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after-witch · 1 year ago

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The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Title: The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Synopsis: You're a District 2 school graduate who comes to the Capitol with her father before the 11th Hunger Games. You don't expect to meet anyone kind, especially not someone named Coriolanus Snow who offers you his arm, his smile, and treats in secret.

Word Count: 5270

notes: yandere, abusive relationship, non-graphic descriptions of torture and death (not against reader); uses a mixture of book and movie canon

The Capitol was not as dazzling as your father described it but then, he had seen it before the war. Though perhaps it was your own bitterness that made you ignore the signs of returning prosperity that sets it above everywhere else.

The repaired elaborate buildings, the fresh pungent smell of plaster and paint. The cars pumping exhaust fumes into the air. The low rumble of garbage trucks that pick up bright green garbage cans, some of which are actually teeming with plastic trash bags. Such waste was unheard of, even in the oh-so-loyal District 2, where only the lowest of the low find themselves starving.

Although not-starving didn’t mean that everything was plentiful.

You, though, were lucky enough to avoid the lima bean heavy diet that some of your classmates (now former--graduation was months ago) lived on. Or were you? The meat that graced your family’s dinner table, the pats of butter on toast, were all courtesy of your father’s immense talent in building creative weapons that allowed the Capitol to stamp out every last bit of rebellion in the Districts. That allowed them to regain control. That allowed them to create the Hunger Games.

Which is why you were in the Capitol now. Oh, not to participate in them. Your father’s status in District 2 had seen to that; it would be a scandal if the name of his beloved daughter were to ever be pulled.

You were there because your father had been given a lucrative contract, one that was sure to cement your family’s wealth for generations: a contract to build high-tech weapons for the Hunger Games themselves.

They would still be killing. But on a much smaller scale, you supposed, than the weapons your father designed during the war.

Still. Blood was blood. And if it had to be spilled, well, there was nothing you could do about it except hope they died quickly. Especially the ones from District 2.

Last year’s Games’ had been awful enough. Your family had watched the Games on a modest television set in the privacy of your living room, sent courtesy of the Capitol.

You wondered if you would ever get the sight of Marcus’ battered, bloated face from your mind; if you would ever unhear the way his body thumped to the ground when that girl had killed him, out of mercy. If you would ever stop imagining what it must have felt like in those last moments.

But it wasn’t all horror. You’d liked Lucy Gray well enough, even though she was from 12. She had a wild way of dressing and the singing--it was practically theatrical, compared to what you’d heard about the previous games.

Maybe that was why your father got this contract: theatrics. Maybe the games would be more dramatic from now on. Maybe they wanted tributes like Lucy Gray, who sang and spit and poisoned her way to Victory. It was strange, really, that there’d been hardly any talk of her since her win.

“Father?” You asked, quietly as you could.

Both of you were standing in the foyer of the grand university in the Capitol. The outside was still a little ravaged, but inside, it was perfectly lovely. Walls lined with books--perhaps some of them were fake--and marble floors and marble busts dotting the sight lines.

“Mm?” He replied, eyes scanning over his clipboard. He flips it, here and there.

“I was just thinking. About last year’s games. About Lucy Gray, and how the Games--”

Your father rounded on you, eyes suddenly serious and blazing.

“Quiet. Weren’t you paying attention on the way here?” Admittedly, you were not. You’d been daydreaming about what you might do now that you were done with school. There was no university in District 2, and your father hadn’t even mentioned a job. “You’re not supposed to mention--”

“Not supposed to mention whom? Ah, ah, ah. Lucy Gray Baird?” called a voice, almost in sing-song.

Your father stood up stiff, and the life seemed to drain from his face.

Both of you look towards the sound of the voice, and now it’s your turn to stiffen. The voice came from a woman standing in the doorway of the very office that your father was waiting to enter. She was wearing an elaborate jacket made of what looked like rainbow snake scales. Her hair was gray and curly. She had, you realized, two different colored eyes.

Your father swallowed, and you could see the apple of it bob up and down. It made you think, abruptly, of suckling pigs.

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, in a voice far too tight to be relaxed. “I apologize for my daughter’s insubordination, I assure you, she meant no--”

Dr. Gaul waved her hands at him and approached you.

“Did you like last year’s games?” She didn’t look angry. No, she looked delighted.

“I…” It was your turn to swallow, your turn to feel that tightness. “It-it was the first time I’ve watched them, ma’am.” You want to ask this woman: do you think I liked watching someone from my District 2 so horribly? Or any District, really? Did I like it?

Her smile grew wider.

“I’m glad. You’ll be watching them every year from now on, I hope. We have big plans.” Her eyebrows raised high. “Big changes. Thanks to men like your father.” She glanced at him and you saw disdain flicker across her gaze.

And then another door opened, and you heard the sound of polished shoes on the marble floor. Dr. Gaul’s attention dropped away from you like you were nothing at all. She turned to meet the sound of these footsteps, and you did too.

It was a young man. Probably your age, you thought, with light blonde hair and eyes that your mother would have described as “baby blue.” He didn’t look at you, or your father. But that was nothing new. You’d only been in the Capitol for 2 days, and you’d already gotten used to being treated as lesser than. Though, at least, you were not so far down on the food chain that you lost your tongue.

“Ah, my protege,” said Dr. Gaul, giving the young man a grin. The smile on her face almost looked warm, which was somehow far more terrifying than her manic smile from earlier. “Ever the earnest student. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying the day off, Mr. Snow?”

The young man, this “Snow,” chuckled and lowered his gaze. “I couldn’t stay away once I heard you were discussing some of the new prototypes for this year’s games.”

He finally looked at your father, and then at you. But only briefly.

“Can I assume that this is…?”

Dr. Gaul nodded.

“Yes. My little designer from District 2. And his daughter.” Her voice dropped a few octaves when she referred to you. She probably didn’t want you here, you thought. You weren’t supposed to come, but your father had begged the Capitol for a pass; it would probably be your only chance to see it, he said, so you may as well take advantage of the chance.

Snow nodded to your father. It was a surprising gesture, almost respectful. But cold, too, like it was done from necessity rather than anything else.

Your father stammered a bit and nodded back, and you felt shame begin to creep into your bones. It wasn’t fair, to be lesser-than. But weren’t others lesser-than you in your own District, where you ate better food and never worried that your name would get picked, that your blood would be spilled?

Everyone

But when Snow turned to you, he smiled. It gave him dimples.

It was the first kind smile anyone in the Capitol gave you.

“My name is Coriolanus Snow. I doubt you’ve heard of me, but if Dr. Gaul’s teachings have anything to say about it, perhaps one day you’ll know me as a Gamemaker.”

You didn’t know what to say. Congratulations, one day you’ll be coordinating Games that kill people? Instead, you gave your name, voice squeakier than you meant it. But it was fitting, you supposed. Here, you were a mouse, hoping you would get a bite of cheese and make it home unpoisoned.

Dr. Gaul’s face seemed to react slowly, as if she couldn’t decide what she thought about his words or your interaction, but a small smile grew on it, eventually. “I do have high hopes for you, Mr. Snow. Now, shall we?”

She gestured for your father to follow, face once again impassive with a sprinkle of disdain, as she led the two of them into her office.

Snow gave you a smile and a nod before he left.

You waved, stupidly.

Your father didn’t even look back.

I’m dead. I’m dead. I might as well be dead.

Your heartbeat kept time with your racing thoughts as you went up and down corridors, begging your shoes to be silent, wishing your breath would catch and stop coming out in terrible pants.

You were lost. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. If someone found you, if the wrong person found you, they would think you were running, trying to get lost in the Capitol; they’d think you were a rebel. They’d shoot you.

Just when you thought you might collapse and die from your own nervous exhaustion, you heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

Your name.

It was only the moment after that you realized it didn’t come from your father’s mouth, but the lips of--what his name--Coriolanus Snow. The young man who was a Gamemaker-in-training, or so your father said. But that’s all he would say. He kept tight about anything that went on behind closed doors.

But this Coriolanus Snow smiled at you, and didn’t look at you like you were some kind of insect he might want to pin on a board, and so when you whirled around to look at him you were smiling.

Ah--for a moment. For just a moment, you saw his muscles tense. You saw the expression on his face falter in worry. Like he thought he was about to miss a step on a staircase, and corrected himself; like he thought you were a wolf and you were only somebody’s dog, off their leash.

But it wasn’t too surprising. You knew most people in the Capitol thought anyone from the Districts wanted to rip out their throats.

Well, the worry was mutual. Except in your case, you were forced to walk around with the living proof of that worry--all those “Avoxes,” they called them. Without tongues, without freedom.

But you swallow all that. Because he smiled at you. Because maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend. Especially right now.

“I’m--I’m lost,” you tell him, giving a shaky smile. “I was waiting for my father, but you see, I got to thinking, and I started to wander around and now I’m… well. I don’t know where I am, actually.”

His smile wasn’t very deep, was it? It was like the gloss of paint on the outside of the Capitol buildings. Pretty to look at, but there must be more underneath.

You expected him to lead you right back to where you’re supposed to be.

Instead, he asked you something.

“What were you thinking about?

You couldn’t tell him. Could you? But something about

“About… the Games.”

You don’t tell him that you were thinking about Lucy Gray and all those snakes, and the way that Dr. Gaul’s outfit that first day made you think of them. Because your father had slapped you across the face when you got back to your lodgings that night, and told you to never, ever bring up Lucy Gray Baird or the 10th Games unless you were directly asked. And you would probably never be asked.

Coriolanus gave a little snort through his nose. You liked it. It was nice to know that even Capitol people could seem a little dorky.

“They aren’t for another 3 months. Are you that eager to see them?”

You didn’t know what expression you made, exactly. It was so instinctive and fast that you didn’t have time to control it.

You only knew that it made him shake his head and offer you a sympathetic look.

“I apologize. That was rude, wasn’t it?”

And then he did a strange thing.

He offered you his arm.

Like you were Capitol, like you were a real person, and not some visiting District wench walking on the coattails of her arms-dealing father.

“Let me walk you back to the waiting area.”

And the stranger thing?

You took it.

You and your father were quickly moved into a small apartment within the university, once it became clear that he would be staying in the Capitol through the duration of the Games. It was best, he said, because ordinary people in the Capitol didn’t really want to see new faces from the Districts mingling around unless their tongue had been cut out first. It made them nervous. The rebel bombings, and all that.

You didn’t mind, because it meant you didn’t have to be flanked by Peacekeepers on the streets.

And, well.

You got to see Coriolanus more often. Sometimes he greeted you, sometimes he didn’t. He did it less often when Dr. Gaul was there, unless she was talking to your father and it gave him an opportunity.

He asked you things, too, when he caught you walking back to your father’s little apartment. Like what you did back home. What you liked to do. Whether you went to school, and what you planned to do now that you have graduated.

This morning, he caught you drawing while you waited in a chair outside Dr. Gaul’s office. Sometimes you waited there--you would admit to no one that it was to catch a glimpse of the kindest person you’d met in the Capitol--and other times you stayed in your temporary home.

“What are you drawing?” He asked. But he had a way of speaking that you’d quickly clocked into. He can make a demand sound like a polite little question. Oh, he wasn’t mean about it, but it reminded you of the way your father talked to his underlings back in District 2. On his home turf, he was far smoother than he was here, where his voice stammered and sweat beaded on his neck.

So you handed it over, even though, to your greatest embarrassment, you’d drawn… him.

“Why me?” He had a smile on his lips. His smiles were nice. Kind. The kindest you’d seen since you came here. But they always felt like that fresh coat of paint; like you didn’t know what he really meant by them, and that was how he liked it.

“You’re… important,” is all you could come up with. You felt small, then. He would dismiss and probably never want to talk to you again. What a stupid answer from a stupid girl.

But he just smiled. It was like paint peeling a little. You could see underneath that he liked what you said, although you weren’t exactly sure why. And his expression tightened up so quickly, protecting what you’d seen, that you weren’t entirely sure if it was real or not.

“I’m just a humble student at this university. Not so important. Not yet.”

You were really going to die, now. This wasn’t some panicked imagination gone wrong, some flight of fancy that took a wrong turn.

A pair of stony-faced Peacekeepers had walked up to where you sat in the waiting area near Dr. Gaul’s office and ordered you to come with them.

You asked to talk to your father. They said no. You asked where you were going. They yanked you up.

And now they were leading you down hallways that you’d never seen before, where there weren’t even Avoxes roaming the halls with brooms and dustpans.

They didn’t even answer, just spun around and walked back the way they came. You pushed the door open reluctantly--what the hell was going to be on the other side?--and it was--it was--

It was Coriolanus. Standing there in a nice suit, eyes downcast on a book. Until the door creaked and he looked up.

“What--why did you bring me here? Did I do something wrong?” The thought went through you, that perhaps this had all been a test, to see if you were loyal to the Capitol and he’d found you wanting.

