush, 'm tryna meditate." The animal growled again before leaving you to find peace.

*Later that night*

You jumped up using a water shield to block an incoming attack. "You've got to be quicker than that, Auntie." Your eyes softened as your Aunt jumped down from a tree. "I thought I'd find you here." Lin said, gruffly before coming over and sitting next to you. She held out a bag of food, and Neo perked up sniffing in the bag for something.

Lin chuckled amused, before reaching in and handing Neo his treat before turning to you with a concerned frown. "Eat, (Y/N), I know you haven't eaten since breakfast this morning." At that moment, your stomach growled, just as the scent of Lin's meat and vegetable wrap hit your stomach.

Not many people knew, but the latest Chief of Police was an excellent cook.Whenever you were in need of some tough love, you went to Lin and that's exactly what her food was. She chuckled as you devoured the wrap. "Hungry, mali heroj (little hero)?" You hummed in affirmation as you swallowed. "For your food? Always." She watched you with gentle eyes. "I'm worried about you, (Y/N). Everyone is, you haven't been yourself in a long time." You put your wrap down and stared at the twinkling stars, thinking about your vision during this last meditation.

"I'll be fine, Aunt Lin. I'm just..." "You are not alone! You have people who love you,and want to help you, but we can't if you continue to block us out." You turned to her, before she held her arms out. You fell into her warm embrace but said loud and clear: "Maybe it's safer for everyone to stay out. Maybe...I don't want anyone to be burdened with my problems. Not even Gran-Gran has any advice for what's going on. No one can." You gripped her waist, and stiffled your sobs against her heart.

Now, not many people could break her walls, but from the moment she met you, you wormed your way into her stone cold heart, and she loved you like a son, and hated seeing you in pain. This was part of the reason she hated the world, when you were a child you were so open and full of love for the world, but then reality hit you way too hard, way too early. You learned to be strong at a young age, and survived things no grown adult could handle.

You were breaking, and you were breaking fast, and she knew what she had to do when she got you home safe in your own bed.

Even though you're 19, you are still a child, and like all children...

you still need your father.

#lok masterlist #male reader x legend of korra #legend of korra imagine #lok x reader #x male reader #lok

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thran-duils · 4 years ago

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I Crave Annihilation

Title: I Crave Annihilation Summary: Fem!Reader x Mafia!Dark Tony Stark. Tony works for the reader’s very influential politician father moving guns and drugs. She starts flirting with him and he is returning the vibes. She moves into her own place out of her parent’s house and texts him to come save her from a house party. Smut ensues. Words: 3,310 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, HUGE age difference, angst, violence, infidelity, possessive behavior Author’s Note: You know when things just pour out of you and you go with it? Yeah. Me too. This is that. I’m thinking this might just be a one shot like my Petal Castiel fic. Song inspo for this.

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Are you busy?

You pressed send on the text to Tony, leaning on the wall. Your eyes moved across the kitchen, wandering over everyone taking shots, playing beer pong. You spotted someone bringing in the pizza that had been ordered and you jumped to acting, coming right up to them. The girl smiled and put it on the counter. She was cute – her name was Rihanna, you thought -- but you knew she had a girlfriend here; you had talked to them earlier briefly out on the patio while you shared a cigarette.

“Preference?”

“Veggie?”

“No, sorry,” she shook her head. “There’s cheese, pepperoni, and meat lovers. So, the complete opposite of what you’re looking for. Are you vegetarian?”

“No, I just was craving it. I’ll take pepperoni.”

She dug through the boxes, the crowd around the pair of you growing at all the other drunk party goers. She made an aha sound, finding it on the bottom and pushed the box towards you. You grabbed a piece and sunk your teeth into it.

You snuck your way through the group and leaned back against the counter, pulling out your phone. He had already texted back, much to your amusement.

Not particularly. Why?

So, he had saved your number. That was a great sign. Your heart was starting to beat faster with anticipation. Taking another big bite, you savored it and swallowed. You wanted something in your stomach instead of the jungle juice and multiple types of potato chips you had been ingesting for the last couple hours. You ate the piece quickly, eyeing the group, thinking you should have grabbed a second piece. But maybe you could convince Tony to stop somewhere if he could come get you. You had had a ride home, but she had started rifling shots when her crush showed up.

My DD isn’t a DD anymore.

You hoped he would show up with that invitation.

<><><>

Tony and you had been flirting for a long while, playfully at first and had gotten more bold as time went on. But it had to be kept under wraps, nothing real or physical, since he worked for your dad. He had patched over from another part of the mafia when they had merged a years ago, coming closer to your city to work with the crew here.

The first time the new guys showed up at your dad’s house with the veterans of the area, it was relatively late at night. Your father was a politician, a powerful one. You had been swimming in the pool and they had come through the gate to go towards the guest house to have a meeting. You surfaced hearing voices as you did laps.

“Don’t mind us, keep going, sweetie,” your father had told you as he walked by.

“Hey, Y/N,” Christian, the president of their faction said as he passed you.

“Hi,” you told him in response, coming to the edge of the pool. “You still owe me that $10!”

He stopped and turned around, a wide smile on his face. You had challenged him to pool last weekend and he had been so drunk he had forgotten to pay you when you won. He walked back towards you as the other mafia walked in, pulling out his wallet.

“You’re just like your father. Won’t forget a cent.” You shrugged as he pulled out a ten. “Want me to leave it on your towel?”

“That works,” you said just as you caught sight of new faces following in.

They all were looking at you and you knew if they knew you were your father’s daughter, they would not be staring so abashedly to not offend him. You were only 19, your 20th coming up soon. One in particular though, he was not taking his eyes off of you as he walked by. You locked eyes with him, a small smirk playing on your lips. He was handsome, terribly so. You did not back away from his lascivious look, meeting him in intensity.

“Hey!” Christian snapped his fingers at the guys, noticing them all staring. “Show my niece some respect! You bunch of lechers!” He was not really your uncle, but he might as well be. He tossed the ten onto your towel and said, “Watch out for these assholes. They’re a bunch of pricks.”

“Will do,” you vowed, crossing your heart. “I’ve got you to protect me anyhow.”

“You’re damn right,” Christian responded, laughing before turning and walking off with the group.

The same man though looked back, finding you still looking. You blushed despite yourself before averting your eyes and moving back away from the wall to continue your laps.

After that, he had come to the house a handful of times and every time the two of you had shared flirtatious looks, sharing sparse words to introduce yourselves. He was far older than you, early forties. At least twice your age but you did not care. He was dangerous and you liked that. And he was single as far as you could tell.

At a late-night soiree, you had come home, finding them all drunk in the back yard, which was a risk for your father, but he was not one known to always heed caution by being tied to this mafia openly. Especially when he got a few drinks in him. There were card games going on, some of the mafia swimming in the pool.

Tony had looked up from the patio, sitting at one of the tables, seeing you inside speaking to one of his guys, Thor. Thor was a flirt, but he was harmless, holding out a shot to you. You had spotted Tony noticing you moments before and you shrugged, taking the shot from him. You were still underage, but your dad let you indulge, especially if it was at home. And around people he could trust, his mafia. No harm would come to you here, so you were not worried about him catching you.

The two of you took the shot and you did your best to not grimace because it was scotch.

“Took it like a champ,” Thor complimented, a wide smile on his face.

“You mind finding me a chaser?” you choked out.

He laughed in response and said, “Sure.”

Thor left you and you took a deep breath, trying to swallow the taste of the scotch. It really was nasty stuff. You turned your head and found Tony blatantly staring at you from outside on the porch.

You moved outside and came up to him, eyeing the cigarette in his hand, hanging by his side. He breathed out some smoke and you held out your hand expectantly.

His lips twitched in amusement and he held it up to you. You took it from him, wrapping your lips around it sensually, keeping eye contact. You took a deep breath in before pulling it out. Your lipstick was lining the cigarette. You exhaled slowly; eyes still locked. He looked damn good in the white button up he was wearing, tight black jeans.

“Does your dad know you smoke?” Tony inquired.

You shrugged, “It’s a social habit.”

Tony did smirk then, and you took another drag before handing it back to him. He wrapped his lips around it, and you smiled seeing your lipstick mark disappear into his mouth.

“And I’m sure you can keep it a secret,” you added, putting your hands behind your back, exposing your breasts more in your small tank top. He did not refrain from looking down briefly.

“Sure, precious,” he responded, and your stomach fluttered at the pet name. You loved his attention far too much for your own good.

You held out your hand and he went to hand you the cigarette again and you shook your head, causing him to stall. He narrowed his eyes curiously and you said, “Your phone.” He rose a brow now and you explained, “If I’m having a secret keeper, I might need to call them for help sometime, right?”

Tony ground his teeth for a moment, giving you a scrutinizing look. He looked hesitant; no doubt thinking about what your father would do if he knew how much the two of you were flirting. You flexed your fingers quickly, gesturing for him to hand it over. That broke him.

He sucked his bottom lip in, reaching into his pocket and handing his phone over to you. You flipped through it, finding his messages and sending yourself a text with a winky face.

“That’s naughty of you. What if your dad saw that?” Tony asked the moment he saw the text you had sent.

“Well, do what you just promised me. Keep secrets,” you responded, giving him a wink before turning away from him and walking back into the house, leaving him on the patio.

<><><>

Things had not progressed far from then because you had moved out of the house after getting accepted into a nearby university quickly afterward. You just wanted to be away from the house, have some independence, and you were willing to take on the money needed to live in an apartment. You had not seen him because of this, you had roommates and how could you explain a forty some year-old man coming over. But you found yourself thinking about him a lot recently in the months since you had moved out. He had not texted you and you thought maybe he thought you were silly and had just been a small distraction for him. That hurt and you hated thinking about that. When your friends went for hookups, you turned down guys who had come onto you, not interested.

You wanted him. There was something about him that drew you like a moth to flame.

You need a ride?

Yes, please.

What’s the address?

He was being cordial, probably in case someone happened to see the text conversation. You hoped that would stop the moment you got in the car. You managed to swipe another piece of pizza – no stopping on the way home now – but also got pressured into drinking another cup of jungle juice., Thankfully, you were able to toss half of the cup into the sink and you left the empty cup on the counter. You were not going to risk leaving a half cup where any of the frat boys could come by and drug it, waiting for a poor girl to come pick it up.

When he texted he was outside, you told your friend you had a ride and she had protested, wanting you to stay. You told her she was too drunk and that your other roommate was going to hang out with her. She asked who was picking you up and you said a friend before pulling away from her.

You got into his Lexus, collapsing back into the seat. He was watching you closely and you turned your head to look at him, smiling. “Thank you so much. It was so loud in there.”

“You’re telling me,” he said eyeing the house. “I’ll be surprised if the cops don’t stop by before 11pm. You can hear it out here.”

Trying to pretend like you could not see him running his eyes over your body – you had worn a black lace top over a black bra and a burgundy bandage skirt – you sat up straighter, giving an even clearer view of your tits.

“Yeah, well, good thing I’m dipping out then. Don’t need an MIP on my record. Not right before my 21st birthday.”

Tony snorted as he pulled away from the curb, taking off down the street.

“Seriously, it’s next month.”

“I know,” Tony chuckled.

You smiled and giggled, “You know my birthday?”

It was his turn to smile over at you. “Of course. How could I forget that 20th birthday? You looked perfect in that dress. I couldn’t stop looking at those photos.”

Your stomach was in knots hearing that. He had been looking at your social media. And for how long? Apparently for a long while. You wondered how often he was looking at the photos… and what he had been doing while he was looking at them. You could not help your mind going to dirty places, thinking of his hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off to you. That is sure as hell what he was insinuating. Maybe this was not such a good idea…

Tony’s hand slid across over to your thigh, gripping, erasing any doubt about where the night was heading. You let him, relaxing into the seat as best as you could, listening to the music.

You had instigated this, what was happening right now. So, why did you feel so nervous? You tried to fight off the feelings of doubt that were incoming hard the closer the two of you got to your apartment – you had not given him the address. But he knew where to go. That was a huge red flag, only compounding your nervousness.

His phone rang and he looked down at the middle console where it was resting. You saw Steve’s name popping up and you asked, “Should you answer that?”

“No,” Tony shook his head.

The call went to voicemail.

A few minutes later, the phone started ringing again. This time it was Thor. You narrowed your eyes, shooting him a look. You saw he saw the phone and you were wondering why he was not reacting.

“Maybe they need to talk to you?” you said carefully.

Maybe distracting him with work would stop what was coming at you like a freight train. You had dreamed about this for months but now that it was happening, you were just teetering on panic. He was so much older than you and he worked for your dad. What would happen if it ever came to light the two of you had sex? And what happened past this?

“He can get anyone to help them. Not everyone gets to be here with you, precious. You actually wanna turn it off for me?” He asked, nodding at the phone that had gone silent now.

“Are you sure?” you asked, staring at him.

“Yes,” Tony said more firmly. You reached down, picking the phone up and turning it off against your better judgment. Maybe you should have pressed it more but that was passed now. You placed it back down in the middle console and he winked, “Thanks, doll.”

He was at your back as you walked into the dark apartment, and you flipped on the kitchen light before kicking your shoes off and then walked to the freezer. “Do you want a drink?”

When you turned around he was right there, ready to pounce. His lips were on yours immediately and he pressed you up against the counter, his hands roaming and digging in to hold you close.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you breathed out when he gave you the space to breathe.

“Where’s your room?” he husked, still kissing you, cupping your ass.

You were still having second thoughts about this, but it was already happening, him riled up. You guided him to your bedroom, his hands barely leaving you. Your clothes were stripped from you and he wasted no time undressing himself too in the process. You laid back down on the bed, him weighing you down. You kissed him back, matching his fervor. You had wanted this for so long and it was happening. You fell into that memory, thinking of how much he desired you. This powerful, handsome man wanted you. Yeah, you wanted that. You wanted his attention. You spread your legs for him, holding onto him as he entered.

His guttural moans as he pounded you into the mattress caused you to dig your nails into his back, trying to match the shallow pain he was inflicting on you to even the score. Tony was relentless, even as he slowed his thrusts, his teeth were digging in at the base of your neck, sucking roughly. His hand came down in between the two of you and he began circling your clit.

“Come for me, precious. Come on,” he encouraged roughly, leaving bruising kisses along your jaw.

You whimpered feeling the coil in your stomach tightening as he massaged you towards release. That was new; no boy you had been with had even given a shit about you getting off. But he did. You were enjoying this, his regard for your orgasm.

He was skilled that was for damn sure and sooner rather than later, your legs shook, sharp, broken cries leaving your lips. He groaned loudly, his hand leaving your clit and he resumed a brutal pace as you clenched around him.

He let go in warm spurts, coating your walls. You were limp there, letting him use you like a doll as he finished himself. His head fell limp as well, his breath hot on your neck.

Tony laid a soft kiss at the base of your neck and you flinched slightly at the contact. It was where there was sure going to be a hickey tomorrow. He chuckled lightly and laid another soft kiss on your jaw before meeting your lips, pulling you towards him.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered. “Got a little caught up.”

Licking your lips, you asked timidly, “It was okay?”

Tony pulled away, looking down at you, his brow stitched, taking in your bashful face.

“’Okay’? You did perfect. So good,” Tony purred, and you felt warmth at his praise. He leaned back down, kissing you again, harder this time. “So fucking good, precious. You are a marvel.”

Maybe it had not been a mistake, you thought to yourself. He was holding you close, pinning you against him protectively.

<><><>

Tony got back in his car, pulling his phone out and turning it back on. He saw there were a lot of missed calls from Steve and Thor. Rolling his eyes, he pressed call back to Steve.

“What the fuck? Why weren’t you answering your phone?” Steve answered his phone, pissed off.

“I was busy,” Tony told him dryly.

“’Busy’. What the fuck are you playing at?”

Only hesitating for a moment before deciding eh could trust Steve, since Steve knew about their games, Tony answered, “Y/N. Picked her up from a party and gave her a ride home.”

Steve was quiet for a moment and Tony leaned back in the seat as he let that information settle in with him.

Steve finally scoffed, “Man, you better have been getting your dick sucked.”

“I got one better. If I could describe to you how tight she was, I would,” Tony said lewdly, looking back up at her dark bedroom window. He had left her in bed. She had been so cute, worried she had not done well. If he was not worried about all the phone calls he had been receiving before he turned his phone off to make sure he got to bury his dick in her tonight, he would have waited to go for round two. That would have to wait though. He was certainly coming back to collect on that. He could already tell he had her wrapped around his finger.

That actually drew a laugh from Steve, and he said more quietly, “You’re forgiven, you prick. But you’re gonna need to make up an excuse because Damien is going to want an answer. We had a shipment come in and you weren’t here.”

“You mean I can’t just tell him I was busy banging his daughter?” Tony asked sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t and I would advise you not to because I need your dumbass,” Steve retorted but Tony could tell he was smiling.

“Duly noted. I’ll think of something,” Tony said before hanging up the phone.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

#tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #mob tony stark #marvel fic #dark marvel fic #dark marvel #my shit

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soggyjulpod · 4 years ago

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—blaster shots & confessions

[sabine wren x fem!reader]

a/n: this was a self-indulgent piece bc there’s barely any sabine content out there but i guess y’all can enjoy it too🙄🙄

warning: mention of injury, slight angst, sabine is a worry-wart, emotional fluff

word count: 1.7k

—

the first three things [y/n] noticed when she woke up was a slight pain on her side and head, the mop of colorful hair resting on the edge of the bed she was laying in, and a hand holding hers. speaking of which, a bed she had no recollection of getting in.

she tries to sit up but stops as a sharp pain erupted in her side. the girl winces, at the slight sound of her discomfort sabine’s head shoots up, “hey, hey don’t try to move.”

“what happened?” [y/n] asks as sabine helps her lay back down with the hand that wasn't clutched, “do you remember that kanan assigned us to intercept an imperial shipment?”

“yeah, we were supposed to get relief supplies but…” [y/n] trails off, unsure of what happened during the mission. she looks to her friend to fill in the gap in her memory.

“we got into some trouble and had to split up. you got shot [y/n] when we were apart, the blaster shot hit your side. you fell over and hit your head really hard.” sabine explains, “you’ve been out for six days.” [y/n]’s eyes popped out, “oh karabast” she exclaims.

“we were all so worried.” sabine says with an unreadable expression on her face. “well it's a good thing i’m awake now,” [y/n] smiles.

“how are you feeling?” sabine asks. “like shit.” the two girls laugh. it was good that she at least still had her humor.

“i’ll go get the medic and let the others know you’re awake.” the mandalorian says before giving her hand a squeeze and leaving her friend in their recovery room.

her face heated up as she thought, was sabine with me this entire time? was she also holding my hand the entire time?

the thought of the girl she’d been crushing on for the past year and half staying by her side for days brought butterflies in her stomach. she stares at the hand that sabine had been holding ever since she had awoken.

“hey there stranger.” a voice jokes bringing her out of her thoughts. “hera!” she beams, instantly recognizing the voice. the twi’lek sits down at the edge of the bed.

“you gave us all a scare, especially sabine.” hera says, [y/n] lets out a noise of acknowledgement. “you know she barely left your side when you were unconscious, she cares so much for you.” hera noted. a small flush creeps onto [y/n]’s face, “yeah she’s a great friend.” she agrees, pursing her lips, it almost physically hurt her to call sabine her friend when she harbored such strong feelings for her so called friend.

hera gives her a quizzical glance. [y/n] notices the weird look on hera’s face, “what?” she asks. the twi’lek laughs to herself, “nothing.”

moments after, the rest of the crew piled in along with the medic to check up on her.

—

slowly but surely [y/n] was recovering, sabine had practically been glued to her side the entire time. sabine had been there to bring her food and help her change her bandages once she was discharged out of the recovery room.

the fall to her head had messed up her coordination and balance but after a few weeks with the help of sabine she had been able to regain her ability to walk again.

currently the girls were in an intense game of sabacc in their shared quarters.

“hey [y/n], kanan needs you.” it was hera, the twi’lek enters room. [y/n] gets up to leave, “let me help you.” sabine says swooping in to help. “sabine, i can walk by myself.” [y/n] says, shooing her away and leaves the room.

“how’s she feeling?” hera asks as she sits down across from the mandalorian. “good, she can walk around now and her spirits are up, she’s really been liking to play card games recently.” she smiles motioning to the sabacc cards sprawled over the table.

“you should tell her,” hera says blunty, the girl gives her a puzzled look. “tell her what?” she stammers feigning confusion.

the twi’lek laughs, “don’t play dumb with me sabine. i’ve seen the way you look at her. it's painfully obvious to everyone but her that you like her.” sabine felt her face flush.

“i don't know what youre talking about,” she denies. hera chuckles, “whatever kid. just do it before it’s too late.” with that [y/n] came back in, leaving sabine to understand hera’s slightly cryptic message.

“are you ok? you look a little lost” [y/n] says looking at her friend. “yeah i’m fine, its nothing” she lies.

—

it had been over five weeks since [y/n] got shot and she felt good as new. hera and kanan had been unsure about assigning her to a mission so soon, after all she had just recently gained fully coordinated mobility. but with the reassurance of the medic, the pair now had full confidence in her.

[y/n] sat in her room preparing for her mission when sabine burst in. “what the hell [y/n]?! hera and kanan just told me they assigned you to a mission with ezra!” she shouts with a furious expression on her face. [y/n] jumps in surprise, clutching at her chest.

“force sabine! you scared the shit out of me.” [y/n] laughs but she quickly stops as she realizes the expression on her friend’s face.

“you can’t be going on missions without me.” she exclaims with her hands on her hips. the girl frowns at her friend’s behavior.

“thanks for the concern but i'll be fine sabine. the medic already cleared me for missions last week.” [y/n] reassures her friend. she gets up to leave but the mandalorian’s hand grabs her wrist.

“the last time we were apart, you got shot.” she scoffs giving her a hard gaze. [y/n] sighs, “sabine, i’m ok now, there’s no need to worry. plus i’ll have the galaxy’s most annoying jedi with me.” she attempts to joke.

“no, you’re not understanding.” the mandalorian’s voice was stern but had a slight quiver to it. “then help me understand.” [y/n] pleads softly.

sabine struggles to put her words together, she has never been an outwardly emotional person, hell, it took her months to fully be comfortable around [y/n]. with their friendship she’d always been more of a listener than a talker, she recalled on multiple occasions when [y/n] would tell her about personal and intimate topics. sabine always appreciated those moments, it was just a little reminder of how [y/n] saw her as trustworthy. but now it was her turn to let out what was eating her up from the inside.

“i thought you were going to die for a moment,” her voice was a whisper, for all the time [y/n] had known sabine she had never seen her so emotional and vulnerable. “when i found you there was so much blood on your head. my heart was beating so fast i thought it was going to jump out. i was so scared. even when we got back to base and the medic stabilized you, i was terrified, i couldn’t leave you. kanan and hera basically had to force me to eat and sleep. seeing you like that was my worst nightmare. and it’s all my fault, i left you.” she cried out her emotions.

that's when [y/n] understood, sabine wasn’t angry at her, she was scared and blamed herself.

sabine’s eyes were glassy and her breaths were shaky. [y/n] cups sabine’s face with her hands, the mandalorian leans into her touch. “i just can't lose you.” she cries out, her eyes shut and tears fall. “sabine. please look at me,” she breathes out. the colorful haired girl opens her eyes, sniffling a bit. “none of what happened was your fault, it was just bad luck. don’t blame yourself.”

the two girls now stared at each other, neither of them being sure what to do in their position.

it was now or never

“[y/n] i need to tell you something,” the mandalorian says as her shaky hands reach up to grab [y/n]’s. “i never thought i would ever say it to you but...” her jittery voice trails off. she takes a deep breath to compose herself,

“i love you, [y/n], i’m so in love with you”

the mandalorian kept her gaze down, waiting for a response. [y/n]’s eyes widened, she almost couldn’t believe the words that just came out sabine’s mouth, but a smile creeped onto her face.

“i love you too” she says, squeezing their hands together. sabine’s head perked up, a small smile graced her features.

“really?” she muttered, “yeah, really, like a lot.” [y/n] giggles. their faces were mere inches apart, the mandalorian’s eyes flicker down to her lips.

and without a thought sabine presses her lips to hers. [y/n]’s arms instinctively wrap around sabine’s neck, pulling her closer. the mandalorian’s arms snake around her waist to hold her. the kiss was sloppy because of the excitement between them but they didn’t mind one bit. the kiss seemed to go on forever, so many buried feelings between them were spilling out.

the two pulled apart, both of them having goofy, love sick grins on their faces.

“i can't believe it took me getting shot for you to confess.” [y/n] laughs out. “i know.” sabine sniffles out but with a smile on her face.

“[y/n]!” she hears hera call her, breaking up the tender moment. the two girls laugh at the awful timing.

“i guess that's my cue.” [y/n] turns to leave their room but a hand stops her again, she turns around to sabine. “come back to me in one piece.”

“you got it.” she says then giving her now girlfriend a peck on the lips. as [y/n] leaves the room, sabine sits back down on the bottom bunk. both girls having a smile plastered on their face as they continued on with their day.

#star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars rebels #rebels #sabine wren #sabine wren x reader #sabine x reader #sabine wren imagine #star wars x reader #star wars rebels x reader #star wars rebels imagine #ezra bridger #hera syndulla #kanan jarrus #soggyjulpod’s fanfic

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singeramg · 5 years ago

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Ruin Me

Quick little reader insert imagine based off this post. Based off a non-ask...

*Update: Now a full length story! Check out Masterlist for my chapters?*

Pairing: CEO! Henry Cavill x Female! Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Power imbalance, dom! Henry, sub! reader, fingering, dirty talk...

Song choice: Funny How Time Flies- Meshell Ndegeocello

PART 2 HERE

“ Y/N can you bring me a cup of coffee...please.”

His voice wasn’t raised but his tone told you all you needed to know.

He was not happy. Not happy at all.

He had called you from the phone in his office, not even bothering to call through the door or better yet come to the door himself which he usually did when he needed something from you and was in a good mood. You don’t dwell on it much and you get to your feet, and hustle over to break room to make a fresh pot of coffee.

It doesn’t take long; you wait the ten minutes to brew, taking note that your coworkers are packing up for the night. You look at the clock and realize you better do the same.

Although you have nowhere special to be the last thing you wanted to do on a Friday night was spend more time at the office. You didn’t complain much, the job wasn’t had for you. You hadn’t been with the company long but you were sure you liked it thus far.

You were Executive Assistant to the CEO of Cavill Industries. a company he started with his brothers years ago and had grown to be a world wide force. Henry Cavill may not have been the eldest brother but he certainly was the most determined and invested of the 5 and more so than any man you had met. This was why they made him the CEO.

You also thought that had something to do with the fact that he honestly was the best looking brother out of all of them.

The face of the company.

He had to stand out in a crowd, oh and Henry Cavill certainly did.

You could admit to no one but yourself that you had found him extremely attractive during your third and final interview where you finally got to meet him. If he wasn’t your boss, he would be exactly the type of guy you went for in terms of looks. Tall, dark curly hair, a jawline that could cut glass, dazzling smile and sharp blue eyes that seemed to pinpoint everything

Including any mistakes you made.

He had made adjusting to this new job hard for you.

Pointing out every mistake, forcing you to redo whole reports that people who got paid a lot more than you should have been doing

But nooooo

He ‘trusted ‘ a.k.a could hover over you while you fixed it.’ causing more late nights and overtime than you cared to think about.

Forget a social life, everything had to be about him.

You had to be everything.

In your job interview nobody had mentioned you would be basically in charge of his life.

Dry Cleaning, arranging his groceries to be delivered, you were even his dog walker on the days he brought his cute Akita Kal-El to the office.

Yea that was totally fun in the heels he forced you into everyday.

You had tried wearing respectable flats after your first week with sore feet and he vetoed that almost immediately.

Saying it wasn’t “seemly“ and that you were the assistant to the CEO and you should dress like it. Needless to say half of the time you wanted to slap him. The other time you were ridiculously turned on. I mean despite being an ass sometimes he played right into your masochistic streak. The way he spoke to you, wasn’t nasty but it had a very direct way that left no room for arguing or confusion. Just like with the heels. You normally would have argued your point, maybe even seen if he would come to some sort of compromise but you didn’t with him. You just kept the flats in your car and a pair under your desk for when you were sitting at your desk and for the days he was out of office.

That sort of sneaky was not like you at all. You just preferred to pull off the band-aid so to speak, but Mr. Cavill was not for any of that.

All you said to him when the response he wanted was obvious was a yes sir or no sir.

You made his coffee just as he liked two cubes of sugar, and a splash of cream. He always would like three extra cubes of sugar on the side, adding the extras depending on how his day had been going. The more sugar added the better his day. You walk as smooth as you can to his office, the large dark door. You don’t bother to knock, sliding open the door to his office, begging your heels not to catch on the floor. You sit his coffee on the desk, to his right, and far enough from his hand that he doesn’t accidentally knock it over.

You smooth out your black mid length dress, and try not to fidget with your red belt that gives a retro theme to the look, and you even had a red purse and red blazer to wear with it (which you had ditched mid-morning). You slip back out the door when he doesn’t look at you. You pick up the tablet you use to keep track of everything on a mobile basis. You pull up his calendar and head back into the large office.

The office itself had never intimidated you despite the large solid oak desk in the middle of the room. It felt open because of the floor to ceiling windows that had automatic curtains that came down on command. You actually loved his office despite the fact that you didn't spend a lot of time in it. You re-enter his office, and stand in front of the desk looking down at the calendar.

“Okay before the day ends I would like to go over your schedule for the weekend.”

He finally looked up at you, his blue eyes giving direct contact, that you couldn’t hold and went back to the glowing tablet, where the sun was starting to set outside.

“You have a dinner meeting tonight which starts at 6:30pm; a 30 minute commute time which means you need to be out of here in the next 45 minutes, if you would like to arrive with your 15 minute grace period as normal.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, then takes off the reading glasses off his face and tosses them on the desk.

“Continue.”

“ Not too many things on the agenda for this weekend except for family brunch on Sunday. Your mother requests you arrive on time this time.”

You regulate a smirk to the side of your mouth.

“I’ve arranged for a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to your house by 9am for you to take over there to her.”

“I don’t suppose I have any missed messages from today?”

You look at him confused.

“Ummm....no. Were you expecting a call?”

He sighs and rubs the temples of his head, clearly upset something.

“No...yes...don’t worry about it. You’ve already arranged for a car for me?”

Yep, he was upset and he was not about to share it with you. You didn’t press him, only prayed it didn’t result in a hell of a clean-up for you later. You had been the bad guy with no less than 4 woman, all of them glaring and spiting nasty vitriol at you when you wouldn’t give them access to Henry. You had seen them all come and go.

“Yes.”

He looks you over, getting to his feet, walking over to the door you knew to be an en-suite bathroom and keeping his extra changes of clothes.

“ Do you have any plans for tonight?”

He asks you suddenly and puts you on the spot. You don’t even have a lie to cover up how pitiful your life was, but you had to try. He didn’t need to know you don’t have anything planned tonight but a glass of wine and catching up on your TV shows you missed for all the overtime you’ve been working.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

He asks almost immediately as if knowing you were lying. You had to try and get out of some crazy overtime he was known for. You didn’t want another late night in the office.

“Ummm...”

As noted earlier you didn’t think well on the spot. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“You know I don’t appreciate liars Y/N. Anyhow if you are done lying to me, the meeting for tonight requires a...feminine touch.”

“Feminine touch?”

You echo. He goes into the closet and you can hear him changing. You try not to think about him behind the wall.

“Yes. The people I am meeting with require a bit of finesse. The negotiations always go better when we bring our women to the meetings.”

“Soo... would you like me to call someone for you. I can have a dress sent over in their size to smooth the deal over.”

He laughs at you.

“No. Grab your things and call the car service to get here in 10 minutes.”

“ What stop the press? Are you putting me out of the office before you for once?”

You quip at him. He comes from around the corner his attire changed into a black button down shirt, left with the top few unbuttoned. He adjusts the sleeves and looks up with you.

“No you are going with me Y/N and we must hurry, you are going to require another dress.”

“But...”

“No buts. I need you and you are wasting time.”

He picks up a black suit jacket, his cologne hitting you with an umpf he walks by you to get to the car...

*********

The dinner had gone great from what you could tell. You saw a whole other side of Henry. One that was only observed under the rarest of occasions.

At least for you.