“No,” he said, simply enough. He set the book down and gestured for you to step inside. You did, because what else were you going to do, in some strange room in a Capitol University where you’d been forcibly brought by Peacekeepers.

Snow studied your face. Your eyes darted around, from him, to the room, to the door.

“I wanted to see you,” he said, a little softer. “In private.”

“Me?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But… why?”

He smiled. “Come now, you’re a smart girl, even if you aren’t in university.”

You really didn’t know. Not at first. But then you watched the way his expression softened, and you remembered it, or glimpses of it, that he’d given you before. When he complimented your drawing. When he said your name. When he escorted you back from the maze of hallways. And his smiles, all his smiles, although you were never sure how much they meant coming from home.

He took a step closer. You didn’t dare step back. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back, but it didn’t matter, either way.

He pressed his lips to yours and took your first kiss, in a secluded little study in the heart of the Capitol University.

Your days became routine, although the routine was strictly forbidden and could have probably gotten you executed or at best, gotten you a one-way ticket to a tasteless existence.

You wake up. You stay in your apartment. You wait for the Peacekeepers. You get summoned here and there, always private rooms, secret rooms, rooms out of the way. You meet Snow--Coriolanus, he said, call him that--and you talk (well, mostly him) and kiss and sometimes a little bit more. He gives you gifts. Trinkets, necklaces that you can only wear under your shirt. Food, flaky pastries made with mountains of sugar, sandwiches made with cream and cucumber.

But how much longer could it go on? The Games were going to start soon. As soon as they were over, you were going back to your District. There would be no more meetings, no more kisses. No more wondering how far he wanted to go or why he liked you or even if he even liked you as anything more than someone to keep him busy.

You didn’t dare talk about the Games, but you did talk about this. In the kindest way you knew how for such a sensitive subject.

“I’ll miss you,” you told Coriolanus after one meeting, when you’re both sitting on a sofa and he’s got your fingers tightly wound in his. He squeezed them tight.

“Miss me?”

“After the Games,” you clarified. “We’re being sent home right after.”

He squeezed your fingers until it hurt a little. Then he looked up at you. To see if you would say something? Or did he not know how strong he was?

“Oh, that. I can arrange for you to stay.”

Your chest began to feel sick.

“Stay? In the Capitol?” You were torn about Coriolanus, but you didn’t want to stay here. You couldn’t.

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “You wouldn’t be the first person from the District granted such an extreme privilege. I’m sure I could--”

“But I don’t know if I want to stay.”

His gaze narrowed and you felt your stomach clench. He looked at the necklace you��d pulled out as soon as the door was shut, at your lips where a dollop of strawberry cream still rested.

“I treat you so well, and you don’t know if you want to stay with me?”

His voice was calm, and that scared you. It would have been better if he flew off the handle.

Instead, he simply stood up and gently sent you out the door, and called the Peacekeepers to bring you back to your apartment.

Every night for the last week, you have cried yourself to sleep. Because every day for the last week, Coriolanus Snow has not sent for you. Not even once.

What if he told someone? What if you got sent back early, and your father was shamed? What if they broke his contract? Or--worse, worse, worse. There were so many worse things than merely being sent back to District 2.

And then he sent for you, and it was the longest walk of your life, though it was no farther than any of the times you’ve been escorted to your secret meetings.

This time, when you pushed open the door, Coriolanus was not alone.

There was an Avox in the room.

It was someone from District 2.

You didn’t know her. Not personally. But you saw her, before. She worked in one of the munitions factories and you watched her walk to work from your classroom window sometimes. Then she stopped showing up, and you thought perhaps she got married.

That delusion was shattered the moment you saw her, eyes downcast to the floor, wearing a simple gray tunic.

It’s not until Coriolanus tells you to hurry up and come in that you’re able to move. Even then, you weren’t sure how your body did it; how your arms managed to gain the mobility to shut the door, to twist the lock; how your legs moved, one foot in front of the other, until you were standing stiffly in front of him.

The Avox--you wish you knew her name, but she couldn’t give it to you now, even if you asked--moved seamlessly to a table set up nearby. There was tea and sweets. The sort of thing that you and Coriolanus had been enjoying together for the past few weeks. The sort of thing that you were sure would sit sour in your stomach, now.

The cup shook in your hands when she handed it to you, and your tears dripped right into the tea.

Coriolanus glanced at the Avox and waved his hand. She left obediently. She would never tell the secret she witnessed in his room, that much was certain.

And then he looked back at you.

“Don’t cry,” he said. Soft but firm. A command, not a coo. “You shouldn’t cry here, in the Capitol. You should be grateful to be here. You should be grateful that I’ve arranged all this for you.”

“I am,” you whispered.

“Then show me that you are.”

And you did.

You said what he wanted and looked to him to show you how he wanted you to act, and did just that. You didn’t argue, even to lightly banter. You kissed him and nodded along when he told you about how things would be after the Games, when he had arranged for you to stay.

All you had to do was keep him happy until the Games were over, and then you could go home.

Bitterly, all of this made you realize just how much of your father is in you; he knew how to appease the Capitol. You could do the same with Coriolanus Snow. At least until the Games were over. Just keep him happy until the Games were done and the blood was spilled, and you would go home.

They wouldn’t let him keep you here after the games. You were sure of that. You’d overheard some of Dr. Gaul’s assistants murmuring how glad they would be to send the District profiteers like your father home once the Games were over. And you? You’re just his useless daughter, an appendage he brought like an unwelcome suitcase. Why would you be allowed to stay?

The Games were over. The winner was from District 1.

You were going home any day now. Just as soon as your father finished tinkering with the designs, gave his notes on improvements that might be made for next year.

The thought gave you a delightful bounce in your step. It was like having a pat of sweet butter in your shoe on a day when you needed good luck-- District 2 superstition, although the strict rationing meant most people didn’t have even a pat to slip into their shoes anymore.

The sweetness didn’t even disappear when the Peacekeepers showed up to bring you to Snow. It was going to be a bittersweet farewell, you were sure. He might be angry. But you would kiss him and tell him that there was nothing he could do, and how sorry you were not to be able to stay, but that was how things had to be.

Except they didn’t bring you down a maze of corridors that led to a secluded room.

They brought you right into Dr. Gaul’s office.

Breakfast threatened to evacuate your stomach with every step. Not just because of nerves, but because of what you saw. Rows of experiments in glass tubes; some of them move. You walk by a room with a half-open door that showed someone strapped to a gurney, face contorted in a silent scream as they fought against restraints. You almost did lose breakfast, then.

But somehow you made it to the desk of Dr. Gaul without a dribble of vomit to show for it.

The Peacekeepers left with no fanfare and you stood there, ramrod straight. Did she know? Was she going to tell you that you were going to be strapped to one of those gurneys, now?

“I’m keenly aware,” she said, keeping her hands primly folded, “on how much you’ve enthralled my star pupil.”

Toast. That’s what will come up first, you thought . The toast.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” Your voice was so thin and tinny that you didn’t even believe yourself.

And then the prim facade cracked, and Dr. Gaul threw her head back and grinned.

“You really think I don’t know everything that goes on within these walls? I know every time one of my lab assistants runs into the bathroom to throw up after a particularly nasty experiment. I know every time one of our university professors sneaks into a closet to down a vial of morphling with a student. And I certainly know when my newest protege is having an adorable little District girl brought to him for… canoodling.”

You weren’t even embarrassed. No. You just felt terrified to the bone. You only hoped that you’d be killed, shot against a wall, instead of made into an Avox. Let there be some mercy in this world.

”He’s asked to keep you, you know.” Her voice was low, almost a drawl. She tapped her fingers on her desk rhythmically.

“My Coriolanus Snow wants a bird of his own.” Her smile turned darker. “Not a songbird, though. Oh, no. I think he’s had enough of those.”

Her gaze bored into yours, each color magnified by her intense expression. “I think if I let him have his pretty caged bird, he’ll be happy. He’s more productive if he’s happy.” She smiled. “I like productivity. It keeps the Games more interesting.”

She looked you over one more time, and then waved you away.

“I’ve granted his request. You’ll be staying here indefinitely, courtesy of one Mr. Snow. Your father has already been told.”

You were wrong.

It was not the toast that came up first, but the sweet butter you’d patted on top.

You still had your tongue, but you felt as though it was useless, stuck to the roof of your mouth, as Coriolanus fussed over your outfit. Or rather, as he directed an Avox to fuss over it for you. He could afford his own personal servant, now, he told you. He’d almost flinched after he said now, and you didn’t dare press him on it. Had he not been able to afford one before?

“We can’t walk arm-in-arm in public,” he said, walking around you, making sure the outfit was just-right. “But you can stand by me if I stop and direct you forward.” He reached over and fixed one of your buttons. “Don’t speak to anyone unless I’ve told you to, or they speak to you first. Always address someone older as ‘sir,’ or ‘ma’am.” He pointed at your hair, and the Avox began to fuss with it, eventually covering it in a colorful wrap that Coriolanus said was popular right now. “Address someone our age by the last name and Mr. or Ms.”

When he was satisfied with your appearance, he sent the Avox away. You liked it better that way, it was one last reminder of the horrors in the Capitol, even for someone “privileged” like you. You’d only been without your father for 3 days, but you felt like your nerves were continually on fire. You wanted to go home. You wanted your family. You wanted out of this place.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

For now, you were still living in the small university apartment the Capitol had given your father. Coriolanus insisted on it, until he could figure out how to move you into his own sprawling apartment that he shared with his cousin, Tigris (who, at least, genuinely sounded lovely) and his grandmother, Grandma’am. She was the sticking point, or so you were told, with a thin smile. She hated Districts, and she ought to, he said. They killed her son. His father.

She would hate you, too. Even if Coriolanus wanted you enough to make you stay with him; wanted you enough to keep you. But for how long? And would he change his mind, if you couldn’t fit in?

He said your name, and you snapped yourself out of your thoughts. He held you by your shoulders. Gently. Like one would an unruly child that hadn’t yet learned that there were such things as salad forks and dinner forks, as polite conversation and etiquette.

You got the feeling you wouldn’t have long to learn all of those things and more, to make him happy.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re District. You’re here because the Capitol has recognized that your loyalty can benefit us in some way. Be grateful.”

“I am,” you said, reflectively.

“Be happy..”

“I am,” you said again, your chest hitching.

He smiled at you. Was it real or not real?

You smiled back, regardless. And he liked that, evidently, because he leaned forward and kissed you. Then he scrutinized your face and wiped at your lips with his thumb--the kiss had smeared your lipstick.

“Good.”

He gestured towards the open doorway. This time, he didn’t take your arm. There would be too many people lingering in the university hallways, all making their way to the soiree held to celebrate the end of this year’s Games and discuss what improvements might be made for the next year.

You dutifully walked behind him, just like he said. And you would do exactly what he said in all respects. You would stay quiet unless you were spoken to, you would certainly never bring up anything confrontational or controversial, and you would make a good impression. You would be a loyal, grateful District citizen who was given the opportunity of a lifetime thanks to the graciousness of Coriolanus Snow.

Of course you would.

Your life depended on it.

#yandere coriolanus snow #yandere hunger games #yandere #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes #/slaps trunk #this baby can fit so many references to the books & movie in it.#... well not SO MANY #but enough

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navybrat817 · 6 months ago

Note

Would ceo Bucky and his girl attend the met gala? If so, any ideas on dresses perhaps!

They would, nonnie! As far as the dress, it would depend on the theme. Are we talking recent theme, a past theme, or a made up general theme?

Goes With the Theme

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky thinks his suit goes with a gala theme. You slightly disagree. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Established relationship, banter, flirting, implied sex, implied breeding, brief mention of past insecurities and bad ex, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he worships you. A/N: I blame @whisperlullaby and @targaryenvampireslayer. Before our couple has Cupcake and Bean. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky refused to tell you in advance what he was wearing to the upcoming gala. He said something about him wanting to surprise you. Of course, he knew exactly what you were wearing since he wanted the designer to make you a gown fit for a queen. He would’ve thrown in a tiara if you asked. It was too much, really.

But if you asked Bucky, nothing was too much for you.

The amount of money spent was just about worth it when he exited the bathroom and looked ready to drop to his knees when you spotted you in your dress. The colors suited you. The fit was like a glove. It was a work of art, really.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered, his eyes turning a darker shade of blue as you carefully twirled. It was exactly the reaction you wanted. “How exactly am I supposed to keep my hands off you tonight? A man can only take so much.”

“Because a lot went into this dress and you’re not allowed to tear apart,” you smiled before you took in his appearance.

Bucky Barnes turned head wherever he went and the head to toe black ensemble would be no exception. The slicked back hair was a good look on him and there was no denying that your man knew how to accessorize. He also wore enough custom suits for you to know what did and didn’t suit him. He would never fail to make you stop in your tracks from a single stare.