Overall you weren’t asked for much, Henry had bought you another black dress only this one was a bit more leggy than you were used to around such important people. Its spaghetti strapped and sweetheart neckline, offering way more cleavage than you would ever consider wearing around him, but Henry had literally come in with you, pulling it from the rack along with a few other choices and this was the tamest all the options he left you. You damn near had a panic attack in the dressing room. The women in the boutique had fixed your hair and makeup in the little amount of time you had, once again at Henry’s behest. You hadn’t be so pulled together since... well you couldn’t remember....

Henry had even been nice to you all evening, but you knew it was all an act, even if your body did respond to the compliments and lingering looks, the smile he would shoot you, he had even let his hands skim across your lower back.

You did your best not to read into anything. Had even gone along with the little game he was playing, being over sweet, playing with the curls on the nape of his neck, your hands lingering on his arms. Enough to suggest without being outwardly desperate and trashy. You were ever the smiling damsel to his associates, laughing at the jokes, ignoring the sexist comments about your dress or the ‘arm candy’ they referred to you as, despite it pissing you off.

You stayed to yourself most for the ride back to the office, and he stays quiet as well. Only then once the car parks do you realize in your haste earlier you left your keys upstairs. He insists he needs to come up as well to grab some files from his desk. You offer to bring them back down but he insists. You scurry to your desk, not finding them in the drawer where you usually kept your purse.

You don’t see them. You panic and look for them intensely.

Oh you hoped you didn’t leave them at the boutique where you changed dresses.

“Y/N. Could you come in here please? I would like to discuss something with you before you leave.”

He calls to you, the voice losing the soft tone he had with you all night, this only serves to make your blood run cold. Have you done something wrong? Said the wrong thing to the wrong person and cost him millions of dollars? You needed your job, and hoped pretty badly that this wasn’t the end of it.

You honestly couldn’t tell if you missed it or not. You disregard the thoughts you are having and push them back in your mind, offering to sort them out later. Preferably with alcohol nearby. You look into his office and see that he is standing behind his desk. Once you come in, thinking he needed something from you.

“Close the door.”

You close the door behind you, the lights on a dim shade, enough for you to see but not enough to over power your eyes.

“Did you need anything from me, because it’s late and I should be heading home...”

He surprises you by cutting you off in a tone that was even softer than any other time he had used with you before.

“I just wanted to say thank you for accompanying me tonight y/n.”

“You are Welcome. I’m just going to go...”

You smile and turn to leave but his voice stops you with a sharp tone that makes you freeze.

“Did I say you could leave?”

You feel your face get hot and you turn back around to face him. The lighting only showcasing the angles of his face, making you ever more nervous.

“No but Sir it's 12am...”

“I know what time it is. You are so stubborn all the time. Can’t even take a simple compliment.”

“I thought you were done.”

You shrug, and immediately regret being so nonchalant with him., his gaze intense.

“I wasn’t. Now before you interrupted me, I was saying thank you not only because you came with me but for playing your role so effortlessly. I didn’t expect you to be so ...reciprocating to me.”

“I figured that would be best. How would it appear if you showed up with a staff member we rather than a significant other like the other at the table.”

“Well your quick and astute observation saved me tonight.”

“All in a day's work. Now if I can just get out of these heels tonight and maybe into a pedicure tomorrow I will have made this all worth while.”

He surprises you by coming from behind the desk where he had been standing, coming to stand in front of you.

And you cursed yourself because it was back again.

The arousal you fought with every lingering look and touch he gave you tonight. How honeyed his words were with you, combined with the animalistic power you knew was just boiling under the surface.

“I have had many secretaries before and none of them take your position as seriously as you do. You put a lot of effort into your job and does not go unnoticed.”

Having him so close was unnerving. Especially when you had his direct attention. You can’t hold eye contact and look down at the floor. Henry touches your chin, his fingers tilt your chin up and you lock eyes. It wasn’t the first time you noticed the space of brown in his left eye, but the first time you were close enough to appreciate it.

You feel your pulse quickening.

“I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight.”

He blinks slowly and you don’t breathe at all as his lips move toward your own. He is seconds away from kissing you, tension heavy in the room.

“Wait....Henry...I just...I Can’t go there.”

You say it out loud and it’s like someone let the air out of your balloon. He lets your face go and looks at you confused, for the first time you see just Henry. Not your boss, not the CEO who always had to be ‘on’ and in charge, you just saw Henry. His face was open and unguarded.

“It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s just you are my boss...”

Henry moves suddenly, and yet simultaneously time slows as he crashes his lips onto yours. The odd duality of soft, yet firm, calming yet passionate overtakes your mind and short circuits you. His hands are holding the side of your face on one side and behind your neck. His kiss steals what little breath you had away. You almost forget why this would have been such a bad idea but he pulls away.

“Darling, Didn’t anyone tell you? The boss makes the rules...”

He resumes kissing you and you offer little in the way of resistance as he picks you up, in fact you lock your legs around his waist and he deposits you on top of his desk. Everything you had been feeling for him was bubbling up in that moment. You were caught in being wanted to be treated like silk and wanting to toss him down and take exactly what you wanted in no uncertain terms of hatefucking him for all the jackass behavior he had exhibited since you started 6 months ago.

You slide his jacket off his broad shoulders, tossing it to the room, igniting the soft thud it makes when the expensive thing lands in a heap on the floor. He pulls your hips toward the edge of the desk and his large hands are hot as they slide up your skirt over trembling thighs and his lips move to your neck. He finds the sensitive spots there quicker than anyone ever had while also moving his fingers to play with your clit through the lining of the black lace panties you were wearing.

Your breath hitches in your throat and Henry grins against your lips, letting you take a second before he kisses you again. His fingers dance around before latching to the hemline and yanking them with enough force that they are torn from your body. Your hips sting from the pull, but you are more than turned on. You fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and don’t look at the skin revealed, but he doesn’t let you take it off him and instead pushes one of his fingers inside of you, you lewdly moan, and grasp his biceps quickly, having been taken off guard. It wasn’t that you weren’t wet, because you were plenty wet, your now ruined panties had been testament to that, but you had expected more of a playful teasing, but as one of your last coherent thoughts, you knew this man never wasted time.

He was a do-er...

And right now he was doing you. The amount of focus and precision he took in his work, pouring over contracts, logs, inventory and the like, he was putting in on you. As his finger moves in and out he is staring at you with such intensity you think you might explode.

“You are dripping baby girl. Melting right into the palm of my hand to be exact.”

He removes the finger that had been inside of you, raising it to his lips, tasting you from it, and you shudder. He kisses you again, you closing your eyes, then you hear in his deep tone like melted chocolate, luxurious to your ears,

“Open your eyes and suck them.”

He held two of his fingers and you opened your mouth. He wanted to hold your gaze.

“Get them nice and wet for me.”

You suck on them, imaging the girth that had been teasing you for months in his sacks, was what was actually in your mouth. You had wanted so badly to taste him and feel him you reach down, palming his obvious erection and you hear him growl. It was your turn to smirk, and as soon as he felt that smirk, he pulled his two fingers from your mouth and thrusts them into you.

You whimper and the one hand you left on his bicep clenched in, digging into his skin. His fingers glide in and out almost painfully slow. You need faster.You try to move your hips to make him move but he chuckles.

“That won’t work y/n. We do this at my pace. Be still or I will stop.”

He didn’t go any faster, his movements deliberately slow. You could tell he was getting a kick out this, and you whine again.

“Beg kitten.”

He whispers in your ear, his thumb teasing your clit again.

“Please.”

He moves a little faster.

“Come on love. You can do better than that.” Teasing.

“Please Henry...”

He slaps your thigh with a sharp tap and it sends the zing of arousal.

“That's not what you call me. Try again.”

While your brain is shorting out, you fumble on what he wants from you.

“I..i don’t know sir...”

He rewards you by speeding up more. Your torso drops backwards, your head follows as you rest back on your elbows, and legs move wider, making your dress bunch up around your hips.

“There you go. There’s what I was looking for. Now beg me to make you come.”

You worry your bottom lip, ignoring how your chest heaves, pulling against the black fabric of the dress.

“Fuck! Please sir please let me cum.”

“That’s more like it. Begging me like the dirty little slut you are.”

He speeds up, his fingers curling inside, tapping that spongy space that made your eyes cross and your vision blur. You didn’t think you would like being called a ‘little slut’ but it was more of a turn on than you had ever thought it would be.

“Sir let me cum please let me cum.”

His dexterous fingers speed up, his thumb rubbing your clit and you were glad no one else was in the office as your moans echo throughout the room.

“You want to be my good girl hmmm?”

You nod furiously, the edge of your orgasm coming up rapidly, as your walls begin their tell-tell sign of fluttering.

“Good girls wait until they have permission. You hold it.”

It was damn near impossible, but you try to focus on anything but how good his fingers feel. He pulls your body back up from the desk with his hand gripping behind your neck. His lips crash on your again, he lingers around your lips you breathe heavily against his lips.

“I’ll be your good girl!”

You yell.

“Good. Cum then come for me.”

It’s like the world goes silent and all you can focus on is his fingers as your orgasm pulls you under. It’s an out of body experience where you could hear your moans and groans of Henry’s name, where you were literally shaking, but you could bring yourself down. Destroyed, Henry is whispering praises in your ear. Calling you his and how good you were for him. It doesn’t take long to come back down, but when you do you feel wrung out, and as Henry pulls away, you notice the sheen of fine layered sweat on his forehead. You feel self conscious as he stares down at you, and without the haze of lust in your eyes it settles in you that your boss just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life and hadn’t even taken off his pants.

Pants that were currently begging you to be taken off. He begins to chuckle and you realize you’ve been staring at his cock outline, and he was laughing at you. He unbuttons his pants, and finally takes off his shirt the rest of the way, finally revealing the god sculpted body that he clearly worked for.

The look on his face says he is going to ruin you and you are going to like it.

Only then, as he begins to work on the zipper to your dress, do you look to your left on the desk and see your keys sitting there...

***************

A/n: Hope that was what you were looking for @thiccgeralt Hope this met your expectations and thank you!

I am thinking of coming back to this, but honestly I am waiting until @laketaj24 finishes her CEO! fic The Rules, because its so freaking wonderful and I don’t want to ruin anything by stealing any thunder with a CEO fic OR Ficlet I would plan on doing. BTW if you haven’t read The Rules then please do yourself a favor a go over to her page and check out all of her work. You will not regret a second of it....

However I am tossing this out to see if there would be any interest in a continuation of this fic. Let me know and as always thank you for reading, re-blogging, and liking!

Henry Cavill Taglist: (OPEN! Let me know if this is something you want on!

@msblkfire84 @magdelen69

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader

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rolanberry-rebel · 3 years ago

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Info sheet: Kjalla Nisemi

Name: Kjalla Nisemi Nicknames: K, Two-Guns, “oh hell, not her!”, “Gun-bunny” if you want to get shot Race: Viera (rava) Age: mid-late 30s in hyuran years, exact age unknown (even to her, really) Gender: Cis female Orientation: Whatever suits her at the moment Relationship status: Whatever suits her at the moment Profession: Professional psycho, hired gun, mechanic

Height: 6′2″ Weight: 160lbs. Eyes: Icy blue Hair: Dark blue Skin: Greyish-blue Build: Fit, busty Scars: Deep scar along the left side of her jaw, scarring around her wrists and fingers, scar tissue along her neck. Tattoos: Blue markings along her face; a thorny blue vine splayed down the back of her neck, along her right shoulder and twining around her right bicep Fashion: Spartan and street-tough; never goes anywhere without her kickin’ boots and a good jacket. Loves leather, loves fishnets, loves denim, loves spikes. Comfortable and not necessarily showy. Dark colors. Loves red; loves black. Not afraid to show off what she’s got. When she thinks she’ll need it she's outfitted in the one of the suits of heavy armor she custom-builds herself, varying from more mobile sets of light plate to bulky, gadget-augmented battle suits. Accessories: Kjalla wears a fair amount of jewelry, a lot of it worn and tarnished, suggesting it might have some sentimental value. Often seen with a smattering of dull gold and silver rings, earrings, and a bridge piercing with a pair of rubies at each end.

Birthplace: the Golmore jungles somewhere. Residence: Her junk shop/personal safehouse off of a private jetty near Kugane. Alignment: Chaotic Evil Hobbies: Violence, rowdy nights out, any and every manner of indulgence, creating new weapons and gadgets for her armors, salvaging and experimenting with old junk, making and spending lots of gil Likes: Exciting experiences, adrenaline rushes, the opposite sex, the same sex, swapping stories, swapping punches, money, people with guts, alcohol, tinkering away Dislikes: Cowards, soft people, pretty things, lalafel, you if you get in her way. And chocobos. Disgusting things. Personality: Erratic and unconstrained, shifting wildly with her impulsive mood swings. One night you buy her a drink and you might flirt your way back to her junk-shop; the next she might put a round through your skull. More than anything she likes to surprise and be surprised, so always expect the unexpected. Always headstrong and often arrogant, and you should absolutely never tell her what to do. Ever. In spite of her crazed impulses, when she’s not in a bad mood Kjalla can be incorrigibly flirtatious, friendly, and fun to have a good night out with. Virtues: Strong, physically and emotionally; there’s very little that will break her, and she’s seen it all. Strong leadership instinct, whether through her charisma or force of character simply overwhelming others into following. Obsessively self-sufficient and fiercely independent. Determined and diligent when there’s work to do, and will not quit until she gets it done. Streetwise, clever, skilled; not conventionally smart but picks up new hands-on skills quickly. A fierce, experienced fighter. Unfailingly loyal to those who prove themselves worth it. Bad habits: The obvious - she’s utterly immoral, indulging in any behavior if it makes her feel good. Impulsive, reckless, violent, quick to anger and lash out at others. Heart hard as a rock and a firm believer in the survival of the fittest (the fittest, of course, being her). Trusts next to no one and will betray others save her closest circle if it helps her get ahead. Stubborn as hell. Promiscuous with little regard for whom it might hurt. Huge chip on her shoulder. Has a major problem with authority. Unintelligent by conventional standards, and completely dead to magic.

Significant Other: *derisive laughter* Children: *even more incredulous laughter* Family: All presumed dead, except for her sister Eyrisse, from whom she is estranged. Pets: Linchpin and Electrode, her pair of baby coeurls, who live at her junk-shop. Their unique grounding and electrical powers help Kjalla with her electrical experiments.

Friends: People aren’t friends to Kjalla; they’re tools, things to be used, experienced and discarded. (Most of the time, anyway...)

You might know Kjalla if...

Merciless Mercenary. Kjalla is a notoriously cutthroat sellsword, unscrupulous - more than willing and able to do any job big or small, just as long as kids aren’t involved. (That’s the one line she doesn’t cross.) From political leaders to petty thieves, she’s taken them all. Her race may paint her as a novelty - it’s not often you see a viera mercenary traipsing around the world, after all - but she’s no laughing matter. If you hire mercenaries, work with them, or are one yourself, there’s a good chance you’ve heard of her, under one of her assorted names - some flattering, some very much not.

Underworld Surgeon. Kjalla has no magical healing talent but she’s a darn good field surgeon, and has a great knowledge of alchemical remedies, salves and drugs. A ‘side-job’ of hers is to sell her services as a mundane healer to shady characters who, for fear of the law, of the attention, or otherwise - avoid visiting a reputable establishment for healing after an incident. Criminals on the run, overdose cases, just someone who wants to stay off the grid - if you’re in need of a quick patching-up and you’d rather keep it discreet, her junk-shop is always open.

Life of the Party. Kjalla is a staple in a few of her favorite seedy dives in cities across the world - and would certainly be recognizable to regulars, given scar-covered, foul-mouthed viera with backwater accents aren’t exactly easy to miss. If you frequent these kinds of establishments, you’ve no doubt heard of, seen, and maybe even gotten into a drunken brawl with her.

Purveyor of Dangerous and Exploding Things. Kjalla loves weapons - all of them, but especially guns, bombs, tasers, flamethrowers, dynamite, and weapons far more bizarre and exotic. If you’re a weapon collector, an arms dealer, or if you’re looking to outfit yourself with something significantly more dangerous, you’ve no doubt run in to back-alley gunrunners and smugglers who’ve mentioned her as a supplier. Conversely, if you’re searching for training in gunsmithing or engineering from a master, she might consider it... you’ll probably wind up dead, though, so maaaybe not a good idea... unless that’s your kink.

Garlean Killer: There’re few jobs Kjalla loves more than the ones where she gets to pop Garlean heads like grapes. Though one could scarcely call the viera a principled woman whose violence is politically sophisticated, she takes a perverse delight in torturing and killing agents of the empire, even if she’s not getting paid to do it. Naturally her reputation for murdering prominent officers, personnel, facilities, and stealing lots of Garlean technology has made her a notorious outlaw in the empire, and if you’re involved in any of those fields, you’d recognize her scarred visage anywhere. Just be careful - she really does love planting bullets right in those third eyes.

Hi! I’ve been RPing forever and I’m lookin for new friends!

Adult female OOCly who’s RPed in every game you can probably think of and happy RPing lots of themes/scene types so long as we talk about it beforehand.

Kjalla is violent, rude, crude, and lustful. I however am (well, in my opinion, anyway...) none of those things, and am happy to talk with nice people! Just be aware most RP involving her’s gonna be one of those things, lol.

Available at random times, usually late evenings EST. Will always try to respond to private messages here no matter when you send them though!

Discord: I’m not on there very much, but I know it’s become a big way for a lotta people to do most of their OOC communication/RP threads so I’m willing to get on there if you wanna talk!

In-game: Anylissa Sebastis (Balmung) or Kjalla Nisemi (Mateus)

If you’re not into psychotic rabbit-ladies, I have my playful spoiled heiress, Anylissa, if you’d prefer. :>

#kjalla #ffxiv rp

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drivingsideways · 3 years ago

Note

For the ship and one word thingy, of you're still doing it(and thank you!) . Seunghyo and Seunwoo, exhaustion.

Hi anon! Sorry this is a bit late, and I'm not sure this will quite be what you were looking for, but I hope you'll enjoy the snippet. Once again, I'm setting this in my "Where Your Treasure Is" 'verse, but this works as a prequel to the first part of that series and is gen or pre-slash if you squint (or have read the rest of the 'verse!)

This is set post-canon, premising that Seon-woo gets a life-saving surgery, and Gu Seung-hyo is still with Hwajeong group but in an overseas posting. He's also dating Lee No-eul.

cw: mentions of physical disability, depression

The nurse is carefully unstrapping the prosthetics when there's a knock on the door, and a quiet voice says, "May I come in?"

Seon-woo looks up, startled. In the doorway is the last person he'd expected to see this morning, or indeed, for a long while.

"Gu sajang," he says, surprised. "Good morning," he adds, belatedly remembering his manners.

"Good morning, Ye Seon-woo-ssi. Is this a bad time?" Gu Seung-hyo asks, "I can come by later."

"Almost done," Seon-woo says, gesturing for him to enter. "I've just finished my exercise round for the morning."

The second leg is off now, and the immediate lessening of the weight makes him sigh unconsciously in relief, as he leans back into the pillows. It's been a month into the physiotherapy with the prosthetics, but he's still not used to it- neither to seeing the world from a different height, nor the strain on his back. He much preferred the chair still.

"I'll see you at 4," says Nurse Jang, with a smile, and he dredges up one for her. She's his favourite: a real sweetheart, with deft hands and a wicked sense of humour. She bows politely to Gu Seung-hyo, who bows back, before he takes the chair by the bed.

"I didn't know you were in town," Seon-woo says, "I thought No-eul-ssi mentioned you were in Indonesia."

"I have some meetings here this week," Gu Seung-hyo says, "And some free time. I hope this isn't an imposition on yours."

"My time has less value than yours, Gu sajang," he finds himself saying, "It's very kind of you to come by."

He curses himself inwardly the moment the words are out of his mouth. That had been well short of the inane courtesy that he should have responded with; that kind of self-deprecation wasn't as harmless with Gu Seung-hyo, as it might have been with another, less perspicacious man.

"Kindness has little to do with it, I'm afraid. I've been given a task," Gu Seung-hyo says smoothly, "I'm merely an errand boy."

He rises, holding out a brown paper that Seon-woo hadn't noticed before, toward him.

"From No-eul-ssi," he says, "Since she's unable to visit this week."

It's cherry tomatoes, which he knows come fresh from the little vegetable garden that No-eul's got going in her backyard in Gangneung.

Seon-woo smiles.

"Please help yourself," he says, holding out the bag to Seung-hyo, who looks hesitant but then picks one out, gingerly, as he seats himself again.

"You don't like them?" Seon-woo asks, as he roots in the bag, looking for the ripest one.

"I'm don’t usually snack in between meals," says Gu Seung-hyo.

Seon-woo nods; somehow that seems entirely in character. "It's nice though," he says, "To break the rule once in a while."

"Yes," Gu Seung-hyo says, and the corners of his eyes crinkle a little as he continues, "Though, as you know I'm rather fond of keeping them."

Seon-woo can't help chuckling at that, and the crinkles get more pronounced.

Silence reigns for a few minutes as they munch on the tomatoes; sweet with just a hint of tartness beneath. Gu Seung-hyo studies the room as he takes a second tomato, when the bag is proffered. It's not very large, but there's a long window which overlooks the garden of the rehab facility, and lets in the warm sun in the afternoons. The window sill and the small desk is covered in the detritus of Seon-woo's stay: books (from Choi Seo-hyun, mostly), a stuffed toy (No-eul), board games (which he plays with Jin-woo during his daily visits, flowers and snacks (eomma), a picture of the three of them taken at a cousin's wedding three years ago.

"This is a nice place," Gu Seung-hyo says, thoughtfully. "A good location, and they have good staff and equipment, it seems."

"Yes," Seon-woo agrees, wondering if Gu Seung-hyo's ever-ticking brain was thinking of a business opportunity. "I was lucky to get a place here after the surgery, it's always full, because they're competent but not very expensive. I have Chief Joo to thank for it, he pulled strings on my behalf."

"Did he?" Seung-hyo says, neutrally. "I'm glad it worked out."

Seon-woo nods, and attempts to concentrate on the sweetness of the tomato, and not the bitter aftertaste of pity.

It's hard though, getting harder every day, to not—

Gu Seung-hyo's studying the view from the window now, peering through the glass, hands shoved in his trouser-pockets. He's dressed in his customary three-piece suit, this time a light grey with a fine pattern, over a crisp white shirt and a navy tie. Conservative, reliable. Seon-woo wonders whom he was meeting today- some oldish government type, he assumes.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Gu Seung-hyo asks, suddenly, turning back to Seon-woo, startling him out of his thoughts. "Sorry, " he adds, taking in Seon-woo's surprised expression. "But I thought it was better to ask it straight, than attempt to infer."

"It gets better or worse," Seon-woo says, "but there's always some. It's—" he shrugs. "I'm doing as well as could be hoped, at this point."

"The prosthetics—"

Seon-woo shrugs. "They'll take time to get used to," he says, "It still feels strange. The ones I'm trying out are among the best on offer, but the cutting-edge stuff is only available if you're in some clinical trial."

"Who's doing that here, in Korea?"

"SNU, for one," Seon-woo says, "They're really out there in terms of their ongoing projects. But it's hard to say when one of those will become commercially viable."

Seung-hyo nods, thoughtfully.

He smiles at Gu Seung-hyo. "But it's boring to talk about me, you should tell me the news of the wide world."

Gu Seung-hyo's sudden smile reminds Seon-woo that he's a handsome man.

"Do I need to? Isn't that what the internet and that tablet by your bed is for?"

Seon-woo acknowledges it with a half-smile. "Then tell me stories," he says, surprising himself, "Of your adventures in the wild jungle of corporate life. I suppose the new assignment must be a relief after the drama at Sungkook."

"It's more what I'm used to," Seung-hyo acknowledges, and then easily, as if they were friends, "but I admit I miss the challenge of dealing with the eccentricities of top-notch medicos."

The crinkly-eyed expression makes a reappearance. The man was quite unfairly charming when he chose to be, Seon-woo notes; he'd forgotten that, somehow, in the year since he'd last met Gu sajang.

"Your successor isn't faring much better, I think, the last I heard."

"No doubt your brother has nothing to do with that situation," Seung-hyo says, gravely.

Seon-woo laughs, "Nothing at all."

Talk drifts from Sungkook, to other things- Seung-hyo's new role, Korean chaebols, the economy, the Blue House's current occupant and the prospects for the next elections which are less than a year away, books that they discover they're both fond of, and music, and somehow, before Seon-woo realizes it, it's lunch time. There's a knock on the door- it's the kitchen staff with a tray of food. The young woman pauses when she sees Seung-hyo and asks if they'd like another tray.

Seon-woo, mortified by the realization that he's probably upset Gu sajang's schedule irrevocably, is just going to decline, when Seung-hyo says, "It looks delicious, I think I'll have some, if that's not a bother."

"No problem at all," says Min-joo-ssi, with a pleased smile, "We have extra trays."

After she leaves, Seung-hyo says, "Do you feel like having lunch outside in the garden? It's a fine day. I noticed there are some tables set out."

"Uh," says Seon-woo, "I've already made you late."

"Not at all," says Gu Seung-hyo, blatantly lying without missing a beat- another talent that Seon-woo had forgotten he had- "I'll call someone to get a chair."

He's already at the desk phone, quickly dialing the extension after a quick check of the list tacked on the wall, and somehow, before Seon-woo can quite process it, they're outside, under the shade of a garden umbrella, watching butterflies flit, and the bees stagger, punch-drunk, among the roses that are in outrageous bloom.

Seung-hyo eats heartily, Seon-woo notices, without affectation.

He looks up at that moment, to meet Seon-woo's eyes. "You must be bored of the food here," he says, looking a bit rueful.

"They try their best to vary it," Seon-woo says, "and eomma always sends dinner or breakfast with hyung, so I don't have too much to complain about."

Seung-hyo nods, though something flashes in his eyes, that Seon-woo has no way to parse.

A silence falls between them, as they finish the meal. It's not an entirely comfortable one—and Seon-woo feels compelled to occasionally make a remark of some kind to break it, as he becomes more and more conscious of the passage of time. Gu Seung-hyo doesn't look at his watch or mobile even once.

"Do you mind showing me around the grounds?" Seung-hyo asks, after they are done.

Seon-woo looks at him in surprise. "There's not much to see," he says.

"A walk might do me some good," Seung-hyo says, "I'm afraid I might have overdone on the meal."

"You should snack more often," Seon-woo says, smiling at him, "That might prevent these situations from arising."

"Shall we?" Seung-hyo asks, rising from the chair. "Where do I put away the trays?"

So they make their way toward the rear entrance of the kitchen to hand over their trays, Seon-woo wheeling his own chair, and Seung-hyo keeping pace with him. After, Seon-woo directs him toward the southern end of the property, toward the area where there are some tennis courts and even a basketball court set up for the residents who might be able to play.

It's just after lunch, so the courts are empty.

"You used to play," Seung-hyo says.

"Yes," he says, surprised.

"No-eul-ssi mentioned it," Seung-hyo says, "She said that your brother and you made a formidable duo on court."

"Is that so?"

Seung-hyo slants a smile in his direction, "Well, her exact words may have been that you were both bastard cheaters."

"Sore loser," Seon-woo says immediately, "She hated it when she lost."

"She's surprisingly competitive about some things," Seung-hyo agrees, and the accompanying smile is a revelation, starting up an ache beneath Seon-woo's ribs.

"I hope you'll be able to play again soon," Seung-hyo says, "The next time I come by, we should have a game."

"Sure," Seon-woo says, "Next time."

"Seon-woo-ssi," says Gu Seung-hyo, "You can say no, if you don't want to."

Seon-woo looks up, startled.

Seung-hyo is smiling wryly. "I'm quite good at it, so I should warn you it won't be an easy game. You should consider it carefully."

"Is there anything you aren't good at?" Seon-woo says, a trifle acerbic.

"Cooking," Seung-hyo says, immediately, and then adds, reflectively, "And the care of tiny creatures."

"What happened to the dog?" Seon-woo asks, immediately concerned. He's seen enough photos of the creature thanks to No-eul to justify the feeling.

"Oh nothing, Nighty is, as the kids say these days, living his best life. He's eomma's dog now, barely acknowledges me."

Was that a hint of petulance? That was unexpectedly amusing. But there was something a little wistful in it, as well.

"You aren't home," Seon-woo finds himself- consoling- the man. "It's quite natural."

"I'm aware," Seung-hyo says, "And it's fine. It's good, actually. Like I said, caretaking isn't one of my talents."

Unlike compartmentalization, Seon-woo thinks. I wish I had that.

"Shall we head back?" Seung-hyo's voice breaks in. He hadn't realized that they'd been standing there in silence for a while. "You seem tired."

There's something oddly gentle about the way he says it, something that makes Seon-woo both want to punch a wall, and break down crying.

It takes him a minute to gather himself, before he nods.

"Seon-woo-ssi," says Gu Seung-hyo, "Is there something you want to say?"

Seon-woo looks up at him.

Gu Seung-hyo's face is watchful, cautious, but not closed off.

Seon-woo looks away, across the empty basketball court.

"I regret the surgery," Seon-woo says, aloud, for the first time. "I wish I had never let myself be talked into it. I should have had the courage to—let go."

Seung-hyo doesn't respond for a long minute. Then, with a sigh, he says, "But there's so much to let go of. And why should you?"

Seon-woo turns to him, but Seung-hyo isn't looking at him either. Instead, he squats, running his hands over the rough grass at the sidelines.

"I don't suppose you could understand," Seon-woo says, softly.

"No," says Seung-hyo, "You're right, I don't. But it's not your disability or its consequences that I don't understand. It's that I've always wanted everything that this world could offer, and I'm determined to have it. Whatever it takes. I don't accept any other possibility."

He turns to Seon-woo after a minute of silence.

"An uncle of mine once told me that it was better to be alive than dead, and to be born than not at all," he offers.

"Was your uncle a priest?"

"A foreman in a factory that made precision tools. He worked forty years there for the same company, before he retired to a fishing village."

"Close," notes Seon-woo, and Gu Seung-hyo gives him one of his genuinely warm smiles, that he's only seen in photographs No-eul had sometimes shared.

"I'm selfish," he says, "about the world, and my place in it. I have an outsized ego, perhaps, to insist on my significance in the face of the vast unknown. But I am convinced that there's one thing only I can do, and that is to live my life to the fullest."

"The universe has been benevolent to you," Seon-woo says, "You're her favourite. You know, as a pep talk this is remarkably bad."

Seung-hyo smiles, a quicksilver flash of amusement.

"If you wanted a pep talk, you'd talk to your psych," he observes. "Or someone who's invested in keeping you alive, for one reason or the other."

"I'm exhausted by people trying to fix me," Seon-woo admits. "You're a nice change."

"I don't think you need fixing," says Gu Seung-hyo, "I suspect you have problems that need to be fixed. Like the rest of us."

"Is that how you see yourself?" Seon-woo asks, diverted. "As a problem solver?"

Seung-hyo shrugs. "It helps me to think of the world that way," he admits. "A series of problems that I can apply my mind to."

"Sounds exhausting," Seon-woo says, not quite kindly.

Gu sajang seems unperturbed. He shrugs out of his jacket and spreads it on the grass, before sitting down on it.

"It is, sometimes," he responds. "But there's that ineffable component called luck," he adds, "Sometimes the problems sort themselves out."

"Hashtag blessed," says Seon-woo, "Do you have a social media account?"

"I've hired a very competent firm to run my PR," Seung-hyo says, "Though they insist that I post at least one cute picture of my dog or my mother every day. I believe I have a respectable number of followers."

Seon-woo laughs.

Seung-hyo looks up at him, with a raised eyebrow.

"Likeability is a problem that's not too difficult to solve these days," he remarks.

"Another win for the universe's favourite," Seon-woo murmurs, "Hurrah."

The silence that follows lasts a while, but oddly enough, doesn't feel awkward.

"Thank you," Seon-woo says, finally. "For your time today. I'm afraid I've messed up your schedule."

"You were the only meeting on my list."

"You're dressed to meet a government bureaucrat type—" Seon-woo starts, incredulously- and then stops, outraged.

And this smile- pure mischief, that makes him look ten years younger- is something he didn't even know Gu Seung-hyo was capable of, he thinks, and close on the heel of that, he looks like someone I could be friends with.

"You didn't mess up my schedule," Gu Seung-hyo says again, "I don't have those kinds of luxuries in my life."