The man never missed a thing though, regarding you carefully as you stared. “You don’t like what I’m wearing,” he stated.

“No, I love it,” you assured him. And you did. You didn’t want him to think otherwise since the man could turn a paper bag into a thing of art and beauty if he chose to. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” He asked, holding his jacket open so you could get a glimpse of the shirt beneath molded to his torso. “I think I look good.”

You blinked and took a breath so you could answer him. Why did he have to be so distracting? “Not like you need the ego boost, but yes. You do look good,” you said. His smirk almost made you lose your breath again. “But does it really go with the theme?”

“What?” He shrugged. “Isn’t the theme ‘floral’?”

“It is and flowers are usually bright,” you pointed out. “You couldn't have gone with a floral jacket?”

“This is my interpretation of the theme.” He pointed to one of the black flowers. “Besides, this is a flower and it’s on my jacket. Therefore, it's a floral jacket.”

You tried not to smile. It was tough to argue with that logic. “Okay. Yes. There are flowers on your jacket, but-”

He cut you off with a smug smile. “So, I'm right.”

And wasn’t it just like a CEO to argue like this? And wasn’t it just like you to enjoy it? “You’re utterly ridiculous,” you giggled, gesturing to yourself. “Not to mention, I'm pretty much wearing the opposite of you!”

“And people will still know we’re together, Mrs. Barnes,” he winked. You loved being his wife. “Do you know why I wore this?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because a black suit? Any man can wear one. I’ll blend in with the crowd. But you in your gown? All eyes will be on you, as they should be,” he explained, your cheeks hot as he swept his gaze over you. “And I know I won’t take my eyes off you for a second tonight.”

“Oh,” you breathed, clearing your throat at the unexpected tears that clogged it. Your ex tried to make you feel bad about your body when all Bucky wanted to do was celebrate and worship it. More than that, he saw your beauty beneath the surface. “Thank you.”

Though you wanted to argue that Bucky wouldn’t blend in with the crowd. It wasn’t possible. He was too striking for that with his blue eyes and jawline. Too dominant with his large body. And too well known.

He didn’t care about that kind of attention. He was the kind of man who wanted to show you off. Not as a prize or because you were his, but because he loved you.

His eyes softened before they went dark again. “Fuck, you are so beautiful. A goddess,” he said, his voice rough as he stepped toward you. “We may not even make the gala.”

As much as his compliment warmed your heart, boosted your confidence, and dampened your panties, you shook your head. “Oh, no. Don't you even think about it. Do you know how long it took me to get into this dress? That doesn’t include perfecting my makeup. We are going.”

You nearly lost your nerve when he groaned and took another step toward you. That sound was one of your favorites, especially when it was your mouth, hand, or pussy drawing it out of him. “Cupcake, you’re always a vision. You don’t need a fancy dress or a stitch of makeup to be beautiful,” he said, licking his lips. “And you don’t need to wear a stitch of clothing right now either.”

“No.” You firmly pointed a finger at him. You were lucky he didn’t grab your wrist to kiss it. “You promised we'd make an appearance and the last thing you need to do is tell people we didn't show because you couldn't keep it in your pants for a few hours.”

The kicked puppy dog expression was one you had seen on Steve Rogers before, but it was adorable on Bucky. You held your chin high because you’d fall into his arms if you didn’t. “Fine,” he conceded, gripping your chin with infinite care. “But I make no promises that I'll behave in the limo on the way home.”

You’d enjoy your small victory over your handsome CEO and husband for the time being because he’d make you pay for it in the best way later. “Yes, Boss.”

“My perfect wife,” he whispered, delicately moving his hand along the column of your throat. Did he feel how fast your heart beat? “I may just have to knock you up before the night’s over, Mrs. Barnes.”

Your womb clenched at his words, imagining the filthy things he’d grunt in your ear as he bred you. It was almost enough to make you skip the gala, but why not build up the anticipation? “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t, Mr. Barnes,” you said, moving close enough for your lips to touch his.

The breath that rushed out of his lungs was like a kiss, teasing what would come before the night was over. “Don’t tease me, Cupcake.”

“Who said I was teasing you, Boss?” You murmured, pulling back before he could kiss you properly. “Time to go.”

He swore under his breath as he adjusted his pants. You were the only one who could get under his skin. “I’ll knock you up in the limo. Don’t test me.”

Your smile widened. What Bucky didn’t know was that underneath your dress was one of his favorite lacy floral numbers. A surprise and reward for him going to the gala. It would make him fall a little bit more in love with you once he undressed you.

Plus, it went with the theme.

“Looking forward to it.”

Another out of order AU. I'm so sorry, lovelies. And sorry to the nonnie for not fully answering the question! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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zara-renata · 2 months ago

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Not my type | ao3 | part 8 of this series

a tragicomedy starring Sylus and his clueless crush

Summary: Sylus pesters you on your day off while you're at the arcade until you agree to "lend your talents" to him for the evening. So of course you show up at the designated location only to discover it's a nightclub, and you're dressed for a murder, but not on the dance floor.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc This story contains: slow burn, angst, grief, banter, stalking (Sylus), an ongoing one-sided misunderstanding that will be resolved in the next instalment in a way that hopefully won't destroy the romantic tension, mc with self-esteem issues, mentions of self harm, Kieran and Luke and some ocs that hopefully you'll like.

In the days following your utter humiliation at the hands of the Hunter Association’s most wanted criminal, you’re doing fine. Really. You are Fine.

You had a great time at the bookstore with Xavier, who kindly said nothing about your state of dishevelment or the glaring human bite mark on your shoulder when you answered the door that morning. You both lazily wandered between the bookshelves, leisurely reading summaries and showing each other finds that you thought the other would also enjoy. You stopped at the bookstore café and loaded up on sugary iced coffee.

“Here, try this, I think you’ll like it,” you offer your iced mocha with caramel drizzle and whipped cream to Xavier as you begin walking back home together, each carrying a shoulder tote full of manga stuffed with hot guys and big swords, after having spent probably half of this month’s paycheck in one impulse-fueled spree.

“Okay, but then you also have to try mine,” he smiles, holding his own cup out to you. You look at it dubiously, recalling from hearing him order that it had some sort of peppermint flavor in it.

“No way I’m drinking sugar-flavored toothpaste,” you grimace, shaking your head.

“What? Noo, it’s really good, I promise. The peppermint is really subtle. You can’t only just consume chocolate and caramel in your desserts. You’ve got to be a little more adventurous, or you might miss out on something surprising,” he earnestly advises, blue eyes wide, a little pout on his lips.

You eye the offending drink again, and then figure, why not? You’ve gone through much worse, recently, in terms of unpleasant experiences. You should try new things, of the food variety. Because you’re done trying new things of the people variety.

You take his cup and hand over yours, and you both quietly sip for a moment. Your eyes meet again, and both of you grin. “That’s really good!” you admit, and Xavier gently knocks your shoulder with his. “I told you so,” he smiles serenely.

“All right, all right. I’ll listen to my partner more from now on,” you exchange drinks again.

It was nice. Back at his place, you both lazed around on his soft couch and bean bag chair and read until the sunlight drifting through his windows was the golden-tinge of the setting sun, and his persistent yawning was so frequent that you decided to put him out of his misery. You couldn’t punish him by overstaying your welcome simply because you didn’t want to go back to your empty flat with all of your racing thoughts.

“Thanks for today, it was a really nice break,” you tell him as you’re gathering your manga volumes and slipping them back into your tote bag.

“It was,” he yawns again, tears forming at the sides of his clear bright eyes. “We should do it again soon. But I’m going to be out of town for a little while, starting tomorrow.” He gives you an apologetic look.

“Hey, no worries. I wasn’t going to demand you spend all of your leave entertaining me,” you smile, genuinely. You always miss him when he disappears mysteriously, but he’s gotten so much better at telling you when he plans to be away compared to how he was when you first partnered with him.

“I know. I just…” he pauses. “If you need me. For anything. Just send me a text, okay? I’ll come back as soon as I can. I don’t like the idea of you being left to your own devices for too long.” He gives you a teasing smile. “Who knows what other strange companions you’ll pick up if left alone for too long,” he continues, obviously referring to how you stumbled upon him in the no-hunt zone so many months ago. However, the only thing that comes to mind when he says “strange companions” is the image of narrowed scarlet eyes, a laugh that warms you like a shot of whiskey, and big, big hands.

You chuckle, totally naturally, and not nervously at all, mind racing, trying to figure out if he somehow knows that Sylus was at your place last night, and if so, if he knows who Sylus is exactly. Shit. Shit. Nope. You’re not doing this. Xavier is making an innocent joke about how the two of you met, and Sylus does not get to bulldoze into your thoughts while you’re having fun with your partner.

“I’ll be the paragon of caution, I promise,” you say solemnly. “I promise I won’t talk to any shady strangers while you’re away.” You nod firmly to him.

He smiles, seemingly reassured. “Good. Try to get some rest over the next few days. The Captain is right, you need some R&R. Even I couldn’t decipher your reports, and I feel like I’ve gotten pretty good at translating your … particular style of writing under most conditions.”

“Hey, at least I use actual words when texting,” you roll your eyes, pointing at him. He snorts softly, and you wave and make your way back to your apartment, where you proceed to spend the next few days manically cleaning your apartment and researching online for advice regarding acting, bluffing, the subtle art of reading micro-expressions and how to control your own, and in general all things you tell yourself are useful for your undercover work, and not because you anticipate having to lie to everyone you know and care about for as long as a certain hooligan continues to insert himself into your life when you least expect it.

But as the days pass, you don’t hear anything from said hooligan. The only crow feathers outside your window are of the normal variety, swaying in the branches of trees whose leaves are falling as autumn encroaches on the last days of summer in the city.

You decide, once again, to grab the memory of him by the throat and shove it down deep, with all of the other things you refuse to examine too closely. You’re probably close to running out of storage room, but that’s a problem for future you.

For present you, it’s time to hit the arcade. You haven’t been in a while. So that’s what you do, enjoying the cacophony of games music and sound effects, people laughing and shrieking as they win and lose, the too-bright lights, the scent of fried food. The wall of sound and lights and other people just having a simple, entertaining weekend afternoon is enough to drown out any overthinking you might otherwise be sucked into.

It works for a while. You spend some time beating teenagers at some 1 v 1 fighting games, beat some younger kids at your favorite motocross simulation. You manage to not make anyone cry, although for one poor kid it seemed like a close call for a minute or two, before his buddies dragged him away to get some soda as a consolation drink for being beaten within an inch of his pubescent life by the adult weirdo who demolishes children in video games.

You’re finally trying your hand at getting a few new plushies to bring home when you realize you’ve managed to go a couple hours without missing your grandmother, or Caleb. The only people who knew you, really knew you, as a child, and were therefore the scaffolding holding up the unfinished architecture of the adult you, with all of its missing floors and windows, and all the storage rooms hidden behind walls with no doors. But that scaffolding is gone now, and you can’t turn to them and reassure yourself: I am still me, right? I am still the me who I always have been, despite the scarlet voices in my head that come to me in frightening dreams, despite the endless hunger, the exquisite drowning I felt the one time I resonated with Sylus…I’m a good person. I’m a kind person. I’m a loveable person. Right? You loved me, right?

There’s no one left to ask, now. Just you, looking at yourself in the glass reflection of a claw machine, in a noisy arcade filled with people having fun. You haven’t been able to win even one plushie yet.

You take your hand off the joystick, suddenly exhausted. You will not cry in front of the stuffed llamas and penguins. They don’t deserve that.

Your phone dings.

You fish it out of one of your cargo pants pockets, and scowl when you see the name of the person texting you.

Not My Sy: I feel that Ive been more than generous in giving you sufficient time to draft your little rules, but Im starting to get bored waiting for you to send them.

You just stare at your phone, as the door of the basement that you had just slammed closed where you stuff all of your unwanted thoughts bursts open, flooding you with feelings you’re trying so hard not to feel. Just the sight of the nickname he gave himself in your phone fills you with a rush of anticipation—a thrill that aches. And that is exactly why you hadn’t sent him the rules you had insisted on imposing on his surprise visits to your place. One, because you refuse to reach out to him first and therefore lose. Lose what, you’re not sure, but you’re tired of feeling like you’re losing to him. If he wants to talk to you, he knows your number. Two, there is no longer any point to sending him the Rules. He can’t come to your place if he wants to talk to you, because the deal’s off. He can find some other place to recuperate from headaches and papercuts and someone else to manipulate and to… kiss, and bite.

You will not allow him to affect you like this anymore. You stuff your phone into your back pocket and decide to save all the tokens you still have for another day. Time to pick up some tacos and go home to binge watch a series of films that make you yell at the screen because no one can get shot that many times and not fucking die, what a load of bullshit, but you’ll keep watching anyway because the gunplay choreography is pretty badass even if it’s completely nonsensical. There’s also a dog in it. You’ve never been able to resist an anti-hero with a soft spot for animals.