Seon-woo huffs, looking away. He feels hot under his collar, and it has nothing to do with the afternoon heat. He wishes he had more experience in dealing with this kind of thing- the kindness of strangers was one thing, but Gu Seung-hyo's place in his life was ill-defined.

What rot, says a voice in his head, he's the enemy.

It sounds suspiciously like Jin-woo hyung.

But Seon-woo doesn't have that kind of luxury in his life, either, or the inclination for it. Whatever lay between them- Gu Seung-hyo's time at Sungkook, his ongoing relationship with the love of Seon-woo's life- that was a past perhaps best laid to rest. Life was constant turmoil, and to fight against the current of it in this matter seemed a pointless waste of energy he didn't have.

"Tell me more about this research they're doing at SNU," Seung-hyo says after a minute, and Seon-woo takes the out offered. Sooner than Seon-woo had thought, it's almost time for his second round of physiotherapy.

"I have to get back," he says, "I don't want to make Nurse Jang wait."

"Of course not," says Seung-hyo, as he rises, folding his jacket neatly over his arm. "Shall we?"

They head back, slower than strictly warranted, as the conversation continues.

Nurse Jang is waiting for them at the door.

"Ah, Ye Seon-woo-ssi, I hope you had a good day today," she says, "with your friend."

It seems pointlessly rude to correct her; what was he going to say anyway—

"Yes," he says, not looking at Seung-hyo, "I did."

But he can't resist a glance, and catches quietly pleased look on his face, though, perhaps, to a stranger, it wouldn't look any different than his normal expression.

Somewhere between strangers and friends, he thinks, that's where they were.

As Seung-hyo makes his farewell, Seon-woo says, impulsively, "Next time, we'll play a game."

"Sure," says Seung-hyo easily, "Basketball?"

"Hmm, I prefer strategy games."

There's a glint in Gu Seung-hyo's eyes that Seon-woo finds highly entertaining.

"Loser pays for a meal," he says, recklessly.

But there was something, Seon-woo thinks, to be said for making plans for an unknown tomorrow.

'Deal," says Gu Seung-hyo, holding out his hand, " I'll be seeing you then, Seon-woo-ssi."

"Yes," says Seon-woo, as he shakes the proffered hand, "See you soon."

#jtbc life #writing things

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awxward · 4 years ago

Note

For the AU thing...Mankai as a sports team

Ok, so I didn’t get the notif for this on mobile so its late, really sorry about that. Another thing: I’ve been thinking abt a Haikyuu x A3 crossover for like a month so I’m giving you the Haikyuu au bc why not and it’s so much easier.

Sakuya as Hinata. Very new to the sport but works very hard and is improving at a very alarming rate.

Masumi as Kageyama. Socially awkward and lonely child. Please give him a hug. Does not understand emotions. Holy shit, Saku just might be the player he needed to improve and get a team.

Tsuzuru as Sugawara. Seems very put together but that’s just a front. He’s always about to lose it, pls help him. Mom of the team, he’s so supportive. Tries so hard, but there’s always someone else there so he gets put into the background. Pls give him some love. He needs and deserves it.

Omi as Daichi. The first time I saw Omi I thought he was Daichi bc they look so similar and they have the same vibes. Very supportive of everybody. Honestly the only reason Tsuzuru hasn’t gone insane.

Tasuku as Ukai. Tasuku would make a great coach and I will stand with this for the rest of my life. Very fun but also strict. In love with Tsumugi.

Tsumugi as Takeda. Tsumugi is a tutor. Takeda is a teacher. He’s so supportive of everybody but he has no idea what’s happening. Pls help him. Needs more confidence in himself, but he has all the confidence in his team.

Taichi as Nishinoya. Chaos. He is so chaotic and cannot be left alone. He needs some sort of supervision. Very serious when playing volleyball though. Very dependable. Kazunari is the other half of this puppy pair.

Kazunari as Tanaka. Best buds with Taichi. The chaos in their lives is astounding. How are they still alive with the life decisions they’ve made?? Nobody knows, certainly not them. Dependable on the court and always being loud with Taichi. They are inseparable.

Juza as Asahi. Giant boy who looks scary and is avoided, but he’s actually a giant teddy bear. Don’t leave him alone in a kitchen or near food. It will be gone. Someone please tell him he doesn’t need to be this anxious all the time.

Sakyo as Tsukishima. Tall, salty, blonde, glasses, hides their feelings but they actually feel lots of emotions. Maybe if I bury something traumatic that happened it’ll go away. Acts like Sakoda is an annoyance but will not hesitate to throw hands for him. Nobody is mean to anybody he likes except him because he does it out of love. But he’ll deny that.

Sakoda as Yamaguchi. Follows Sakyo around like a puppy. Can be chaotic or very serious. Nobody knows which one he is until something happens. Will not hesitate to throw hands for his friends, but does not have the confidence in himself to defend himself from bullies. Cares very much and everybody knows it.

Muku as Yachi. Very anxious, but good at art. Loves his new friends and the team he’s learning to manage. Looks up to Kumon a lot, bc he’s a great cousin and the other manager.

Kumon as Kiyoko. Very dedicated to keeping the team in shape. Always giving Tasuku tips abt what they can do to improve the team and keep them at their best. Convinced his younger cousin, Muku, to join as a manager as well.

Chikage as Lev. Very new to volleyball, but very strong and improving at a good rate. Always fighting with Hisoka.

Hisoka as Yaku. Short. Will not hesitate to throw hands with Chikage. Tired of everyone’s shit, but good at hiding it.

Citron as Oikawa. Nobody knows what he’s saying or understands him bc he makes no sense, but he’s really good at volleyball bc he grew up around it. Very reliable on the court, but flirts with everybody without any shame at all.

Guy as Iwaizumi. Constantly with Citron. Very tired of his shit and makes it very well known, but Citron does not care at all and keeps doing the shit. Nobody is entirely sure how he’s still alive if he’s always around Citron but they’re glad he is bc Citron will only listen (kinda) to him. How has he not killed Citron yet??? Nobody knows.

Misumi as Aone. Very strong and good at the game. Doesn’t talk a lot. Actually does he talk at all? (He does, but not around strangers bc new people give him anxiety). People are intimidated by him and it makes him sad bc he just wants friends. Friends and triangles. Very protective of Sakuya and everybody honestly.

Tenma as Ushijima. Been doing volleyball since he could walk. Always doing something with the sport. Always does his best. Is known for not losing matches in the prefecture. Is always at nationals. Cannot interact with others to save his life, pls teach him how to talk to people.

Yuki as Tendo. Constantly trying to get Tenma mad and taunting him. Will throw hands with anyone and at any time, so watch out. Very chaotic, and known to always be around Tenma.

That’s all I have, but I hope you liked it!!!!!

13 notes · View notes

captain--sif · 4 years ago

Text

Lift me up

Words: 5.5k Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Maddie Buckley Additional Tags: minor Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley, minor Eddie Diaz & Christopher Diaz, Trapped In Elevator, Elevatorstuck, Elevators, Flirting, Pining, Alternate Universe - Apartment Building, 5+1 Things, beta read by grammarly, Fluff, no angsty elevator drama, No Angst, just waiting Summary:

They are both intently staring at the lights changing from one number to the next. Then the elevator comes to a halt and Buck assumes he’ll soon be alone. But instead of pushing away from the wall, the other man is just furrowing his brows. Then Buck realizes the door isn’t opening. His eyes flit back to the current story: Four. That’s not where any of them wanted to get off. Buck groans. “I think we’re stuck.” Buck laughs a humorless laugh. “Shit.”

Buck gets stuck in his apartment building's broken elevator with his good-looking neighbor from the sixth floor.

for @lydiabennetts whose fault it is that I wrote this fic. All the descriptions of being stuck in an elevator are based off of my own experiences. I obviously can't talk for all elevators 🤣

Read the full fic on AO3, wattpad or under the cut.

It’s late , is all Buck is thinking when he’s opening the door to his apartment building. I promised Maddie I’d be on time.

He’s cursing his boss internally.

For a second, he’s contemplating taking the stairs as he knows he’d be faster running up the stairs than waiting for the elevator. But then he’d probably have to shower and he really doesn’t have the time to do that right now.

So he trots to the elevator instead, pushing the button more than just a few times for good measure.

“I don’t think it makes the elevator come down here faster,” a male voice says and when Buck looks up there’s an amused smile curling around the lips of the man who’s coming towards him.

Buck recognizes him: About as tall as him, short brown hair, probably a few years older, decently attractive (not that Buck has been looking). He thinks he’s living a story or two below him. Buck instantly resents him for the comment.

“It doesn’t hurt either,” Buck replies and sees the other man recoil at his sour tone. It’s probably immature but Buck doesn’t care. Why should he care about what some neighbor thinks of him? All he cares about at the moment is not to get late to Maddie’s.

The elevator doors slide open and Buck pushes the button with the number eight in passing, paying his neighbor no mind. He enters just behind Buck, pressing the six. Buck’s gloating a little internally over being right. Childish, yes.

He leans back against the wall of the elevator, his neighbor doing the same on his right. There’s not much space in these city apartment elevators.

“I think we’re stuck.”

Buck laughs a humorless laugh. “Shit.”

His neighbor steps towards the panel, presses and holds the emergency button. The tone it makes when it connects is obnoxious, but it doesn’t keep Buck’s thoughts from drifting away. He’ll be late to Maddie’s , is all he can think. Again.

“Please try putting your flat hands on the door and pushing it closed,” the person on the other side instructs them, and his neighbor steps towards the door to do as told. Buck watches but nothing happens. He sighs in frustration. Maddie will kill him.

“I’ve sent a technician your way. They’ll be at your place in around an hour to an hour and a half, depending on traffic. Is everything okay healthwise?”

His neighbor looks at Buck, who nods dumbly. He’s okay. He’s just gonna be at Maddie’s an hour late. He thumps his head against the wall behind him.

The worker disconnects and Buck’s neighbor looks at him. “Better tell that person you were rushing to that you’re late. Let me guess: Girlfriend? Parents? ”

Buck shakes his head.

“Boss?” he guesses again.

“Sister,” Buck replies and slides down to sit on the floor. The other man’s eyes follow him.

He takes out his phone, searches for Maddie’s contact and calls her.

“You’re late because you’re stuck in the elevator?” Maddie asks him incredulously and Buck starts to relax. She’s not mad she’s… laughing at him.

“Please laugh at my misery,” he quips, which only makes her laugh more.

Shifting to a more serious tone she asks: “But you’re okay?”

Buck answers in the affirmative and then proceeds to roll his eyes when she proceeds to fuss around his well-being. His neighbor huffs a laugh at that.

“I’m hanging up now,” Buck warns her. More softly: “But I’ll come around later.”

He lowers the phone.

“How much time remains?” he asks.

His neighbor looks at his watch. “At least forty minutes.”

Buck sighs.

“You got something with you to do during that time? A book?”

Buck lifts his phone with a smirk. “The internet is right here.”

His neighbor laughs and maybe Buck doesn’t resent him anymore. He has a nice smile. Buck wouldn’t mind looking at it for a while longer.

Then he takes out his own phone. “I guess I could play some games on my phone too.”

Buck raises his eyebrows. “You don’t look like someone who plays mobile games.”

The furrowed brows from earlier are back and Buck misses his smile. “I don’t know which way to take that.”

Then he adds: “Everyone plays mobile games.”

Now it’s Buck’s turn to furrow his brows. “They do?”

His neighbor laughs again.

It’s silent for a while and Buck starts scrolling through social media. They sit in companionable silence until the voice from earlier breaks it.

“Are you still feeling well?”

They do, they assure them and they disconnect again. Another twenty to fifty minutes. Buck sighs.

The other man lowers himself to sit down on the floor next to him, putting his phone down on the ground.

“So,” he starts, “you’re gonna go to your sister after we’re out of here?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice that you live so close to each other.”

“Yeah, it is,” Buck agrees, “It’s nice to have her around.”

“I have two sisters myself,” his neighbor shares, “they still live in El Paso, where my parents live. I don’t see them very often.”

Buck nods. “Maddie’s only recently moved here but it’s been nice. Having family near.”

He gets a nod in reply.

Then it’s silent again.

The voice checks in with them a few more times before the elevator finally starts moving again.

“Have a nice evening with your sister,” his neighbor wishes him when he gets off on the sixth floor.

“You too,” Buck replies when the doors close.

He calls Maddie again. “The elevator’s moving. I’ll be there soon.”

Buck’s on his way to work. He’s not running late but he also doesn’t have a whole lot of time to catch his bus. The usual.

The elevator is stopping on the sixth floor and Buck’s heart stops, thinking the elevator broke again. But then the doors open and one of his neighbors from the sixth floor is walking into the elevator. The neighbor he was actually stuck with. Buck laughs to himself.

“What’s so funny?” his neighbor asks, amusement playing around his lips. It’s the same expression that made Buck resent him initially. Buck’s come to appreciate it now.

“Ah, nothing,” Buck replies sheepishly.

“On your way to work?”

Buck nods.

“Me too.”

The doors close, and they’re moving. But not for long.

Buck looks at the lights in disbelief, then at his neighbor, who’s matching his expression. Only the scowl is new.

Buck waves at him. “You know the drill,” he says, and his neighbor gets to work on the door.

Again, nothing happens, so he presses and holds the emergency button.

The call connects and they go through all the steps again, the person on the other side reminding them that the crazy scenes they see in movies won’t happen and that they are totally safe. That the elevator can’t fall.

A technician will be there in an hour.

“I felt safer before the reminder,” Buck comments once they disconnect.

His neighbor laughs and again, Buck is quite pleased with himself.

Then he slides off his jacket, laying it on the floor, and pushes up the sleeves of his shirt over his forearms, before sitting down on the jacket.

Buck shrugs and sits down on his side of the elevator.

His neighbor turns to him. “If this becomes a pattern it might be nice to know each other’s names. I’m Eddie.”

“Buck,” Buck replies, and “it’s not a pattern yet.”

Eddie lifts his brows.

“One’s chance,” Buck recounts, “two’s coincidence, three’s a pattern. We’re at two now.”

Eddie laughs at him, and Buck is reminded why he started liking it.

“We’re on our best way to make it a pattern though,” he points out and Buck replies with a shrug.

Eddie leans his head against the elevator wall behind him. “I’ll have to call in late to work.”

At this reminder, Buck mimics him. “Oh shit,” slips out of his mouth, “me too.”

They both get out their phones to do the calls and Buck thinks that, no matter how much it sucks to call your boss, their calls will at least pass some time. It’s better than to just sit around and do nothing.

After they finish their calls, they sit around in silence for a few minutes, fiddling with their phones and staring at the walls.

“Ah!” Buck exclaims excitedly, “I downloaded a mobile game.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, questioningly. “You did?”

Sheepishly Buck ducks his head, both at his not very subtle attempt at doing conversation, as well as the confession he was about to make. “The last time we were stuck in this elevator…”

Eddie huffs a laugh at that.

“... you said everyone played them. And well, I hadn’t so far. So I did some research.”

Eddie widens his eyes incredulously. “You did research? On mobile games?”

“Shut up,” Buck laughs, ”it’s not my area of expertise.”

Eddie shakes his head.

“So I downloaded Hay Day.”

“You downloaded Hay Day.” Eddie seems to ponder over it. Then he tilts his head. “Do you like it?”

“It’s surprisingly fun,” Buck admits, “but I don’t like the long waiting times.”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, “that’s how they try to get your money.”

“ Right? ” Buck latches onto it. “Why make the game free if you’re gonna charge for everything anyway? Just make people pay for it up front!”

“I can’t believe people spend thousands of dollars on that.” Eddie shakes his head. “But I assume that is exactly the reason. How much does a game cost on a console? Maybe sixty dollars, possibly eighty. They can [probably] get a lot more this way.”

“Yeah. I still prefer consoles. You can keep your mobile games.”

Eddie opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again before a word can leave it. Instead, he chuckles.

“I hope your meeting with your sister was nice the other night.”

Buck furrows his brows at that obvious change of subject but it’s not more sudden than his exclamation about mobile games earlier, so he goes along.

“It was,” he reassures Eddie, “Maddie is a big fan of wine and I’ve been getting cooking lessons, so we’ve made it a thing of proving our knowledge to each other. I’m choosing the recipe to prove I can indeed cook, and she chooses a fitting wine to prove she knows her wine.”

“Does it work?” Eddie asks and Buck shrugs.