Your phone dings again. You tell yourself that you won’t look. You have plans, dammit. Ones you just made, granted, but you’re not going to get roped into whatever little scheme Sylus thinks he can run on you today.

You wrap your hoodie tighter around yourself in preparation for the rush of cool autumn air as the arcade’s door swings shut behind you. Your phone dings again. You grit your teeth and reach into your pocket to flick your phone to silent.

Almost immediately, your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket. And it doesn’t stop. It just… keeps going. You jerk to a halt and just stand there, feeling it vibrate against your ass, over and over and over again. What the fuck is this lunatic doing?!

Finally, you reach for your phone again and angrily open his messages as you start moving again.

Not My Sy: Hmm, I see youve been busy in your phone settings. Cant say Im fond of the change. Allow me to fix it for you.

My Sy: Much better.

My Sy: Oh, I see how it is. A certain kitten thinks I can be left on read without any consequences. Are we feeling a little sullen today, sweetie?

My Sy: Hmm, I see that you decided not to wear one of my gifts out today on your little jaunt to one of my establishments. Probably for the best. They fit you perfectly, but expose enough skin that theyre not very practical for a brisk autumn afternoon at the arcade. Good call.

My Sy: I also dont think the teenagers you just slaughtered at the arcade could have handled the loss and the gorgeous view.

My Sy: Ah, would we prefer vibration as stimulation this afternoon? Im happy to help with that.

My Sy: Pick

My Sy: Up

My Sy: Your

My Sy: Phone

My Sy: I

My Sy: Can

My Sy: Do

My Sy: This

My Sy: All

My Sy: Day

My Sy: You

My Sy: Look

My Sy: Adorable

My Sy: When

My Sy: Youre

My Sy: Mad

My Sy: Like

My Sy: A

My Sy: Fluffy

My Sy: Little

My Sy: Kitten

My Sy: Back

My Sy Arched

My Sy: Fur

My Sy: Puffed

As the wall of messages load, you stop so quickly on the sidewalk that someone bumps into you from behind. You barely resist the urge to launch them into traffic with a one armed shoulder throw. Two more messages pop up.

My Sy: Oh I like the look on your face now

My Sy: Makes me want to grab you by the tail

The person behind you has the good sense to just keep going without saying anything to you, but that may have something to do with the fact that you’re now spinning in circles, eye darting wildly in an attempt to locate Sylus, or Mephisto, or the twins, or some security camera, so that you can take out whatever eyes are feeding Sylus your image right now.

You: where is it?

Instead of an answering text, your phone begins to vibrate in your hand, and … a picture you did not take appears on the screen along with Sylus’s incoming call.

In the photo, Sylus is leaning against your pillows, one arm leisurely bent behind his head, his bare bulky chest on full display as he lifts the phone with his other arm. You are fast asleep on top of him, face turned so that all that is visible in the picture is your hair—bedhead on full inglorious display. It is clear from the photo that you have your face smashed between Sylus’s man tits. He is smiling wide, the laughter clear in bright eyes that stare straight into the camera lens and now into you, with your mouth agape at finding this as his contact picture on your phone.

He must be texting while letting the call continue, because the notification of a new text pops up over his contact picture.

My Sy: I can work with this facial expression too.

You shut your mouth so fast and hard that your teeth click.

My Sy: While I love your teeth most of the time, well need to work on that bite.

Before your brain melts from imagining what he could do with your open mouth and how he’d handle your sharp teeth, you slam your thumb on the end call button, power down your phone, stuff it back in your pocket, and begin marching toward the metro station to get home. Fuck him. Fuck the tacos. You’ll go to Xavier’s apartment with the spare key he gave you for when he’s out of town, order takeout, and hide for the rest of the night.

Suddenly, your phone begins vibrating once again. You stop again, this time startling a pair of teenage girls who take one look at your face and cross to the other side of the street before continuing in the same direction. Great, now you’re not just pummeling children at video games, but scaring them as well. You open your phone and see Sylus calling again. You stare at the one nipple you can see in the picture. Your mouth waters. You’re not even surprised that he has fucked with your phone to the point that he can simply turn it back on remotely if you decide to turn it off.

My Sy: I told you kitten, I can do this all day. Some friendly advice: might as well accept the inevitable and pick up. Im used to your attention now. I don’t like being ignored.

The phone keeps ringing, vibrating in your hand. You let your hands hang at your sides, and tilt your head to look up into the crisp, sunny autumn sky.

You wonder if you’re strong enough for this. You can eliminate wanderers in your sleep. You can outmanoeuvre, outfight, outgun and outlast most hostile humans. You can even outsmart and outplay most people you meet when you’ve had a proper night’s sleep. But you’ve never met anyone like Sylus Qin. You can’t hide in Xavier’s flat forever. No matter how friendly you’ve become since you first partnered with him, he’d probably throw you out the window if you tried. And eventually, Sylus will come to collect what he thinks you owe him for allowing you to shoot him through the fucking heart. Wouldn’t it better to pretend to be on good terms with him, to make it as painless as possible? Instead of being a stone wall, trying to keep him and all the ways you know he can already hurt you out, you can be like water. Let him and the pain he’ll bring simply… pass right through you. Water is resilient. And if he burns you, well. You already saw it coming, right? You’ll simply dissipate into a puff of steam and float away. With enough time, you’ll heal—you’ll re-coalesce in the atmosphere, and you’ll fall back into yourself like rain. You can survive him, if you can adapt quickly enough.

You lift the phone, dig your earbuds out of one of your pockets and put them in your ears, and then answer his video call.

“Took you long enough,” Sylus’s beautiful voice flows directly into your brain.

“Sorry, I was a bit busy. Can I help you with something?” You close your eyes and will your face to relax, let your shoulders fall. You breathe in, the earthy scent of dying leaves filling your nostrils. You are water. You open your eyes.

He’s staring at you through the phone, a slight frown on his severely handsome face.

“Sylus?” You hold the phone a little closer to yourself as people flow around you on the sidewalk. When you look back, he’s still just… watching you.

“I have to admit, sweetheart, that this is not the greeting I was expecting when you finally picked up.”

“And what were you expecting?” You decide to keep walking. You’ll be fine. This will be fine. Multitasking is good. One foot in front of the other, and Sylus’s face, so distant, but still in the palm of your hand, in a small way. You can be satisfied with this.

He takes a moment, seems to choose his words carefully. “A little more life,” he responds. You let your hand holding the phone fall to your side for a moment. It will take a little while, to fully get into the headspace where whatever he says, can’t affect you. You just need a little more time. You breathe, you breathe, you breathe.

You bring the phone back up to your face, make your way through the crowd on the sidewalk. People must be scrambling to enjoy the last few bright days of the year before the long slide into the dark fall. You hadn’t expected so many to be out and about on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

“One would think you’d be used to me disappointing you by now,” you say, shrugging. “Can you tell me why you called?”

Sylus suddenly looks angry, and you resist the fear-fueled urge to throw your phone. You haven’t seen him look at you like that since… well. For a while.

“Sylus?”

“In what universe have you ever disappointed me?” he asks, voice even, controlled.

You can’t help it. You laugh. The kind of laugh that can spiral into something unhinged, if you weren’t water. Instead, it sinks into you like a stone. “Oh, I dunno, maybe this one, when you literally said ‘How disappointing’ and sneered that there was something wrong with me when I couldn’t resonate with you,” you say drily. You are water. Whatever he says next will simply ripple through you, and then fade into stillness.

But he doesn’t say anything. You peek at the phone screen. He’s looking away, his hand covering his mouth. You can’t tell what expression he’s making. Maybe Luke and Kieran are doing something silly offscreen.

In the end, none of it matters. “Okay, well, if you don’t want to tell me, I’m about to head into the metro. You can send a text if you change your mind.” Your thumb hovers over the end call button.

“I need your … particular talents this evening,” he answers right before your skin makes contact with the screen.

Oh. He really did have a reason to call— he needed your help with something dangerous.

That’s fine. You hadn’t actually had the fleeting thought that maybe he was calling because he just wanted to hear your voice, the way you never, ever found yourself feeling. Even in the past few days, since the Unfortunate Event of the Other Morning.

“And Kieran and Luke are unavailable this evening? Or anyone else from your hoard of henchmen who you can order to come back you up?” You’re being herded in a mass of other bodies into the metro station. You notice for the first time that Sylus is dressed really nicely—some sort of vest over a button down shirt. You find yourself trying to hold the phone discretely to minimize other people being able to see what you’re seeing.

“Kieran and Luke do not possess your particular talents. And besides, why would I want to see them this evening? I have to look at them on a daily basis, the last thing I want is to have to see them on a Saturday night.”

“I see. Had enough of a break from seeing me that you can stomach it again?” You smile, smooth as ice. Ice is just frozen water, right? You can ask Zayne to help—pick his brain to figure out how he stays so calm, in the face of so much chaos, not revealing a damn thing.

Sylus is just staring at you again, silver brows furrowed.

“So is it like, bring a gun to a knife fight kind of thinking? Do you really think that whatever situation you want my help with is too dangerous even for your minions?”

He just continues staring at you, and if anything, looks more displeased. You have no idea why he seems so pissed off. Maybe he’s rethinking asking for your help. You might be able to watch those movies after all.

“I see now that I've made a grave miscalculation,” he finally answers, rubbing his forehead. He suddenly sounds … tired? Or sad? You're so bad at reading other people.

You have no idea what you’re supposed to say to that, but you feel bad that he seems to be so exhausted and it sounds like your fault. You decide that you’ll help him tonight, with whatever he needs. And then maybe you will have finally, finally balanced the scales between you. And then you’ll be free.

After a few moments of you just awkwardly watching him in silence, he seems to come back to himself. “Why bring a gun to a knife fight when you can bring a grenade launcher?” He adjusts the buttons on the deep red vest under his tailored black suit jacket. The black shirt underneath the vest has its first few buttons undone, exposing his pale throat and collarbone. He’s also wearing a black leather collar, and you once again imagine a cute, bell on it, chiming with every one of his movements. You do not think about slipping a finger under the thick strip of leather and pulling him down, down to your level.

You shake your head. “I’m the grenade launcher in this little metaphor? What about you?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He pulls a watch over his hand, something antique and mechanical that probably ticks loudly when its quiet, and it clicks heavily as he fastens it on his thick wrist. You suddenly think of the night you spent searching for his brooch, the handcuffs around those same wrists, how he let them hold him there for you as your hands ran along his arms, under his soft silk robe, across—

“Then I think you’ll do just fine on your own tonight,” you clip out, wondering how much it would hurt if you slammed your face into the metro car’s heavily smudged, reinforced window in an effort to dislodge the intrusive thoughts that have become alarmingly frequent the longer you let this man stay in your life.

“Violence should be used strategically, sweetie. I would prefer to reserve the nuclear option for when it’s actually necessary. And isn’t it your job as an upstanding citizen to de-escalate conflict? Having you by my side will not only be useful for me, but is actually a public service for any bystanders.”

“I serve Linkon City, not the N109 zone.” You don’t know why you’re arguing. You had already made up your mind to help him. But the return of this familiar, smug and argumentative Sylus seems to pull you back into the pattern that is so easily repeated between the two of you.

“What an appallingly shortsighted response from someone who I know has gone to other cities and even other countries to fight wanderers in order to protect non-Linkon City citizens. Are the people of the N109 zone not also worthy of your devotion?”

It’s hot in the metro car, and you’re relieved as your stop approaches. You wait until you’re able to shoulder your way out of the mass of bodies and can breathe fresh air in order to respond freely.

“For shit’s sake Sylus, how did we go from hesitation about whether you actually need me to serve as your bodyguard tonight to me failing my duty to protect innocent people?”

“Is that honestly the only thing you can imagine when I request your talents? When did I ask you to be my bodyguard?” he asks, but before you can respond, he continues, “You’re the one who insists that you aren’t available to help people in the N109 zone tonight.”

“You, Sylus. Not people, you.” You step aside to allow a man with an adorable tiny fluffy dog move past, but it stops and sniffs you instead of moving along. You glance at the man, who’s actually quite handsome in a Finance Guy kind of way, which means he’ll be handsome to you up until the point he opens his mouth, but you can’t resist asking “May I pet this cutie?”

The guy’s face lights up. “Go ahead! Cricket loves pats.”

“Aww, Cricket is such an adorable name for such an adorably doggy!” You kneel down and offer your hand for Cricket to sniff, and then run your hand along the dog’s soft fur. It preens and arches its back, and then curls its hips around to ensure that you give it scritches near its tail.

“Aren’t you a good doggy,” you murmur, feeling the tension melt from your shoulders. You would love to have a pet, if you only had the time to take care of it. You give Cricket one final pat, and then stand back up. “Thank you, I really needed that,” you smile at Cricket’s dad.

“Anytime! Do you live in the neighborhood? Maybe, if you want—”

Suddenly you hear a loud crash on the other end of the phone, and the shock makes you wince.

“Or not,” the man rushes out. “It was just a thought.” He waves awkwardly, and then continues along his way, having to pull on Cricket's lead a little bit as the dog only reluctantly moves away from you.

You’re left standing there, wondering what the hell just happened. You look back down to your phone, where Sylus is looking somewhere off screen with a bored expression on his face. “The fuck, Sylus?”

“My apologies for interrupting your little interlude. It appears Mephisto knocked my phone off my nightstand,” he shrugs. “He’s not as well-behaved as… Cricket, it would seem.”

Interlude? What interlude? Petting a dog? “Uh, okay? I thought Mephisto isn’t a pet.”

“Correct.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he remains serenely silent. “So why are we comparing Mephisto to a random dog on the street?”

“We’re not,” he lies. You stare at him. He seems to think for a moment, eyes moving back to the screen, taking in whatever he’s seeing on your side. Probably an unflattering view of your chin disappearing into your neck as you look directly down at your phone, still trying to weave through people on the sidewalk to get to your flat. You lower your head even further, trying to give him a good view up your nostrils, as a treat. There is no universe in which you care about what you look like to him. None. Certainly not this one. Finally, he speaks. “In any case, back to business. How about I make you a deal?”

In your happy break petting Cricket you had forgotten about the world, including what Sylus is demanding of you.

“If you come to me… and lend me your talents tonight, I’ll owe you a favor.”

You snort. “You already owe me for every day I haven’t delivered your head to my employer.”

“Then I’ll owe you a favor that I actually acknowledge owing to you,” he responds calmly. “Because I think you benefit just as much as I do from not delivering any piece of me, including my … head, to the authorities.”

You do not imagine any pieces of him. Delivering them, or doing anything else with them.

You’re finally within sight of your building. “I see. So you’ll owe me a favor. Any restrictions? Or are you actually offering me anything I want?”

“Anything you want. No restrictions, no conditions.”

“What if I told you to turn yourself in?” you ask, genuinely curious if he actually has no limits on this so-called favor.

“Done,” he says easily. Your feel your eyes widen, and he continues. “But again, for the same reasons that you haven’t already betrayed me, I don’t think that’s the favor you’ll call in.”

“And you’re really willing to place all your bets on that? Maybe I just haven’t turned you in out of laziness.” You watch him slip a pair of gloves on one big hand, and then the other, the supple leather gliding over his hands like a second skin.

“I’m all in on that bet.”

“And why’s that?”

“You are the furthest from the definition of laziness that I have ever encountered,” he says gravely. “And let’s just say, aside from the aforementioned benefits you enjoy with me walking around free, I think you’re more fond of me than you care to admit, even to yourself.”

You make a disgusted noise. “Let’s hope for your sake that your confidence isn’t misplaced.”

“Oh, there is no question that my confidence, in all things, is justified,” he smiles, one corner of his mouth quirking.

His arrogance is so thick, even through the phone, that you could gag on it. “Ugh,” is all you can say.

“Excellent. See you at 23:00. I’ll text you the address. I advise dressing appropriately and to bring the toy I left you when I had a headache, kitten.” And with that, he disconnects the call, leaving you standing in your elevator, wondering what the hell you just agreed to.

And now, here you are. Black leather pants, combat boots, a semiautomatic with red flames engraved along the hand grip in your side holster underneath your black leather jacket, various knives strapped along your forearms and in your boots. You brought two duffel bags with you. One is full of toys that might be useful if things get really ugly. The other simply contains something of Sylus’s that you’ve been wanting to return ever since he left it at your place. As you were getting ready, it occurred to that this might be the last chance you have to give it to him.

You’re standing in line in front of some upscale nightclub, waiting for your turn to be judged by the bouncer and either admitted or refused. Likely the latter, if Sylus doesn’t show up soon.

You showed up at exactly 23:00, approaching the long line with trepidation. You hadn’t realized when Sylus sent the address that it was actually a nightclub called Amnesia—a rather exclusive nightclub, with a selective policy regarding who they allow in. You hadn’t realized this until you saw the subtle sign glowing softly in the N109 zone's perpetual gloom and did a quick search on your phone. Most of the club goers are dressed in surprisingly tasteful club clothes—tightly tailored pants, artfully low necklines and backless tops, sensual dresses, except the sequins—so, so many shiny sequins. You squint and wonder how the hell you’re going to get in dressed like you’re ready for a biker rally with an arsenal big enough to stage a small coup. Mission objective number one, adequate renaissance of the target location: failed. But it’s your bedtime and you don’t even want to be here in the first place, so this is Sylus’s problem to solve. You wait. And you wait. The line inches forward. The longer you wait, the more irritated you get. Where the fuck is he? You glance at your phone, but there are no new messages.

So you dutifully stand in line, which continues forward at a very slow pace, quickly outpaced by your anger. You notice that the group of women in front of you have clearly been pre-gaming pretty hard. They’ve noticed you, and are side-eyeing your outfit. You’re worrying they’re going to say something mean, when one of them glides over to you effortlessly on very tall high heels. You straighten your spine and prepare yourself. I am a role model for the Deepspace Hunter’s Association, I will not punch a civilian in the solar plexus for saying something mean to me about the fact that I am a fashion disaster. I will not—

“You look so badass,” she grins, tossing her silky brunette hair over her shoulder. One of her friends sidles up behind her. “For real, and like, really hot. This whole look is a vibe.” She waves one beautifully manicured nail in front of you, to encompass the whole of your outfit.

You squint again, wondering if they’re making fun of you, but the entire lot of them are nodding and chattering amongst themselves. “Is it like, a cosplay event or something? Did we miss the announcement on Amnesia’s socials? I want to dress like I can murder someone with a look too!”

“Hey, I think most of our heels are sharp enough to count as weapons, right?” the first one says to her friend, and then looks at you hopefully for… confirmation? Approval?

“Oh, definitely,” you encourage her, because she really does seem earnest. “You can stomp your opponent on the foot or go for the groin! And you know, if you hold your keys like this,” you say, fishing your motorcycle keys out of your leather pants and holding the long, narrow part of the key between the knuckles of your index and middle finger while clutching the wider base in your palm, “you can use them as an improvised shiv! Just go for the eyes! Or the throat!”

You’re met with a chorus of “Ooooohs,” and wide, perfectly winged eyes. You’re feeling like a pretty good teacher when your phone dings. You fish it out of the inside of your leather jacket.

My Sy: Youre late.

You glare at the screen.

“Can you teach us that look, too? You look like you really want to end someone,” one of the women asks hesitantly. You nod.

You: no, you’re late. i’ve been standing out front since 23:00.

You look back up to your new friend and point at your eyebrows, lowering them to an exaggerated degree. She nods and tries to mimic you. Her gorgeous, perfectly plucked brows form a scowl. You nod and look back at your phone.

My Sy: Youre standing in front of the club?

You: huh, mr. sylus qin’s not as omniscient as he likes to pretend. looks like you should fire mephisto.

My Sy: No such luck, sweetie. Ive decided to put him on permanent kitten observation duty after tonight. Why are you standing out front, instead of going inside?

You point at your chin now, and lower your head so that you’re looking at the club girl like a bull about to charge. She gives you a thumbs up and lowers her head, and then stomps her foot for good measure.

You: because there’s a line. which you’d know, if you bothered to show up.

My Sy: Of course. I should have known youd obey the rules and refuse to jump the line. Another miscalculation on my part. Stay put.

You roll your eyes. Of course he expects you to just keep waiting. Maybe he needs to find a parking spot. You turn to your friend. “Yeah, you look really intimidating now! Do that to the next person who hits on you and won’t take no for an answer.” You grin at her.

She laughs and you two proceed to try to out-glare each other, until you see her eyes go wider than previous attempts. You tense when you sense a large presence behind you, but calmly turn, hand drifting to your jacket holster containing the gun Sylus gave you.

It’s just the bouncer. Or at least, you think she’s the bouncer. She’s tall, muscular, and has a tight black t-shirt with Amnesia written in small, tasteful letters in the middle, right under the collar.

“Are you…” she pauses, and checks her tablet again. “The boss’s ‘sweet little hunter?’” she intones, clearly reading the words against her will, but she manages to keep the look of disgust that you’re pretty sure is trying to fight its way onto her face from appearing with admirable professionalism.

“By boss, you mean…?” You already know the answer. Of course you do. Your anger ratchets up another notch.

“Mr. Sylus Qin,” she says. “So are you the hunter, or not?”

You nod. “All right, follow me.” She lifts the velvet rope, and your new friends wave enthusiastically and cheer loudly for you as the bouncer leads you past the crowd and into the club. You stare at the bouncer's back, where her shirt reads ‘security’ in large block letters. She has an obvious pistol harness crisscrossed over her strong shoulders with two semiautomatics strapped into each holster. This is the N109 zone after, all. It doesn’t surprise you that Sylus’s bouncers are well-armed.

Once inside, she gestures vaguely towards the back of the huge space and says “He’s waiting for you in the Lethe VIP lounge.” And then she’s gone.

You quickly scan your surroundings, assessing threats, noting exits and bottlenecks. The atmosphere is completely different than THE BOOM BOOM ROOM, the only club you’ve visited recently. This place smells expensive. No stale beer and stale sweat, but probably diffusers hidden along the walls that emit the scent of sandalwood and other subtle spices. The music is full of reverb, heavy, with slow beats, sensual—specifically composed to make the listener feel reckless and sexy after a few strong drinks. The décor is a blend of vintage details and modern sleekness, and somehow it works to create the impression of tasteful decadence.

A long, dark wooden bar lines one wall, with standing tables and booths filling the space in front of it. Vases of fresh, dark-petaled flowers sit on each surface. Beyond the seating area, the dance floor spreads out in front of a slightly raised stage, where a DJ is playing to coordinated LED lights. Acrobatic performers, faces painted to resemble crying jesters and theatrical masks, hang suspended by hoops from the ceiling above the dance floor. They slowly twist and arch their bodies through, over, and off the hoops, spinning gently over the heads of the surging dancers.

If nothing else, it has been worth coming tonight to watch one in particular, with curly ginger hair, lean chest bare, arching gracefully through a sequence, bowing their back until their foot touches the top of their head. You wonder what kind of mobility exercise routine is required to attain that level of flexibility, and make a note to do an online search—but you’re here on a mission. Although the longer you look, the less you understand why Sylus asked for your help tonight. The place is crawling with security. He has a small army on staff. Why does he need you?

As your assessing gaze continues to wander, you see two familiar figures at the far end of the bar. And a third, unfamiliar person standing with them. From across the darkened, tastefully lit room, you see a beautiful woman. She’s wearing a tasteful suit, dark hair coiled in beautiful braids. She’s laughing at something one of the twins has just said, her slender hand on his shoulder. They have the easy familiarity of people who have known each other for a long time.

She looks like who you had imagined, as Sylus told you that you had the sophistication of a cactus. You look down at your scuffed combat boots. The clunky duffel bags clutched in your gloved hands, in this beautiful nightclub full of beautiful people. You look back at Sylus’s associates. One of the twins has his masked face turned towards you, but you have no idea if he has noticed you. You turn away.

You are water. You can drown in yourself, before anyone can drown you first. You won’t give them the satisfaction. You focus on the dancers again. The handsome ginger catches your eye, and smiles. Your heart hurts, they’re so pretty.

You haven’t heard shit from Sylus since he told you to sit tight. He didn’t bother to give you proper intel about this night at all. And he clearly already has all the security he could possibly need in this edgy, sensual monstrosity of an establishment. You’re suddenly so pissed you can hardly see straight. You could be watching John Wick 16: the Penultimate Chapter right now, but instead your heart is drowning in your chest and the person he was probably dreaming about the other morning is in the same damn room. You make a fist and pound your chest, once, hard, right over your heart.

The pain brings you back to your senses. You turn away from the dancers, find a staircase leading to the upper floors of the club, and take two steps at a time, relieved that the rooms on the top floor have elegant nameplates, each named after something in mythology regarding memory and the psyche. You stop in front of a black door with the plate reading ‘Lethe’, and kick open the door. What? Your hands are fucking full.

Inside, the room is as over the top and beautiful as the lower floors of the club. You have an impression of deep maroon walls, black leather furniture, low-slung and perfect for fucking, for an orgy really, your intrusive thoughts tell you. There are people: the twins, the woman. Huh. They must have slipped upstairs while you were staring at the dancers again. And there are two men, but you only catalogue the men long enough to determine that they are not visibly armed. No threats. All you can see now is the relaxed man straight ahead of you, at the back of the room, his arms stretched wide across the back of the black leather booth, manspreading as usual.