“Most of the time.” He laughs.

They jolt when the voice comes back through the speakers to check in with them and inform them of the technician's progress.

Buck starts laughing once they disconnect, Eddie joining in soon.

Once they calmed down, Eddie worries his lip with his teeth.

“I’m not a good cook,” he admits, “it’s one of the things my parents have always been criticizing.”

Buck shoots him a sympathetic glance, extending his legs for as far as possible in the small elevator.

“I haven’t been until recently either.” A shrug. “And if I was still talking to mine, they’d have probably bugged me about it too. But it’s been fun to learn.”

Contemplating, he tilts his head. “You say that like they criticize you a lot.”

Eddie huffs. “Yeah. I don’t think I can do anything right in their eyes.” He shrugs. “But I don’t wanna bore you with that.”

“Oh, you aren’t,” Buck rushes. For a second, none of them speaks. “Is that why you moved so far away from them?”

“One of the reasons,” Eddie nods and Buck can’t help but nod along.

“Yeah.”

It feels shorter this time, surprising them both when the emergency worker connects to tell them the technician is there and will soon get the elevator to work again.

They get up, slowly, collecting their things, stretching their limbs. It moves, and they both exhale in relief, sharing a smile.

“Let’s not make this a pattern,” Buck says when they leave, though he has the suspicion that he doesn’t quite mean it.

Eddie laughs at that and shoots him an “I’ll see you around.” when they part ways in front of their apartment building.

Bread, Buck thinks. Mayonnaise. Cucumber. Eggs. The elevator doors slide open and Buck goes over his grocery list another time while stepping inside and pressing the zero button. Bread. Mayonnaise. Cucumber. Eggs.

The doors close after him, then opening up again as soon as they touch the other side of the door frame.

Buck groans, stepping towards the panel again and pressing down on the “Close door” one.

It closes and Buck leans against the wall at the other end of the elevator, closing his eyes and waiting for all eight floors to pass by.

But then the door opens again and Buck really wishes he had taken the stairs today. He’s about to get out of the elevator to do so after all when he hears someone with crutches coming into the elevator and opens his eyes to see his neighbor, Eddie , coming in.

Eddie looks tense, subtly, but Buck is good at reading people and associated with the crutches he heard, he’s about to ask if Eddie’s okay.

But then he looks down and his eyes land on a small boy. His hair is longer and a lot lighter than Eddie’s but the resemblance is nevertheless unmistakable.

Before he can think better of it, he blurts out: “I didn’t know you had a son.”

Of course he didn’t. Despite being stuck together in this same elevator twice, they are still nothing more than strangers who live in the same apartment building. Neighbors who know each other’s names. Buck doesn’t know where this is coming from.

He doesn’t miss how Eddie’s jaw tenses and Buck fears he may have just ruined the tentative friendship? Acquaintanceship? That they formed during their conversations in the elevator.

“That’s Christopher,” Eddie says nevertheless, and then to the boy: “Chris, this is Buck. He lives on the eighth floor.”

“Ah, is he the one you were stuck with in here?”

“Yes,” Eddie agrees, “that’s the one.”

Buck chuckles at that. “I hope I don’t become known as the one people get stuck in elevators with.”

“You got stuck in the elevator with someone else too?” Eddie asks, his tone subdued. Buck thinks something is up with him but he doesn’t know Eddie well enough to feel confident asking about it.

“No,” Buck laughs self-consciously, “but I think I may have just jinxed it.”

As if on demand, the elevator stops moving.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the ceiling and then back to Buck. “I think you just did.”

“Are we stuck?” Christopher asks.

“Seems like it, buddy.” Eddie is ruffling his hair and Buck’s melting because of the softness in Eddie’s voice.

Buck pushes away from the wall. “So, the usual steps.”

Eddie nods, but before he can reply, Christopher asks: “What are the usual steps?”

“May I?” Buck asks, waiting for Eddie's assent to pass the two of them and put his hands on the door. Christopher’s eyes follow him, so once he’s got his hands in place, he half-turns to look at the boy. “Now I just have to push the door closed.”

Christopher watches as Buck follows up on his words.

Buck doesn’t expect it to change anything, and in fact, it doesn’t, but Christopher’s face lights up when he asks if he can try too. So Buck makes room for him by the door and helps him push after Christopher has given his crutches to his dad to hold.

“Nothing happens,” Christopher states afterwards, disappointment evident in his voice.

“It hasn’t the last two times either. But it’s worth trying.” Buck shrugs and then looks back to Eddie, checking that he’s not overstepping. He’s happy to find a small smile playing on the other man’s lips, the tension from earlier missing in his shoulders.

Christopher motions for his crutches again and Eddie’s quickly handing them over.

When Buck’s leaning back against one of the walls again, his eyes fall on the emergency button.

“I think we should…” he starts, making Eddie follow his line of sight.

Eddie huffs a breath. “Yeah…”

Now it’s Buck who’s standing closer to the elevator panel, so it’s him who steps towards it and presses down, waiting for the call to connect.

He’s answering the usual questions: how many people are inside, if they tried closing the door, how they’re feeling. Buck thinks about how it’s starting to become a routine.

That’s when Eddie says: “I think I’m allowed to call it a pattern now.”

Buck nearly chokes on his laugh.

“No no,” he argues, “the variables have clearly changed. It’s two times I’ve been stuck in an elevator with you, and one time I’ve been stuck in an elevator with you and your son. That doesn’t make three.”

“I assume you don’t have a college degree because you clearly failed math,” Eddie quips and Buck laughs, again.

“I can’t even object to that because I did fail math in college.”

“I’m good at math,” Christopher pipes up, “I got an A on all tests this year.”

“Impressive,” Buck nods in recognition. “You like math?”

“Yes. It’s my favorite subject.”

Christopher talks about it with glee in his eyes and Eddie’s features are equally soft while listening until they contort in a way that is best described by “Oh shit” .

He fumbles for his phone while addressing Buck: “Do you have anyone you have to inform that you’ll be late?”

“Oh no,” Buck shrugs, “I’m just on my way to buy groceries.”

Eddie nods. “I’m gonna have to…” He motions to his phone.

“Yeah, sure.”

Buck and Christopher patiently wait for Eddie to talk to whoever’s on the other side of the line, describing their situation and how long it’ll probably take them.

“I’ll text you if anything changes,” he ends with. There seems to be assent from the other person because soon after they’re disconnecting.

“So,” Buck asks, “who were you supposed to meet?” He thinks of Eddie’s questions the first time they found themselves in this situation. “ Wife? ” he corrects the voice in his head with a thought to Chris.

“Ex-wife,” Eddie answers abashedly.

“Dad is bringing me to mom, so I can spend the weekend with her and grandma,” Christopher shares excitedly.

“Shannon and I divorced two years ago,” Eddie feels the need to explain, “she’s caring for her sick mother, so we decided Chris would stay with me most of the time. Makes it easier for all of us.”

Buck nods. “You seem to have a good relationship with her.”

“We’re trying,” Eddie says with a half-smile, “for Chris.”

“It’s nice,” Buck reiterates, “my sister and her ex-husband split on really bad terms. And let me tell you, that sucks. For everyone involved.”

He swallows, then adds: “So it’s really great that you’re doing the effort for him.”

It’s then that the emergency worker reconnects for the usual check-in.

Afterwards, Eddie offers his phone to Christopher to play some games.

“What are you playing?” Buck asks the boy.

“Hay Day,” Christopher replies, concentrating on the game in front of him.

Buck shoots an amused look towards Eddie who seems to have reverted to his earlier state of discomfort and avoids meeting his eye.

Weird , Buck thinks and hopes he didn’t cause it by asking Christopher about his game.

He makes another try, “Cool! I recently started playing it too.”

“Really?” Christopher looks up at him, beaming, “what’s your farm’s level?”

“Oh, I barely just started, It’s only level thirteen.”

“Mine’s level 47. Look.” Christopher turns the phone over, so Buck can look at his little digital farm.

Buck chances another glance at Eddie, now leaning back and more or less relaxed. Confusing . Buck would love to figure him out.

Conversation comes easy for the rest of their stay. A little tenseness remains in his features but other than that he’s either sharing things with Buck himself or observing Chris talking to Buck. Soon enough, they get out of the elevator, into the corridor on the ground floor. Buck gets the door and holds it open for the two of them. He sees them walking towards a car on one of the parking lots in front of the building, Chris climbing in first. Eddie turns around and looks at Buck, so Buck seizes the moment to walk up to him.

“He’s a great kid,” he says, then follows it up with, “I love kids.”

Eddie smiles. He dips his head towards his car. “I love this one.”

Buck laughs and skips away to finally get his grocery shopping done.

“Keep the door open for me!” somebody calls out from the corridor and Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t recognize the voice. Instantly, he puts his hand in front of the sensor and, sure enough, Eddie hurries around the corner. He’s alone again and greets Buck with a smile as soon as he sees him.

“Thank you,” he pants.

“In a hurry?” Buck asks him, as the doors close behind him.

Eddie huffs. “No. I just don’t trust the elevator to come back down for me.”

Buck laughs. “Fair point.” After a contemplative dip of his head: “Probably wise, too.”

“We really need a new elevator,” Eddie sighs, “I don’t know what I’m doing with Chris if it breaks down with someone else inside and we have to take the stairs.”

It comes as a surprise to no one when the elevator comes to a halt. Buck and Eddie look at each other.

“Speak of the devil,” Buck breathes.

“I’m starting to think hell might as well actually be a broken elevator.” Eddie sighs.

Buck laughs. “Am I really that bad?”

Eddie’s eyes shoot up to his, red color flooding his cheeks. “I’d rather have met you in a different way but I do like the company.”

Then let’s meet somewhere else , Buck thinks but discards the thought as fast as it came up. He’s not even sure what he meant to offer.

Instead, he changes the topic: “Shall I try the door or do you want to?”

Eddie takes a dazed look at the door behind him before nodding in assent. “I can do it.”

Buck nods and proceeds to watch Eddie while he rolls up his shirt sleeves, puts his hands on the door and pushes it towards the opening. He leans back, expecting the elevator to stay as still as ever.

But for the first time, it actually starts moving again.

Buck nearly jumps in surprise and Eddie continues to stare blankly at the door that his hands are still touching.

Disappointment overcomes Buck and he can’t help but question where that feeling is coming from.

“We didn’t even have to call for the technician.” Eddie’s voice betrays the same feelings that Buck is feeling: confusion and a strange tint of disappointment, and Buck is relieved that he’s not the only one feeling that way.

Still, he got no time to mull that over before the elevator stops on the sixth floor. Eddie’s floor. The other man goes through the door as soon as it opens, but turns around to say goodbye.

Buck could swear Eddie is still standing in front of the elevator and looking at him when the doors are already closing. He tries not to think about it.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just take the stairs?” Maddie asks, eyeing the elevator warily.

Buck rolls his eyes while setting down the bags he was carrying. “Sure, if you want to carry all of this, for eight full stories , then please do.”

She sighs as Buck presses the needed button, waiting for the doors to close.

Buck hears the doors open up again after having slid halfway closed; informing him that one of his neighbors is about to step into the elevator with them.

“I don’t trust your elevator not to break down on us.”

Buck huffs. Turning around and seeing that it’s Eddie who joined them, his brows furrowed, Buck decides to reply to his sister’s statement after all. “You might be onto something.”

Buck feels her perking up at that and stepping towards the unfamiliar man.

“So you’re Eddie,” it’s not really a question, and Buck winces. Maddie, unbothered, puts down her own grocery bag and reaches out her right hand to shake his. “I’m Maddie.”

A smile breaks onto Eddie’s face as he takes it “Ah, the infamous sister.”

Maddie nods, pleased. Buck isn’t quite sure what is happening.

“Is it one of your Wine and Dine sibling evenings?” Eddie follows up.

“Yes,” Maddie points at the bag they just set down, “we just came back from the supermarket. Now it’s time to cook.”

“What are you making?”

Buck started to feel like a fifth wheel but now Eddie is unmistakably looking at him.

“Coq au vin.”

Eddie lifts his eyebrows, looking impressed. “Sounds fancy.”

Buck laughs. “We’ll see. I haven’t really tried this recipe yet.”

He means to add another joke about his amateur skills, capitalizing upon Eddie’s demeanor having shifted back to the light-hearted and relaxed state he was in the first few times they met.

He doesn’t expect Maddie to ask: “You want to join us?”

Buck’s choking on his own saliva, trying to send a death glare towards his sister without making Eddie think he dislikes the idea of spending more time with him. He doesn’t. He just doesn’t like Maddie springing this on him without any warning.

Whatever the outcome he’ll have a bone to pick with her.

Even though the color rises into Eddie’s cheek, he keeps his composure. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he apologizes, “my son is waiting for me at home. And I wouldn’t want to impose on your family time anyway.”

Maddie nods empathetically and shrugs, “maybe next time.”

Buck is so going to kill her for this.

Of course, that’s when the elevator stops moving.

Buck just rolls his eyes while Eddie sighs in exasperation. “You spoke too soon.”

“I didn’t speak this into existence,” Buck teases, “our elevator just sucks.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth tick up but frustration [leeches] into his smile, “Truer words were never spoken.”

Buck takes note of his sister observing them with something that can only be described as apt fascination while they go through the usual steps to alert the emergency center and get out of this elevator as soon as possible.

“You make quite the team,” she remarks when the emergency worker disconnects.

Eddie shrugs and Buck is surprised that he can recognize that the nonchalance is only pretended, “I guess that’s just a given when this has now happened the fifth time in a row.”

“And it’s always you two?”

Eddie nods and Buck knows it’s a mistake as soon as he sees Maddie’s face.

She shrugs, so faux-casual that Buck doesn’t think even a stranger could miss it, and says: “If I were you, I’d start asking myself if the universe was trying to tell me something.”

“Well, your brother ,” Eddie starts and Buck realizes in alarm that he likes this turn of events even less, “thinks it’s not really a pattern because we haven’t quite been fully stuck in here for at least three times just the two of us.”

Maddie laughs and Eddie smirks at Buck, pleased.

“Now it’s your math that’s skewed,” Buck quips back, “I’m pretty sure we reached the three times just last week.”

“Oh?” Eddie lifts his eyebrows in question, the smile still on his lips, “We didn’t even get to call the emergency call center. You don’t consider that a variable change?”

“That depends on what we define that the action is. If it’s us having to wait for a technician to free us, then yes. If it’s just the elevator breaking down while we’re inside, it’s a no.”

“You never fail to surprise me,” Eddie says and Buck doesn’t think he imagines the fondness reflected on his face and in his voice.

Before he can help himself, he’s winked at him.

Once he realizes what he’s done, he refuses to look at his sister. He can feel her smugness anyway.

“I hear you have a kid,” Maddie asks then, and Buck is happy for the change of conversation before she adds: “Buck loves kids. He’s really good with them.”

“Yeah, he met Christopher already. They have a lot in common.”

Buck gapes at him in mock-offense. “It’s Hay Day! You told me that everyone played Hay Day!”

Now it’s Eddie who winks at him and Buck doesn’t think he’ll get out of the elevator alive this time.

By the time the technician arrives, Buck’s flustered and embarrassed and more than glad to get a breathing pause from the quick succession of bantering with Eddie and teasing from his sister that he’s been subjected to for the last hour. He hopes the last part has been subtle enough for Eddie not to pick up on the full extent of it but Eddie’s attentive, so he can’t say he’s positive.

“He’s cute,” Maddie remarks as they leave the elevator, “and he definitely likes you.”

Buck tries very hard to ignore her, but she’s his sister… She knows all his weak spots.

There’s a moving van parked in front of his apartment building when he comes home and at first, he doesn’t think anything of it. He has a lot of neighbors and he doesn’t even know most of them. It’s not uncommon for someone to move out or someone new to move in. They do it all the time.

The elevator isn’t working - to no one’s surprise - so Buck takes the stairs. He comes across quite a few people carrying boxes, some smaller, some bigger and he winces in sympathy for whoever’s moving.

When he finally arrives on the sixth floor - only two more to go- he sees that it’s Eddie directing them and his heart stops.

As quickly as the feeling overcame him, he’s waving it away. Being stranded in their elevator together for a few times does not mean they’re friends or - anything else, really. He’s got no rights to feeling like this.

But he can’t help walking towards Eddie anyway. He figures he can at least say goodbye to him and maybe - maybe even offer his help.