You reach down, fling the duffel full of weapons over your shoulder, and unzip the other, incredibly full one as you stride towards the smug asshole who summoned you here.

“Finally, I was starting to—” Sylus’s voice hardly penetrates the fog of rage coursing through you.

“I have a present for you,” you interrupt him, and he perks up, a subtle smile lifting one corner of his beautiful mouth, but that’s the last you see of him before you expertly launch the absolutely stuffed duffel bag at him. It lands on his lap, where you aimed it, and the feathers he left on your bed the other morning explode into the air and gently rain down on him, covering him from head to toe in a thick layer of black. At least the landslide that has spread from him to the booth are hardly distinguishable from the leather.

You were right. The only thing you can hear in the ensuing silence is the tick of his fancy fucking watch.

You close your eyes. That felt good. You open them. He’s still sitting in the same relaxed position, but now there are black feathers caught in his silky silver hair, dusting his shoulders, filling his lap. He makes no effort to brush them off.

“You really didn’t have to, kitten,” he says peacefully into the ticking, shocked silence. "You already had my attention without launching another aerial assault."

“I know. But I couldn’t bear the thought of how sad the feathers would be, separated from you. I couldn’t just leave them to suffer on my bed.”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you slam your hand over it. Oh shit. If that woman really is his actual object of interest, you just made it sound like something is going on between you and Sylus that most definitely isn’t. You glance at her. She’s watching you from between the twins, and has a grin on her face. Maybe she didn’t hear…?

Someone clears their throat. You turn again, this time sweeping your gaze over the two well-dressed, handsome men, one seated next to Sylus and (you wince) who caught some of the feather fallout, and the other seated across the low table from Sylus. They’re dressed sharply, but not like they’re going clubbing. Almost like this is a… business meeting. But the dude who got caught as collateral feather damage is seated like, really close to Sylus. Now that you're actually looking at him, you realize that he’s really beautiful. Like, as pretty as Xavier. He's looking at Sylus, grinning from ear to ear. His teeth are blindingly white. Maybe it’s not the beautiful woman who Sylus was dreaming about, but this guy?

Why do you even care? You are a waterfall, drowning out any inconvenient feelings about this wanted felon. You are not a psycho who assumes that everyone who breathes the same air as Sylus is a potential romantic rival. Not even a rival, because you’re not competing. This is not a competition, you have no horse in this race, this is neither your circus nor your monkeys, you were just the hired help for the evening and it’s clear that there is a surplus of staff in the security department tonight so you’re going to go home and watch a man murder a football stadium worth of humans because of a puppy.

“Well, I’m so sorry to have interrupted,” you say, as if you had just accidentally peeked into the wrong room, instead of careening in here like a cannonball and launching a full scale feather assault on the owner of the establishment like a lunatic. “I will get out of your feathers—I mean, hair.” You bow slightly, because why the fuck not, tighten your hold on your remaining duffel. Sylus can just keep the other one—you definitely do not want a souvenir from this night. You then stride back the way you came.

You refuse to turn and look at Mister Toothpaste Commercial sitting next to Sylus again as you go. But as you approach the twins, you can’t help but take one last look at the woman since she’s standing next to your exit. You’re just curious. Nothing else. Just a curious little… lake. Because you’re water. And nothing can hurt you if you’re just a placid lake in a serene forest.

Yikes, after getting a better look at her face, you realize she is young. Like, teenager young? Okay, age gaps are fine if both parties have a certain level of maturity. Who are you to judge? You hope if she is the one he wants to bite that they’re happy together. Really. You’re just the bottom of the ocean, and you can survive great pressure.

“Are you just going to leave right after giving me such a considerate gift, without allowing me to even thank you?” Sylus’s sardonic voice seems to fill the room.

You stop, but can’t bring yourself to turn around. “No thanks necessary. It's not even a gift. Just returning property to its rightful owner.” You take another step.

“What about our deal? You still haven’t given me what we bargained for tonight.”

This time you turn your head. “I’m pretty sure you have enough security for your needs tonight. Let’s just call everything off, okay? No one owes anyone anything, and you can offer that favor to someone else.” You look at the girl, but she’s not smiling anymore—rather, she’s looking at you with… confused disgust? Fuck it’s hard to read people. Maybe she’s suffering from intestinal gas. Maybe Sylus carries around lactase tablets for both the twins and his girlfriend.

Someone clears their throat behind you. “Sir, perhaps I should return another time when you’re not so entangled in… domestic strife,” a respectful voice sounds behind you. You whip around. The man seated across from Sylus and wearing a nicely tailored blue suit is glancing between you and Sylus.

“Oh no,” you say, holding up your gloved hands. “No, sorry, this isn’t .. a domestic anything. Like, we are not like that.” You shake your head. The man suddenly looks relieved. You feel encouraged. You don’t want Mister Toothpaste Commercial or Miss Jailbait to get the wrong idea. You’re nobody.

You look at Sylus. He just looks steadily back at you, as if waiting to see what the next spectacle you have to offer will be. Why isn’t he saying anything to deny such an absurd allegation?

“So you are not the partner he wanted to introduce to me tonight, is that correct?”

He wanted to introduce his partner to this guy? Who even is this guy? You know what? None of your business. All you need to know is that he does, in fact, have a partner, and that partner, is in fact, not you, and it doesn’t matter that he helped you fall asleep a few times and touched you like you were precious, because he has a partner and that partner is not you and might be the child bride over there in the corner or the teeth whitening product model on the booth next to him. You are water so deep that you’re the Marianas trench. You’re so deep, no life can survive at all. You ignore the fact that you think you read somewhere that little weird volcanic tube worms can survive down there. Because where there’s no life, there’s no pain: the only solace of death. You’re fine. No tube worms at all.

“That’s correct. Just ask him! I mean, I’m not his type. And honestly, he’s not mine.”

The man looks alarmed for a moment, like he is afraid for you to keep going. But you do anyway. You try really hard to think about why Sylus wouldn’t be your type, when everything about him is gorgeous and intelligent and fascinating and when he wants to be, so, so sweet. “I mean, I’m only interested in someone who is tall. And who clearly spends enough time in the gym. Like, ripped. And who’s actually incredibly bright, who can make running multiple businesses look easy. And someone who seems really scary at first glance, but is actually heartbreakingly sweet when he feels like it. And funny! Who can honestly make me laugh on the worst day of my life.” You trail off. Clear your throat. “So no. Sylus is not my type.” You snap your mouth shut. You rub your heart—it must still ache from when you hit it earlier. That’s all this pain is.

The man, who has nice dark hair, and nicely trimmed facial hair, and nice shoes that may be oxfords or brogues but you have no fucking clue which, nods slowly, as if what you just said isn’t wildly awkward. “Oh, so when you said you wanted to introduce us to your partner,” he looks back curiously at Sylus, then at the woman standing with the twins. “Are you who he meant?”

Okay, is this guy just going to ignore Mister Toothpaste Commercial as a potential love interest? Maybe he’s bi-phobic. You don't know where Sylus's tastes lie. Again, not your business. You’re going to stomp your phone to smithereens the second you get out of here, you’re not going to stay at Xavier’s, because it’s too close to home. You’re going to Rafayel’s, and you’re going to sell your place. You’re going to apply for a hunter position in the arctic. You will be surrounded by snow there, all the frozen water you could ever want, and you’re never going to find yourself in such a fucked up situation ever again.

“I’m afraid not,” Sylus says. “She's not my type.”

You pause, just for a second. You don’t actually want to hear why she’s not his type, because in the end, it’s not your business. And even if you thought she was his partner there for a few minutes, you don’t want to hear him say things that might hurt her feelings. Because you know how it feels to be on the receiving end of Sylus's disdain, and it sucks.

“I’m only interested in someone who is effortlessly surprising." He looks at you. "Who uses their strength to protect the weak, instead of exploiting them. Whose tongue is sharp enough to match my own. A tongue I don’t mind surrendering myself to, to be shredded on again, and again.”

Again, there’s only the ticking of that insufferable, sexy watch on his insufferable, thick wrist.

Your heart doesn’t hurt at his description. At all. You must have just really hit it a little too hard earlier. You're a raindrop. It's your job to splatter all over the ground. You're just doing your job. You've always been very, very good at doing your job.

The person he’s describing sounds fascinating, and the perfect match for him. He'll never get bored with them, and maybe their goodness will rub off on him. Good for him. You had wanted to be friends with him, right? Before you realized that you might actually have feelings beyond hate, beyond wanting to fuck his brains out and then never speaking to him again. This is good. Your friends deserve people they can care about the way he just described caring about this person. Everyone should get to experience that in their life, at least once.

The silence and your thoughts are shattered when Miss Child Bride snorts. “Thank fuck. Cause we already went over why that would be gross.” She turns to Kieran and Luke. “Now I see what you mean. What a shitshow.”

“Right?” One of the twins responds. “So are you in?”

“Yeah. But I see your two weeks and raise you two months.”

The other twin fist bumps her. “You’re on.”

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Clear the room,” he commands.

Kieran, Luke and Miss Jailbait all do little lackadaisical salutes and turn to leave. As the girl walks past you, she waves her hand in front of your face. You jerk back, hand instinctively going to the knife strapped on your thigh.

“Woah there, hunter. No need to get defensive.” She grins at you.

You suppress the urge to see how big she'd be smiling if you swept her legs out from under her sensible heels and then did a diving elbow drop onto her prone form as punishment for invading your space. She might be Sylus's partner and thus owed some respect because you respect him, but you don't like when people you don't know get in your space. “What the fuck was that for?” you ask instead, because you're polite.

“Just trying to see if you're blind.”

One of the twins puts his hand on her shoulder. “Rule number four: refrain from teasing boss’s pet hunter, or else he will get angry.”

“Yeah, cause he likes to do it himself.” The other twin chimes in, putting his hand on her other shoulder. “Let’s go get you to Linda before you're fired before you’re actually hired.” They guide her out the door.

You just stand there. You feel like what just happened is really offensive, to someone, somewhere, but you have no fucking clue why.

The two men have also gotten to their feet and are now moving past you, and Mister Toothpaste Commercial is grinning at you like you just made his night for some reason. Why is everyone in here a nutcase? you wonder hypocritically. You tighten your hold on your duffel and start trailing after them.

Only to be lifted in the air by the scarlet-ink tendrils of Sylus’s evol, its energy making the hair along your arms stand on end. “Not you, kitten.”

Against your will, you find yourself being carried gently to the booth and deposited onto the surprisingly soft leather, right next to Sylus. The feathers puff up, and then settle around you again.

Wordlessly, Sylus slips the duffel’s handle from your shoulder and with a little surprised grunt of effort, sets it on his other side. Yeah, it's heavy. You brought a lot of hardware in case things went south tonight. Which they did, just not in the way you anticipated. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him sweep a look from your head to your toes. “I tell you that I need your talents and to dress appropriately, and this is what you show up wearing?” he asks, as if all of the weirdness that just happened is of no significance. He sounds genuinely curious.

“Well, yeah. I can't wear my hunter gear into the N109 zone, and figured the leather was better than my usual cargo pants and harness. If we had to fight our way out of a group of assailants, or jump out of a window onto say, a gravel surface, this is still a lot more practical than…” you pause, eyeing his attire in turn. The black suit with the scarlet vest he is wearing is clearly tailored to fit him like the gloves stretching over his huge hands. You refuse to look at his hands. The fabric of his suit lovingly embraces his broad shoulders, nips in at his narrow waist, and leaves very little to the imagination regarding what he’s… packing, on both sides of the whole package. You will not think about what he is packing. What you felt against you, the other morning—

“I see. So this is what you consider your talents?” His voice mercifully interrupts your not thinking about bulges and the ‘Is that a billy club in your pants or are you just happy to see me’ dumpster fire in your head.

“This? What do you mean by ‘this’?”

“The ability to be prepared for any violent scenario and meet it with competence, in the service of someone else.” His blood bright eyes bore into you, and you know he’s not using his aether core on you, but it kind of feels like it.

“What else could you have meant?” you ask, genuinely confused. You eliminate wanderers. You fight, apprehend and on occasion, have had to kill humans who would have killed you if you had hesitated. You can’t think of any other talents you might possess that Sylus would want. Or any other talents, at all. Even if you could remember who you were when you were a child, you’ve been a hunter long enough now that it’s hard to remember who you were before you put on the uniform and dedicated yourself to defending those who are unable to defend themselves.

“Yes, what indeed? Good question, kitten.”

“And you didn’t tell me that you wanted me to meet you at one of your nightclubs,” you mutter, the irritation surging again. “If you didn’t want me to show up and embarrass you, ready for a fight, you could have just said so.”

“Is proper intel gathering before going on a mission not part of your hunter’s handbook?” Sylus asks, running a finger along your leather-clad shoulder.

“Of course it is.”

“Then why didn’t you investigate the location of our rendezvous tonight before heading out?”

You look away from him, staring through what you now realize is a one-way mirror. The room looks out over the two floors below, each with dance floors and bars, pulsating lights, tables adorned with those strange beautiful flowers. The undulating bodies of dancers are lit dramatically from the light show pulsing to the rhythm of the music.

You frown. “Since it was you, I just assumed it was some shady warehouse or something.”

Sylus is quiet, but you feel his finger continue drifting along your shoulder until his hand comes to rest on the back of the booth near your other shoulder. “That’s an unfortunate habit you’ve had, since the first time we met.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his face so close to yours that you can count the dark striations in his red, red irises. They’re all you can see for a long moment.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, because anything else would feel like shouting in the quiet of the room, with his face so close to yours.

“Assuming things about me.”

You’re alert enough to know that he’s not just talking about your assumption that tonight would take place somewhere dangerous. Your thoughts flit to your assumption that he had… that he had been responsible for the house explosion. For your grandmother and Caleb. Your assumption that he wouldn’t have a plan for dealing with his enemies at the auction. Your assumption that he would take advantage of your nudity in the hallway of your home by looking his fill. What else have you assumed about him? You remember his bite along your shoulder, and the assumption that it was meant for someone else. “You only tell me what you feel like telling me. How else am I supposed to fill in the blanks?” you ask.

Sylus’s hand along the back of the booth drifts back to your shoulder, over the collar of your jacket, up the sensitive skin along the back of your neck. His fingers find their way into your hair, and he gently runs them through its locks. It feels so good, you have to stifle a groan of pleasure.

“You could always ask me,” he says.

“Would you even answer me? You have a habit of answering questions with other questions,” you sigh, giving in to the temptation to let your head fall back into his big palm, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. You try to let your hands rest at your sides, but jerk a little when one of them lands on his big thigh. You move it, but he grabs it with his hand that isn't busy in your hair, and rests it back on his thigh again. He’s so warm, as always. You shouldn’t want to let him touch you like this if he has someone else. You can’t bring yourself to move.

“Well, you won’t find out until you try, will you?” he asks. You let your head roll in his hand, so you can see his face.

“Who was that man sitting next to you earlier?” you ask. Maybe if you start simple, you’ll lull him into telling you the truth when you ask him what you really need to know. What you don’t want to actually know, because then the illusion of Sylus treating only you like this, the illusion that you’re special, will dissipate like mist under sunlight.

His fingers pause, but then he continues caressing you. “That’s Aidan.”

You wait. He stares at you steadily. “You’re really going to make me ask detailed follow up questions, instead of just answering the question fully?” you scowl at him, but don’t move. His hand in your hair feels too damn good. He smiles, clearly amused by your frustration.

“I don’t give away intelligence for free. I need something in return for providing you thorough responses to all of your burning questions.”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“What do you want, Sylus?” you ask. If the price is too high, you’ll somehow stand up and walk away, and live with wondering for the rest of your life about who these people in his life are, and if he belongs to someone else.

“The price will depend on the quantity of intel you request tonight,” he gently tugs on a fistful of your hair. You are boneless. You are melting into the couch from the pleasure, despite the negotiation.

“I could always use the favor you owe me for even coming out tonight,” you remind him.

“I think not. You haven’t earned that favor yet. The only thing you’ve done tonight is show up late and assault me with plumage.”

“Excuse you, I was here at exactly eleven. It’s you who were late in realizing that you didn’t exactly tell me where to find you. And as for my present, just think of it as me contributing to a more environmentally sustainable lifestyle. I could have just trashed them, but instead I re-gifted them. Now you can stuff a fleet of throw pillows or the body of an enemy to display as a warning to others.”

Sylus laughs softly. “What a delightful image.”

“I'm fucking delightful,” you sniff.

He hums in agreement. You both sit there in companionable silence, with only the distant sound of the club below and his hands moving in your hair filling the space between you. After awhile, he says, “So what will it be? Are you willing to buy now, and pay later for the opportunity to interrogate me?”

You want to know. You don’t want to know. You follow the sharp lines of his face with your eyes: his panther eyes, his aquiline nose, his generous mouth, the cut of his jaw. You’re so tired of making a decision, only to fold and abandon it in the face of his indomitable will. You want off this roller coaster ride already. You need to decide whether you’re in, and want to be a part of Sylus’s life, in whatever form he’ll have you, or out. And then, once you’ve made your decision, you need to have the steel resolve that he so effortlessly displays—if you’re in, you’ll bury your affection and misplaced hope in him, and treat him like any other friend. If you’re out, you will destroy your phone. You will move. You will ask for a transfer that will put you out of his reach for a long enough period of time that he’ll finally lose interest in toying with you. You sit up, and his hand falls away from your hair.

“Do you have a coin on you? The one you do that little villain bit with when your mind is racing?”

His eyebrows lift a little, as if he’s surprised that you noticed that he tends to fidget when he’s thinking hard. The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Villain bit?”

“Do you have it?” you repeat.

“I do.”

“May I use it for a moment?”

He stares at you, amusement fading. Whatever he sees on your face has him letting go of your hand and reaching for his pocket, but suddenly your own arm is jerked forward.

“What the—” you try to pull away, but only succeed in slightly pulling Sylus’s arm back toward you. You look down and find the scarlet-golden glimmer of the energy shackles linking your wrist to his. You haven’t been linked like this since the one and only time you managed to resonate with him.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

Sylus looks down as well, and then scowls deeply. “Why are you asking me? I was wondering what was on your mind, but was willing to let you keep your secrets for now. However, now I must insist on knowing what’s going on in that busy brain of yours.” He lifts your linked hands and gently taps your forehead with his index finger.

You try to pull away again, but he just grasps your hand in his, tightly.

You glare at him. He stares at you.

You stick your tongue out at him.

“Careful, kitten. Don’t make offers you’re not ready for me to accept.”

You look away. The club below is fascinating. You will not let him win. Finally, you hear him huff. He brings your clasped hands to his trouser pocket, slipping both into it. You feel his strong hip along the back of your hand through the cloth of his pocket. He pulls your hands out again and releases yours. And then, coin held between his index and middle finger, he solemnly offers it to you.

“Which side comes up more often than the other?” you ask as you take it from his fingers with your unlinked hand, careful not to touch him.

“Tails,” he responds immediately. You don’t trust him for a second.

If it’s heads, you’ll walk away from him and the life that allows him access to you.

If it’s tails, you’ll ask him who these people were tonight and whether he has a partner. You’ll be his friend, no matter what, and close off that needy, delusional part of yourself that hopes for more from him, and you’ll never think of it again.

You toss the coin in the air and watch it as it flashes, twisting in the air. You catch it in your palm. You take a deep breath. You open your palm.

You are the water in a bottomless well. All of the things that can hurt you are down so deep, you’ll never be able to access them again. You let the fledgling feelings for this impossible man slip quietly into the well. You’re a serene pond, reflecting an endless blue sky, and there’s nothing underneath at all.

“Who is Aidan?” you ask.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #how many tags are there in this fandom this is exhausting #my fanfic #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #yup you #i really meant to resolve the misunderstanding in this part #but this ending up being way too long #so the big question for mc will be answered at the beginning of the next part #which is half written #i'm not going to drag it out too long #thanekrios ensured that this part is only slightly grilled cheese instead of an entire cheese board #i hope it's enjoyable

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fandomnerd9602 · 3 months ago

Text

Only You

Bambi!Wanda x Reader

It all began when your doe-human mate Wanda skipped happily into the kitchen, her mind focused on asking you one singular question.

You were listening to Wanda’s favorite song on your Amazon dot.

Only you can make this world seem right

Only you can make the darkness bright

Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do

And fill my heart with love for only you

“Dance with me, detka!” She giggles as she takes your hand. The two of you sway to the music.

“Detka,” she smiled at you, “will you marry me?”

The question caught you off guard but happily off guard, “y-yes.”

“Good!” Your antler adorned mate hugged you tight and kissed you gently. “I want to marry you.”

“When do you want to tie the knot?”

“Tie the knot? Why would we do that? I wanna marry you.” She giggles, thinking that you were making some weird joke.

You and her didn’t talk about it much on the way to the Sanctuary but you found Wanda happily running around to the other hybrids, telling them the good news.

“I’m getting married! I’m marrying my amazing mate!!” She practically ran all the way around the Sanctuary grounds.

Natasha was practically laughing her wolf tail off as Wanda ran in. “I heard.” The red head wolf hybrid laughed, “can I be your maid of honor?”

“Sure!” Wanda giggles.

“Why do you suddenly want to be married?”

“I love my detka and I want to marry them.” Wanda found herself wistfully explaining. “I wanna spend my life with Y/N, I want to go to sleep in their arms every night, I wanna…”

“What?” Natasha’s tail wagged, “come on buddy, you can tell me”

“I want to have little deer babies.”

“Oh you scandalous doe!” Natasha giggled, earning a blush from Wanda.

“But I don’t know if I’m ready for kids yet” Wanda’s tail dropped a little, she sits down on her friend’s bean bag chair, “I still miss my boys”

Natasha gets down on her knees and hugs her friend tight. “Take your time. There’s no need to rush into a marriage. (Y/N) loves you and will understand”

Wanda couldn’t help but smile.

Meanwhile you took an early lunch and went with Yelena to a jewelry store you had your eye on.

“Why did you ask me to come with you and not sestra?” The blond wolf hybrid bemoaned.

“Because Natasha is with Wanda and I don’t want my mate to know what I’m up to. And I need you to keep watch as I browse the store.” You stepped into the store as Yelena kept watch.

You found the perfect ring. It was a gold band designed to look like interlocking vines and leaves with a simple diamond adorned at its center. You were just about to purchase it when suddenly Yelena tackled you to the ground.

“They’re here!” Yelena dragged you behind some tables. You looked under the table to see a familiar pair of legs and tails walking into the shop.

Natasha and Wanda walked in, happy as could be.

“Which one says I want to be your forever mate?” Wanda asked as she approached the wedding bands section.

“Any one of them, that’s the whole point.” Natasha smirked before a familiar scent caught her nostrils. You and Yelena.

She dropped to her knees and came face to face with the two of you. You gestured for her to stay quiet.

“What are you…you were gonna buy a ring?!” Natasha whisper-yelled, kind of happy and excited too. You hold up the ring you selected, Natasha smirked, “oh that’s very lovey but I don’t like you that way.”

“Steer her to another store, Fifi!” Yelena retorted.

“Fifi? Funny coming from you, sestra!” The two wolf sisters began fighting. You silently separated them.

“Gals, please this is the love of my life and I don’t want to ruin her special moment” you quietly begged them.

“I found it! The perfect engagement ring!!” Wanda called out with a giddy laugh.

Natasha quickly ran over and saw a simple band that looked like two antlers intertwined. Wanda looked to her friend with pleading eyes. Natasha peeked back to be sure that you didn’t see it. You could not.

“I-I don’t have any…” Wanda began to say.

Natasha gave a wave of her hand, “I’ll cover it.”

“Thank you” Wanda hugged her wolf pal tight.

“Just name your first daughter after me” Natasha said jokingly.

“Deal!”

The two bought the ring and left. You and Yelena got up from your hiding spot and approached the register. The cashier was practically laughing, “I take it your gal had the same idea?”

“Great minds,” you shrugged. Yelena stifled a laugh.

An hour or so later, Wanda was back in her friend’s den on the Sanctuary grounds, admiring the ring.

“Now you just need to find the perfect time to propose” Natasha smiled.

The sound of an aux cord plugging in caught Natasha’s wolf ears.

Only you can make this world seem right

Only you can make the darkness bright

Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do

And fill my heart with love for only you

Wanda rose from her seat, tears beginning to form in her eyes. It was yours and her song. Natasha peered out the den’s entry and smiled.

“You might wanna see this,” her wolf pal smiled.

Wanda walked out to see the Sanctuary gazebo decorated in Edison bulb lights and roses. Against the setting Sun, it looked heavenly.

And there under the gazebo roof was you, standing there with a smile on your face.

Wanda walked up the gazebo stairs slowly, tears of joy flowing down her face. You took her hands in yours.

“I love you Wanda Maximoff” you began. “I wanna spend each and every day of the rest of my life with you”

Wanda giggled.

“I wanna hold you when you’re hurting. And kiss you when you need a little love. I wanna raise a family with you and I wanna be there for you when we find your boys. And I’m gonna love you and them forever.”

“I love you.” Wanda whispered, “forever and ever”

You got to your knees and produced the ring, Wanda gasped. “Wanda, my doe, my love, my mate, will you marry me?”

Wanda got to her knees and pulled out the ring she got for you, “only if you will marry me”

“Yes” you smiled, tears forming in your own eyes.