His heart constricts when he sees relief washing over Eddie’s face once he sees him.

“Buck!” he waves him over. “I hoped to catch you once more before I left.”

“You’re moving?” Buck asks and winces at how sad he sounds. You got no right to feel like this.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, “they refuse to repair the elevator and with Chris, it’s just - it’s not working anymore. We needed a new place with a working elevator.”

“I uh, I get that.” And Buck really does.

He pushes a smile on his face and motions to the object of their talk. “So as our good friend the elevator failed you another time, do you possibly need help carrying those boxes?”

Eddie returns his smile but shakes his head. “I wanted to talk to you about something else, actually.”

Buck thinks there’s nervousness laced into Eddie’s features but he’s so high strung himself that he doesn’t trust himself to interpret the signs correctly.

He nods, unable to speak and Eddie takes a deep breath.

“I really hope I didn’t misread things. I really liked spending time with you, even if it was just in a broken elevator.”

Buck huffs a laugh. “Yeah, we really could’ve met under better circumstances.”

“We really could’ve.”

“Point is,” Eddie continues, “I really like you. And you’re okay with Chris. And… as much as I’m looking forward to leaving this shitty elevator behind, I’m going to miss spending time with you.”

Buck nods, unable to speak, as emotions run towards his eyes. He swallows.

“Me too,” he finally manages to croak out.

“So,” and now Buck is sure he doesn’t imagine the awkwardness in Eddie’s composure, “if that is something you were interested in, I think we could go on a date. Somewhere that is not an elevator.”

“Oh God, yes,” Buck rushes out, the nerves falling off of him. Then he thinks better of it and replies a little calmer. “I’d love that.”

He starts tapping his pockets, looking for a pen but Eddie just reaches over and grabs a sharpie. Buck feels a little bad for writing his number on the side of a cardboard box but Eddie smiles at him and wipes away all his thoughts.

He does end up asking if he can help again and Eddie gives him the box with his own number on it with the words: “Make sure it’s stashed away properly.”

Buck winks at him and bounds down six flights of stairs.

Also find this fic on AO3 and wattpad.

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #911 fox fic #911 fox #911 #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #elevator #fluff #buddie fluff #sif writes #fic

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symphonicmetal101 · 4 years ago

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Wishlist For Someone Special

Ok, so I'm feeling really sappy and just a little lonely. All my friends are boring and my family members are too young for me to take to do some stuff.

This is kind of a wishlist of things I wish I had someone to do with or look forward to doing eventually...not necessarily romantic, but I wouldn't mind if it was. (broskis, I ain't never been on a date, not even, like, a platonic one, so bear with me if it seems ridiculous)

Stargazing- lying on a blanket in an open field or in the bed of a truck, just watching the stars, pointing out constellations, and making up stories

Watching the Northern Lights- bundling up in our warmest winter clothing, grabbing a couple campchairs and hot chocolate as we watch them dance and flicker.

Laser Tag- sneaking around, just trying to one up each other, or being on the same team and still- try to one up each other😂

Paintball- a little more painful than laser tag, but still fun. Checking up on each other afterwards to make sure there aren't any really bad bruises

Graffiti- I've always liked the way it looks. I would love for someone to teach me, or for us to learn together in one of those public graffiti houses

A Willow Tree- I would love to find a weeping willow tree and climb it's branches, only to sit and read there with my loved one enjoying their company.

Just Drive- just take a roadtrip with someone I love, blasting music, laughing, singing, and snacking as we blaze down the roads. It doesn't have to be long.

Visit an Animal Sanctuary/Reserve- I find animals fascinating, but also find that sanctuaries and reserves are more educational and often more humane than zoos.

Volunteer at the Food Bank or SPCA- just general acts of service. They make me happy.

Pillow Fortress- I didn't really get to make blanket forts when I was younger, so I want to try doing something even bigger! I want to convert the couch into a cuddle palace.

Spontaneous Dancing- idk man, it just makes me really happy. My dad used to twirl and dip me when I was little, so that's probably where it started.

Cooking/Baking Together- so what if we make a bit of a mess? So what if we screw up the recipe? It doesn't matter, it was time well spent.

Cleaning Together- Growing up as an only child for ten years and then becoming the oldest means I've done chores alone for a long time. I want someone's company, maybe we'll talk, maybe we'll work in comfortable silence, or maybe we'll blast music. I don't care. I would be happy just to know I wasn't alone.

Learning One of Their Hobbies- I want to learn something they know!! Please, let me understand a little better, I just need them to be patient with me.

Forest Walks- especially in Fall. I want to walk down an old trail, listen to leaves crunch under our feet as more fall from above I want the blustery weather to give us rosy cheeks and noses by the time our walk is over.

Horseback Riding- I've done it before, but I would love to bring someone with me. You have more experience? Great! I love to see that confidence in you. You've done it a couple times? Yay, we're in the same boat! Never done it at all? That's ok! I'll do what I can to help you!

Outdoor Movie Night- we don't have drive- in theaters anywhere nearby, but give me a sheet, campchairs, and a projector? I've got us.

Indoor Movie Night- let's bundle up and cuddle together while we watch a new movie. Or maybe it's a classic. Idc.

Try New Food- let's go somewhere for lunch and pick something completely foreign...(I am not eating guinea pig again though, thanks.)

The Wharf- if one of us happens to live by the ocean, we'll be frequent visitors. Not necessarily the beach, bit on wooden planks where the salty sea air still reaches you. We can watch the boats come and go. (Fisherman's Wharf in B.C Canada is fun. There's a really good Mexican food place😂 There's a blind seal named Sammy that lives there, and you can buy a bucket of fish to feed him. Be careful though, seagulls are vicious, being pecked by one sucks...yes, I needed a bandaid and my finger was sore for a long time. Idk if it's still like that, it's been a while. Sorry, just reminiscing a bit.)

Painting- let's buy a couple canvases and paint and see what we can do! It doesn't have to resemble anything, just do what feels like you.

Splatter Painting- dear god I've wanted to try this for so long. Just full on globs of paint and flicking it towards the canvas. (I was never allowed to do it because it was seen as a waste of paint. I couldn't even do it with an old toothbrush on a small canvas😑)

Video Games!- Please teach me how to play! Video games are banned in my family. I mean, I've done Just Dance, but that's about it. Mobile games have been kept a secret...basically just teach me to play and don't make me feel bad about playing, and I'll love you forever, mkay?

Ice Cream Date- again, idk. The idea just makes me really happy, whether we're sitting in a small shop, eating and talking. Or maybe we're walking, maybe holding hands, trying to point things out to each other, but our hands are full, but there's no way we're letting go. Or maybe we're sharing a cup of ice cream on a park bench, just people watching.

Thrift Store Outfits- I want to go to a thrift store and pick out the most ridiculous outfits for each other. We don't have to go anywhere, but just humour me when we're alone by wearing whatever I found for you, and vice versa.

Writing- writing a poem, a atory, a quote, or learning calligraphy and just writing their name- I want to write something to you

Books- let's go to the library and choose a book for each other, one that neither of us have read so we can talk and ask questions, come up with theories as we continue to read.

Books pt.2- if you write me a note and give me a book telling me why it's one of your favourites, I'll melt. I'll do the same for you, and soon we'll have a few more things to talk about and enjoy together

Music!- you bet your bottom dollar I'm going to send you music that reminds me of you, and I would be overjoyed to recieve the same.

Music! Pt.2- if you happen to play, sing, or dance, let's make something beautiful together! If not, I'll teach you!

Improv/rp- just making stuff up as we go, not caring if other people hear our conversations.

Trampoline Park/Something Similar- I just want to try it. Don't care if I break my leg, I want to try it. I'll care if you break your leg though.

Plant Shopping- again, idk. Just the idea of choosing a succulent or two to take care of together sounds nice.

Dance Classes- maybe you're already an amazing dancer, I'll let you take the lead. Maybe you just know the basics like me, we can learn together. (I know how to do the basics for, like, salsa, cumbia, bachata, swing, and waltz, that's it. Please teach me more🤩)

Sewing/Knitting/Crocheting/Fabric Work- useful skill! And maybe we can make something for each other. (Spoiler alert: you're getting a pillow case, mask, or a scarf, I can't do much yet😂)

Rage House- let's just let loose! Make a mess! Yell! Doesn't matter, all of it's legit. I just want to destroy stuff.

Weird Cuddles- again, just the idea makes me happy. If you're lying down, I may as well just flop on you, right? Or maybe somehow we end up upside down. Cuddling while we read books or listen to music. Ok so maybe just cuddling but it feels weird because I'm touch-starved👌

Late Night Calls- I've never done this with anyone under happy circumstances. Could you help me change that? It would be nice to have the last thing before I go to sleep be reassurance and happiness.

Calendar/Planning- let's make a calendar together with pictures of the places we want to go one day. Let's talk to each other so we know what we both want and make sure we put it down.

Scuba Diving- this is something I've wanted to do since I was little- actually it was the first job I said I wanted. I don't want to do it as a career anymore, but I would love to try it with you.

Finding Random Things- little things that remind me of you. Maybe I was out and found a heart shaped rock. Or I heard a bird sing and managed to record it. Or maybe there was a cute keychain at the store that reminded me of you. And that would be enough to make me smile.

Ride a Double-Decker Bus- I've done it before, but the excitement that comes with the thought of riding one again makes me giddy. Just being able to see the city and people from a mobile throne😂

Bike Riding- let's explore nearby, just riding together. Maybe you have trails you want to show me. You can lead, I'll follow. Or vice versa. If we get lost at least we can laugh about it later.

Camping- lets share a tent and a campfire together, roasting smores as we laugh and tell each other stories. Maybe we'll try and sing a few songs too.

Punch Buggy- just playing the game properly will make me happy tbh. It's been 8 years of bending the rules😂

Board/Card Games- yes. I will get competitive. But that's half the fun. Also, I would like to play these properly as well lol

Museum Date- maybe somewhere local, or maybe we were driving by and decided to stop, or maybe we actually planned to go. Let's learn something new together, take some pictures.

Comfy- I didn't know what else to call it. Basically, take out, sweat pants, (messy buns), snacks, drinks, and a good show. Bonus if it's storming outside.

Rain- watching it rain, listening tonit rain, going outside and dancing or running in the rain, jumping in puddles- I want to do it all with you.

Little Gestures- little things we develop as we get to know each other, faces that we come to understand, hand movements we start to copy. Idk, I find it really cute.

Ok guys, sorry this isn't what, well, any of us were expecting. I guess this is my Valentine's Day post?? Idk. If you read it, I hope you liked it.

Feel free to put who you thought of in tags or comments, real or fiction. Or add to the list if you want. I would love to know😊 I know there's a lot of "I wants" but that's because for the first time, in a long time, I feel comfortable admitting that.

51. Mutual comfort characters

#obey me #obey me shall we date #not really blog related but oh well #valentines day

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joshslater · 4 years ago

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Five Step Program

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I stared at the contents of the envelope, a blue jockstrap, and a folded piece of paper. I hadn’t put much hope into this “miracle solution” to becoming a jock without any of the work. Of course there was a catch. “First 20 customers get their first shipment free of charge” was enough for me to fill out the form with my information. It wasn’t anything too revealing. Name, address, height, weight, age. A box where you could write what you hoped to achieve with this revolutionary five step program. That’s what they really were after, I guessed. Having people enter their dreams so that they can tailor their next scam better. I was even surprised I got anything in the mail at all, and now having opened it, it made even more sense.

I could see how sending a jockstrap to someone perhaps fulfills some legal requirement that the recipient could now look like a jock. It could be a way to avoid getting a federal fraud charge. But I hadn’t spent a dime on this, so it didn’t make any sense. The jockstrap looked like any other jockstrap, I guessed. I’d never owned one, nor worn one. The pouch was dark blue and made with two layers of some synthetic mesh material. The big waistband was light blue with the letters JOCK repeated in dark blue around it. There was a faint smell of synthetic material and detergent. I did a mental sigh and opened the folded letter.

Congratulation on becoming one of our first customers on the revolutionizing five step Jock Express program. As a thank you for signing up, this first part is totally free of charge. Should you wish to continue the program, as we are confident you will after having successfully completed the first session, simply use the URL at the bottom of this page to enter your credit card information and we’ll send you the next item as soon as the payment is confirmed. I’m happy to inform you that we can offer a reduced price for the entire program, should you chose to start it within five days. The price is only $100 for the next installment, and progressively higher as you advance in the program. There is no commitment to purchase so you can stop the program at any point. We’re confident you will want to complete all the five steps in the Jock Express program.

Fuck that! What morons sign up to this kind of shit?

Instructions: The Jock Express is the easiest and most user friendly fitness program ever developed. Simply drink a lot of water, put on the items included in each program step, as you normally would, and go to sleep.

I was even more confused. Why would that sway anyone to put out $100 for at best another piece of gym clothing? I put it all in my in-tray on my desk and let it slip from my mind. I had dinner, watched TV, answered some late emails and the usual Tuesday stuff. By bedtime I walked past my home office and had the sudden recollection that I had something waiting in the in-tray. Then I remembered what it was, and almost reluctantly decided to go ahead with wearing the damn thing. I was still convinced it was a scam, but was immensely curious to exactly how it would work. If nothing else I would get to feel what wearing a jockstrap feels like. I drank a glass of water, put on the jockstrap, and went to bed. The jockstrap was as comfortable as anything and I quickly went to sleep.

Apparently I slept through the first alarm, and jolted awake on hearing the more incessant buzz from the phone. I jumped out of bed and it wasn’t until halfway to the bathroom I realized I was naked. I wouldn’t say massive, as in cartoonish in any way, but my dick and balls were noticeably bigger than before. It took a few seconds for my still startled brain to put the pieces together. The jockstrap had disappeared and somehow affected the body. It hadn’t replaced any body parts, I could still recognize my dick, but it was for sure altered. Suddenly $100 felt like way too little money. I didn’t even put any pants on as I typed in the URL from the letter. Jock Express step #2 for $100 and express delivery for another $25. Annoyingly no option to order all four remaining steps as a package. I just wanted to have them all in my house as soon as possible.

By the time I had entered all my details, checked all the boxes, and clicked the final webshop button I was rocking a massive hard-on. The biggest one in my life so far, by far. I didn’t care right then if I would come late or call in sick, I just knew that I had to take my pre-cum leaking enhancement for a test drive, and slowly started to move my hand up and down the shaft. It felt better than ever, and lasted longer than I have ever before. I’m not really sure how long, because I zoned out a bit while wanking, and then exploded with an epic load of cum. I managed to tilt the chair back and catch it all on my body, but then I felt really spent and dozed off, only to be brought back with a text message from my boss. Sick day it is, I decided.

A more apt description would be a lewd day. I just cycled between laptop porn, wanking and showers, and combinations thereof. I loved the difference it made when wearing underwear. Even when flaccid you could tell here was action waiting, not just only wearing underwear, but while wearing jeans too. I took photos so I had progress photos to compare with.

The next day was a strange one. I worked all day in the glow of someone with confidence, as if somehow I had done some achievement. I kind of surprised myself with how much of a difference it made when dealing with the pileup of emails from yesterday. Big dick energy. I could make decisions so much faster than I was used to. I don’t know if I really had more confidence, or just didn’t care as much. I was for sure giddy with anticipation of what was yet to come by overnight delivery. I forced myself to stay until official end of office hours and then bolted and drove straight home.

Thank God there was a DHL box in my mailbox, or I don’t know what I would have done. I opened it on my way in, and it’s contents were similar to the first one. A folded letter and some folded cloth. Without opening the letter I unfolded the cloth, which turned out to be a plain, sleeveless, white cotton T-shirt. Had there been someone to high five, I would have done so. I’m not fat, but there is a bit of flabbiness I would love to get rid of, so I couldn’t wait for this part. I felt anticipation in my stomach and something else in my pants. I hadn’t had a wank since this morning.

Evening couldn’t come soon enough. The letter said basically the same as the last one. A new URL for the $400 Jock Express #3, which I immediately ordered, again with overnight shipping. Not really sure what to kill time with, I figured a jock would watch sport, so I just randomly put some football on. I hadn’t really paid any attention to sports before, so I wasn’t sure about who was who, what the series looked like, or really what happened on the field besides the obvious. I ended up masturbating to the football, which in my opinion made it better. By 9:30 I decided to drink a few glasses of water, strip, put on the sleeveless T-shirt, and go to bed. I tossed and turned in anticipation for quite a while. The T-shirt had a very loose fit, and the big holes for the arms made it even more mobile, though it was anchored by the crew neck. Finally at some point I managed to fall asleep.

I woke up before the alarm. It was dark enough that I knew I hadn’t slept through them all. Instead of getting up or turning on the light, I just slowly moved my hand to my chest under the sheet. My chest was about the same size, but felt firmer, I imagined. But more importantly I was naked and the shirt was gone. I moved my hand down and couldn’t contain my joy when I started to feel the faint square of abs. I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to have a look in the mirror. The effect was better than I thought from just touch. My torso not only looked fit as a model, with abs and V and all, but younger and with better skin. Perhaps an illusion, but it almost looked like my dick was bigger as well.

Having woken up early, after a wank and a shower, I was one of the first in at the office and quickly got ahead on my tasks for the day. I still had the anticipation I felt yesterday, but today it was more like I knew what to expect. It wasn’t just a one-off or a fluke, this was legit and it was happening. As I started early I decided to flex out early and rush back home. I spent the drive home fantasizing about different types of clothing. I was kind of wishing for those sleeves they use in basket, to amp up my arms, but there might be some scientific reason why they changed the body parts in a specific order. Who was I kidding? This wasn’t science. This was magic.

I ripped open the familiar package as soon as I was inside the front door. This time it was white under armour legging of some sort, ending just below the knees. I was considering strip down fully naked and put on the leggings right then and there, and wear them until it was time to go to bed, but decided against it. Even though the descriptions were vague and didn’t really say you couldn’t do that, I didn’t want to risk fucking up the process. Instead I found some underwear in the same color as the jockstrap and took a pair of scissors to an old white T-shirt to make it look like the one I put on yesterday. Then I put on those, and nothing but, and sat myself in front of the TV, determined to actually try to follow the game this time, whichever game I happened to see.

It might be I imagined it, perhaps because I’ve never really seen myself in a sleeveless T-shirt before, but it looked to me like my arms were a bit more defined than yesterday. I realized that I had just assumed only the parts under the clothes are affected, but that’s just something I made up. It could be that it just primarily acts under the clothes, or perhaps it was just a coincidence and the clothes really could change anything. In the end I let it go. It didn’t matter, I couldn’t prove it either way, and I couldn’t watch a game, have deep thoughts and masturbate all at the same time anyway. I was so into it I almost forgot to order the next package. A steep $1000 for whatever the next item was, but so far it was fucking worth it.

I really liked how I looked in the 3/4 leggings or whatever the fuck they are called. Just imagining how much better I would look the morning after made me go to bed with a big boner, despite being thoroughly wanked. I tried to calm myself by thinking of the last game I watched, and not give Jock Express a thought, and it kind of worked. I know I fell asleep pretty quickly and dreamt of football until the alarm woke me up.

“Fuck yeah!” was the first I could think when I saw myself. The thighs were about as large as before, but the line going down them made it obvious they were muscles and not jiggle matter. It even felt different just standing. I’m almost positive my dick had grown even more. Who the hell wouldn’t dish out $400 or whatever for this shit?

While the day started great it quickly became frustrating with all the corporate bullshit. I knew how to do my job. There were just so many fucking rules in the way of doing it in the best way. Perhaps the anticipation of the second to last package made me be in a bad mood. Whatever. I bolted as soon as I could, cranked up the volume in the car, trying to not think of anything until I got home. I almost punched something when I opened the mailbox and didn’t find an envelope. Instead it was just a note about DHL attempted to deliver while I wasn’t home. I could either call them to deliver tomorrow or drive to a pickup point. Like fuck I would wait another full fucking day.

I was furious when I got back into the car, blasting music as loud as I could, but I quickly calmed down. Perhaps this was a good thing? It might be a box with shoulder pads from football or hockey or lacrosse or whatever the fuck else looks hot. You know what else is hot? Michael at the DHL pickup point. I mean, I’m not homo or anything, I’m just saying he was a good looking dude.

The packet he gave me was a bit disappointing though. No way it could contain anything as large as shoulder pads. I didn’t want to fuck with my mojo, so I kept the same routine as before and didn’t open it until back home. Fucking cleats and socks. Another fucking leg day. And they smelled bad too, like distilled vinegar or some shit. As I entered the URL from the letter on my phone I got two more shocks. The price of the last package was ten thousand fucking dollars! And even worse, the delivery wouldn’t arrive until Monday. Two fucking days away. “This is bullshit” I shouted at nobody and threw the empty cardboard box into the wall to no damage to either.

I was still furious and went straight to the fridge, pulled out a cold can of beer, opened it, and downed half of it. It felt better, but I was still upset on the world in general. I looked at the phone screen again. $10k is a fuckton of money. There wasn’t a rush to buy it right now either, if they didn’t do overnight delivery during weekends. I emptied the can and crushed it against the countertop. It hurt my hand, which just added to my anger for being such a weakling. I pulled the rest of the six-pack out of the fridge and threw it in the living room couch on my way to the bedroom. I needed to get out of these stuffy office clothes and cool down with a cold one, or four.

I ripped off the tie and started to unbutton the shirt on my way into the bedroom, and once there opened the door to my wardrobe. I felt like a girl, not knowing what to wear. I hated everything my eyes fell on, and I hated feeling like that. I bunched the shirt into a ball and threw it into a corner, together with the tie. I climbed out of the pants as quickly as I could and threw them there as well. Then I stopped myself.

Everything I saw I really liked, I realized. The pecs, the abs, the thighs, and the generous bulge in the boxer briefs.I yanked off my socks and more deliberately lowered my boxers to let the dick and balls loose. I knew what I wanted from this junk selection of clothes, and opened a drawer with my athletic clothes and pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants. It was Friday and my dick and balls deserved some freedom, I thought, as I put on the sweats without any underwear. I picked up the sleeveless T-shirt from the floor by the bed and put that on as well. I felt so much better. A few beers, whatever game was on, and some more wanking, and perhaps this could turn into a good evening after all.

After two more beers, cum stains on sweatpants, T-shirt and the couch, and fuck knows how many games I zapped through I couldn’t wait any longer. Whatever bullshit the cleats and sock did, the sooner it was over with, the sooner I could move on with the final package. $10k was still a lot, but if I sold all shares I could buy it, keeping both house and car.

The socks went almost up to the knees, but weren’t any real soccer socks or anything like that. The looked more like something someone might have to the gym, or something a skater would wear. Skater was perhaps right, because they smelled like that vinegary acidic smell of really sweaty skater shoes. The socks were white with a wide black band around it near the top, and were a bit off-white on contact surfaces around the foot, as if they had been used in black shoes by someone. As if I would fucking care. I pulled up both legs of the sweats over the knees and put on both socks, pulling them as high as possible. The cleats were black and a bit banged up, but fit perfectly on my feet. I didn’t even remember having given out my shoe size. I was unsure how tight to tie them, so I went with comfortable without being loose.

It felt weird walking with them, like the shoes were pushing your forward. Not at all like my much flatter leather shoes. Somehow my test walking ended up by the fridge, so I grabbed another six-pack and returned to the couch for some more ESPN or whatever.

I had no idea what sport it was on the screen, but glancing out the window I could see that it wasn’t evening anymore. I must have fallen asleep, I realized, but I felt way better than I ought to, given the pile of crushed beer cans around me. I walked to the toilet to have a piss, and it wasn’t until I lowered the front of my sweatpants to grab my morning semi-stiff snake I realized I was barefoot. I was pissing for probably a good minute, aiming down with one hand. Holy fuck so much I’ve kept in while sleeping. I was pretty sure I had cleats and socks on when I fell asleep. I did a few bounces on the balls of the feet. It felt fucking great, and shook loose the last drops of piss from my dick. I dropped it back into the sweatpants, and broke into a smile from how fucking huge of a tent it made, despite being just a semi. I did a few more jumps, looking at how the flagpole in my front swung up and down. I really didn’t deserve to feel this great after yesterday, but I’d fucking take it. I felt so full of energy I felt I could do anything. I wanted to run just to see how it would feel.

I dashed into my bedroom and emptied the rest of the athletic clothes drawer on the floor. Some T-shirts, a pair of basket shorts, white socks and wiped down indoor and outdoor shoes. All of it was underwhelming, outright disappointing. And why the fuck did I keep the shoes here and not by the door? I grabbed the outdoor shoes and without bothering with socks started to mash my foot into it. It was clearly at least one size too small, perhaps several. Who the fucks know how shoe sizes work. I threw both shoes into the wall above my pile of office clothes. Fucking hell. Why do all days start out great and then go downhill so fast, I wondered.

I grabbed a pair of flip flops, the car keys, and pulled the credit card out of the wallet and walked out to the car. The car stereo startled me when I turned the ignition key, as it blared out some hip hop at max volume. I reached to turn it down, but changed my mind. It felt like my mood, as I was driving to my closest mall almost below speed limit. There wasn’t much traffic out anyway on a Saturday morning. As I turned into the almost empty parking lot in front of the mall I realized the fucking God damn shit mall would open for another 40-something fucking minutes. I wished I could turn up the music louder.

As I looked down on the cum stains on my shirt and tenting sweats I decided why the fuck not, and started to beat off in sync with the music.

40-something fucking minutes later I entered the sporting goods store in the mall. Johnson’s or Dick’s or Willy’s or whatever, I don’t care. I picked up some proper compression clothes, like the leggings I had earlier with a matching top. I got myself some outdoor Nike’s, a few proper tanks, some jocks, boxer shorts and socks, new flip flops, and a snapback cap. On the way to the cashier I decided to pick up a wooden baseball bat and a regulation size football as well. Back in the car I ripped off all the stickers and shit and put on something I could run in. The sneakers, jockstrap and shorts, a tank top, and the snapback. I left the car and just ran.

It was a revelation. The first time I tasted ice cream or coca cola, or the first time I discovered I could do something else with my dick besides peeing and hitting it too hard. I felt like a good damn terminator. Like as long as I kept the pace below sprinting I could run for hours. Trickles of sweat running down my face, my arms, my back, wetting the fabric of my clothes where it could, cooling the skin with the breeze my motion generated where it couldn’t. I have no fucking idea how long I actually run. When I finally ended up back in the car I was steaming and real fucking hungry.

I felt like a shower was in order, but I was too hungry to do that first. I went by Five Guys and had a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a peanut butter milkshake. As I started eating I realized I wasn’t anywhere near tired. It was probably enough running for today, but I wanted to do more. Halfway through the meal I decided I would visit the gym we had a company membership at. I had only been there a few times since the introduction walkthrough. I wasn’t even sure I had the card in my wallet anymore, or if it was in the bowl of stuff in the kitchen.

I made a quick stop at home, unloaded my car, found the card, and set off to the Pacific Wellness Center. The dude in the lobby had a pissy attitude and asked me if I was wearing indoor shoes. I asked him what they looked like, and he let me in. Such a shame, because he was kind of good looking.

Inside the gym the results were mixed. Squats, lunges, planking, and abductor machine all went excellent. It was fun, even. But everything involving arms went miserably. I could only lift a pathetic load, and after a few reps I would be tired. I even embarrassed myself in front of two massive gym buddies. One of them had amazing arms. You could see how strong they were even when he wasn’t lifting, but fuck me what beautiful ‘ceps when loaded. And tanned too. It was lucky I had the jockstrap on, because that body was smoking hot.

I could only stand a few more failures after that and then sped back home, still with hip hop at max, in a mix of emotions. I got naked on the way to the bathroom, and there I spent perhaps an hour in the shower, getting the grime and sweat off me, and wanking twice, thinking of the arms of the hot dude. As I dried myself on a towel I knew I had to buy the last package. Ten fucking thousand fucking dollars. I had to use the laptop to access my bank, and once I had put in the sell order for my stock portfolio I saw the pornhub tabs I hadn’t looked at since Wednesday.

The big-busted bimbos I had wanked my way through the Wednesday suddenly didn’t seem as interesting. I clicked around a bit until I found a muscle stud fucking a Latino girl. How quickly the taste can change, but except for pathetic arms, I’m was now the muscle stud. I quickly entered the URL from the Jock Express #4 box and ordered the last package. The delivery date was still Monday, so come Tuesday the muscle stud would be me. Only one fucking week.

Since I was out of beer I threw on my old shorts and a T-shirt, and had a walk to my nearest convenience store and bought one six-pack for each hand. I was feeling a bit stiff from the training, but it was much better than it ought to be.

As I opened the door back at home the warm smell of gym clothes, sweat, and feet hit me. I did the responsible thing and threw everything in the washing machine, opened a beer, and started to watch whatever was on.

Sunday was just a boring-ass filler day. I woke up at a decent time, had a long run. I passed through the park, but didn’t engage with any of the groups playing football or beach volley there. I could wait two more days to get my arms sorted. I did some cleaning up and domestic shit back home. Then I went to the gym again, but this time I pretended it was leg day, so I didn’t have to embarrass myself. After dinner I had an evening jog as well, and only had a few beers before bedtime.

Same thing on Monday. Woke up pretty early and went for a long run. When I was almost back home I got a text message from my boss, saying we needed to talk about my performance over the last few days. My answer “Suck my balls” probably summed up the conversation much better than any in-person meeting. I found that the best way to find porn with muscle studs in them was to search in the gay section. Just because you like to watch big arms and strong backs doesn’t make you homo. I jacked off to the videos until it was time to eat lunch. By 2 pm I was climbing on the fucking walls in anticipation, and every minute felt like too long. Perhaps it wouldn’t arrive today at all? I heard the mailman at 2:18 and rushed out wearing only shorts and snapback.

The mailbox was stuffed full with a big, soft envelope. I tore it open on my way back inside, kicked the door shut, and emptied the contents on my kitchen table. A big black something fell out, as well as something small that rattled across the table. Ignoring the letters, as usual, I unfolded the cloth. It was a big, black hoodie in sweatshirt material, with the print “STRONG” on the front. Finally arms! I picked up the small plastic box that almost fell off the table and opened it. It contained some sort of advanced mouthguard mad in blue, white, and transparent plastic of different hardness and flex. The kind that football players use.

Not knowing what to do next, I went to the gym and spent a few hours just randomly doing low weight, high rep stuff. I was trying to catch a glimpse of everyone else who worked out to see what their arms and legs looked like. Once I felt it was too obvious I wasn’t doing anything serious I drove home, but instead of going inside I started to walk and walked for hours just looking. It felt good just to be in motion. I didn’t return back until the sun started to set, and it was almost fully dark when I walked through the door.

I decided to just go ahead with the last piece of transformation. I stepped out of my sneakers and pulled off my damp socks. It didn’t smell of strawberries. I pulled off the T-shirt and stepped out of the basket shorts, but kept the compression shorts on. I grabbed the hoodie from the table and put it over my head. Perhaps it was me, but it smelled of musky sweat inside while I put it on. I poured myself a big glass of water and downed it.

I walked with the small plastic box to the bathroom and had a look in the mirror. I didn’t really look that different. The big hoodie hid my newly athletic front. The legs and feet looked strong, but who ever notices that? My big bulge in the compression pants was however a change from the past week that couldn’t easily be hidden. I opened the box and put the mouthguard into my mouth. It fit snugly and didn’t change my appearance much either. Not knowing what to do with the hoodie I put it up over my head and pulled it tighter with the drawstrings so all but my face was gone. Then I turned off all the lights and went to bed.

It was still dark when I woke up. Instantly I knew it had worked, because I couldn’t feel the mouthguard in my mouth, though it felt different. As if the ghost of the mouthguard was still there, prying my mouth open. I felt some sort of pressure on my head, as if I was wearing a hat or a beanie or something. I was about to feel my head when I realized moving my arm felt different. Not wanting to fuck around any longer I went straight to the bathroom again to have a look in the mirror. I stared at my reflection with open mouth. The difference was breathtaking.

First of all I wasn’t wearing any top, so my abs and pecs were on full display, but they were also bigger than before. Everything was bigger. My shoulders were much bigger, my entire upper body looked wider than before, and everything about the arms were huge. My face was still my face, but there were lots of small changes. “Fucking dope” I said with a much deeper voice than what I had before. I smiled a smirk and flexed the arms in different poses. I couldn't wait to show up at the gym doing an arm day. I just needed to have another shower. My dick needed service, and I felt sluggish, as if I hadn't really wakened up yet.

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