“Yes!” She cries back. “Yes! Yes! You and only you!!!”

You slide the ring on her finger and she slides the ring on yours. A feeling of pure happiness takes over Wanda as she launches herself at you, knocking you to the wooden floor. She kisses you repeatedly, over and over, giggling against your lips as you held her tight.

The staff and other hybrids laughed and cheered as the two of you found each other lost in your moment. Natasha smiled and her tail swished back and forth happily.

It all started with a simple question. And it turned into a moment that you and Wanda would treasure forever. And you’d eventually tell it to Billy and Tommy: the tale of how you and Wanda ended up proposing to each other.

Tags @lifespectator @russianredassassin @revanshand @julieromanoff @multi-fandom-enjoyer @family-house-of-m @holiday-house-of-m @iiconicsfan25 @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7

#marvel #marvel fluff #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #elizabeth olsen #bambi #bambi doe #Bambi Wanda #hybrid Wanda #scarlet witch #the scarlet witch

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yaut-jaknowit · 2 days ago

Note

I really love "The Wrong Secret to Hold". Can I request the yautja in that fic ? He and reader are just enjoying their day and reader is an artist and Ahtaal(?) is very intrigued of readers creativity.

An Artist's Touch

Character: Ahtaal (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Summary: As an artist, a talent not many Yautjas possess, you are seen commodity like no other. There are few humans on Yautja Prime. Let one's that are under the empress's protection. Being different, you strayed away from the palace with her permission to stay in a town far in the world. Ahtaal's town. He's intrigued to see someone make something out of nothing.

Author Note: This is what I wish my life to be. I want to be resting on Yautja Prime, sketch book in hand, and just enjoying the deadly nature. Gods, I wish!

Masterlist

Ao3

Underneath an awning that offered plenty of shade a pencil and sketch were hand. Despite the credits you hold, you’ve found a spot within a tribe that resides in temperate area on Yautja Prime. It’s small. Less than fifty Yautjas are strewn across the territory, But it was perfect for yourself along the clan. They accepted you due to your talent.

Creating art. Murals painted on walls in important Yautjas houses. Including the empress all the way in Kov. She tried to offer you all the riches to stay at her palace. But, your wanted to explore, see the planet from a deep, inside look. Being inside the empress’s palace, practically trapped, offered you none of that. A city filled with Yautjas. What you wanted to see was the outside world. How they hunt, how they think. It made the murals you created come to life.

A morning dew softened the air that would soon turn hot. This area was considered temperate to them. To a human, it was far too hot for you to stand directly in the sunlight. The suns themselves would turn your skin red in less than five minutes. A planet that wasn’t meant your kind. That didn’t stop you from being out in a designated spot that had been crafted just for you.

The thatch on top plenty thick to prevent a single strand of sunlight from slipping through. You were sitting on a plush bean bag like chair. It was soft and body conforming. The furs used to cover it came from a creature you couldn’t even try to say the name. But their fur was so soft, it felt like being on a cloud. You enjoyed the calmness that floated through the air. The sketch book and pencil in your hand is all you needed for the morning.

Nearly silent footfalls had you picking up your head and finding a familiar red figure walking into the shade. A bright smile graced your features. “Ahtaal,” you greeted. The strong male strolled up to the foot of the plush seat you’ve taken and gazed down at you. “What do I owe to be graced with your presence?”

After picking a tribe to live with, Ahtaal had made a blood oath to the empress to ensure your safety. Though humans and Yautjas are an uncommon sight to see, you were one of the very few to be allowed to live freely. There were no ifs, ands, or buts to your presences amongst the Yautjas. Your talented hands ensured you had a place. The empress gracing you sanctum anywhere on the planet. Here you choose to be, of all places. But the face of Ahtaal was one you’d never pass up on.

The lumbering giant squats down in front of you and peers over the edge of the book. “I see you working away on another project,” he explained, eyes curiously running over the sketch you’ve started. Another commission for an ancient somewhere on the planet. Maybe she was up north? You let the book fall flat on your lap. Your artwork wasn’t something you hid, let alone from him.

The sketch book is turned around to face Ahtaal. “Yep, someone up north I think commissioned me. Got some more credits in the pockets.” Even as someone protected by the empress, you still liked to work for your own money. There was plenty you had since you had little to spend it on. No clothes, food, shelter, or supplies. It was just there so when anyone commissioned you, they could pay for your work. Though, gifts were another way for them pay you. There are a few trinkets you enjoyed happily every since you got them.

Carefully, Ahtaal ran just the side of his sharp claw over the pages. He traced over some of the darker, more permanent lines that marked what you truly had in mind. A deep hum rumbled from his throat. The male focused on what you’ve created on paper. A talent he will never possess, no matter how many times you egg him in.

“What do they ask for?” he questioned and brought his bright eyes up to yours. The contrast was stark. Calm, soft verses fierce, predatory. He wished there was a way to capture the beautiful color of your irises and color it somewhere in his dwelling.

The way they brightened at the question. “That snarly beast that reminds me of a carnivore looking horse that lives near the north pole.” The hairs on your arm raised at the thought of the creature. It was beyond ugly and terrifying at the same time. It looked completely unnatural when you try to give it a logical look to it with earth creatures in mind.

Ahtaal snorted, mandibles twitching with a few slow nods. Then, his gaze drops back down to the sketch book. The pages were nearly full. A constant thing for yourself.

For such an advanced species… their entertainment was limited to mainly hunting. As a human that can’t participate in such a thing, you have limited ways of filling the time. You wield pencils, not swords.

“Is this your last sketch book?” Ahtaal was responsible for your wellbeing. That includes taking care of all needs and wants under the order of the empress. But, it wasn’t only just because he was under oath.

The hand on your book lifted off. A sharp, black ended talon tipped your chin back up to meet his intense stare. You licked at your suddenly dry lips and swallowed hard. You felt mushy. “I-uh…” you cleared your throat. “Uh, yeah, it is.” Your heart stuttered in your chest while gazing into his eyes. If only you could look into them all day.

“Then, I shall go get more when time permits. I cannot have my little ooman without paper to draw on,” he grunted. The back of his shiny claw was dragged across your jawline, all the way up to your ear. With a swipe, it left your skin. More goosebumps rose across the skin on your arms. “Will you survive until tomorrow for me to get more?”

Your throat was dry. His words had soared over your head. All you were able to focus on was his gentle, mind consuming touch. You melted.

When you found your voice, you speak in a tiny voice. “Yeah.” How could one person reduce you to a school girl in front of her crush? You gnawed on your bottom lip and pulled on the skin harshly. Blood painted your tastebuds.

Red finger grasped your chin and lightly jerked down on it. “Don’t,” he warned and stopped you from mutilating your lip again. You licked at the new wound, unable to look away from his eyes. Ahtaal swipes over the moisten skin with his thumb. You weren’t able to stop yourself from licking at the deadly, pointed claw that tipped the end of his finger.

All the muscles in his body tensed up in the same manner as your own. You couldn’t believe you had just done that. It had only been a thought. Yet, apparently, your body had a different thought of its own.

At first, your mouth opened and closed. Your brain couldn’t figure out a way to make up an excuse for the stupidity you had just pulled. “Shit, I-I didn’t… Fuck, why did I do that?” you whined to yourself and pulled away.

Except, Ahtaal tightened his grip on your chin and tugged you in closer. Your lips were parted, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Stars sparkling in them. Something changed within his gaze. A darker, heavier tint to the usually light colored irises.

“You… play a dangerous game, little ooman,” he growled out and emphasized his point by tugging you an inch closer to him. The warmth of his breath fanned over your face. “And I don’t know if you know what you’re getting yourself into.” You wettened your lips again. A habit hard to break. His eyes darted down to watch the action then seemed to soften. Like a whine was on the tip of his tongue.

Everything he said… Your heart continued to thunder loudly in its cavern. You swallowed hard and raised a hand to just touch at the column of his throat. The scales soft under your touch. A vulnerable place for any creature. Ahtaal lets you freely run your finger pads from his jaw down the front to where his collarbones meet.

The texture of his scales weren’t like anything you’ve felt before. Tough in a fight. You let your dull nails to trace a pattern through the spaces of the scales. Your hand continuously moving even if the two of your don’t look away.

“And what if… I do know,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. The surrounding space didn’t need to listen in on your conversation. “What if I want to play this game?”

A deep bellow vibrated throughout his chest. The tone so low you felt it more than heard it. You whimpered. Goosebumps covered your forearms. His eyes darkened. “Are you sure? Are you willing to let me have that power?” To hand over your power to him is a huge sign of trust. Let alone to someone who wasn’t event he same species.

“Yes,” is all you needed to say. Ahtaal towered over you, body leaning over your curled up form. His hand had shifted down to your fragile throat. Just enough pressure, just a flick of wrist and you would be nothing but a memory. Your eyes drifted close. Everything you were doing made the Yautja go wild. Every sign of submission to him. You, someone of high talent, was allowing to take that power from you.

Ahtaal growled from the back of his throat. His thumb ran along the pulse point on your throat, feeling the way it rapidly fluttered just under the skin. “Such a delicate thing under my hand. You are letting me have this.” You only gave a subtle nod, not wanting to move too much. The moment was thick with tension yet soft like clouds. You didn’t want to break a thing.

“Oh little ooman,” he cooed in a husky voice. Your eyes gently open to find him still so close to you with a low whine. His hand drifted up to cup your cheek. The large, dark red male leaned in to press his forehead to yours. “Mine?”

More of a question rather than a statement.

A smile graced your features. “Yes.” An artist and their hunter.

He finds himself scooping you off of the lounge chair and up into his arms. A surprised yelp escapes you as you clung to his neck. The sketch book and pencil you once held fell to the ground with a subtle thump. Ahtaal takes your seat and sets you down in his lap. You glared at him with no real heat in your eyes then leaned over his knees to grab at your fallen supplies.

“Well, good sir, I could’ve moved all by myself you asked,” you huffed. One of your hands was able to pick up the items off of the ground. As you go to sit back up, Ahtaal hooks an arm around your midsection and pulls you flush with his chest. The things in your grasp nearly fall back to the ground. You whipped your head to the side and narrowed your eyes on him.

All he did was chuckle from deep within his chest. The tension in the air has passed now. The soft clouds were the only thing left in their wake.

His arm flexed around your torso and kept your lower back snug to his stomach. You could only wiggle without a chance of escape. “Ahtaal, at least let me get into a more comfortable position then this.” Ahtaal listened to you. You gave him a pointed look before twisting into a position that you were able to still draw in.

Only your butt was planted firmly in his lap. You lounged sideways and used the side of the cushion to keep yourself slightly upright. Just enough to have the book on your lower thighs and draw. You peer up at Ahtaal with a pointed look that turned into a soft smile. The expression on his face was at ease, relaxed, and gentle with the sight of you.

Ahtaal placed a hand on your knee and rubbed his thumb against your skin. “How’s this?” he purred in a tone that made you want to smack him. Somehow, you refrained from fulling such a thought. Instead, you scoffed and started back on the project in hand. Ahtaal watched an artist at work, amazed the way you create something out of nothing.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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cupidbedsy · 4 months ago

Text

𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 ; 𝘤𝘤22 ୨୧

➪ summary: cole seeks out his best friend for help to ask out his crush, and it takes her a while to figure out its her he's talking about

➪ warnings: reader is oblivious, crying, cole is down bad bad

➪ word count: 5.1k

➪ file type: fic - reupload

➪ sunny's notes: i think this might be one of my favorites. i love cole sm and i should really start writing for him more

cc22 masterlist || nhl masterlist || taglist || navigation

stand there like a ghost shaking from the rain, rain she'll open up the door and say, are you insane

There was a knock on the door, and y/n jumped up from where she sat in her dorm room. She was living by herself since she needed privacy for the upcoming semester and had a particular way of keeping things clean and organized. She scooted off her bed and landed on the ground with a thud, walking towards the door.

She peaked through the peephole and looked at the person outside in confusion. She pulled away to open the door and gave the boy a wide-eyed smile, “Hi Cole.”

Cole was dripping wet as he stood there. He had run from the bus stop and then had to stand outside the building waiting for someone to either walk in or out, which was an awkward situation to explain, “Hi, can you please let me in? I used to go here and now I play in the NHL, which doesn't matter but I’m looking for my best friend.”

The girl looked at him in confusion, “Um sure?”

And that’s how Cole was here. Wet and shaking from the rain, “Hi y/n/n.”

“What are you doing here? Are you insane? Don’t you have a game tonight? How’d you get in?”

“I needed to see you, I missed you.”

Y/n pulled Cole into her room and gave him a change of clothes, “Let me go throw this in the dryer.”

When the towel was warm enough she brought it back and threw it at him, “Okay now what is the real reason you’re here?”

Cole shrugged, sitting down on the bean bag she had in the room, “I just felt like something was wrong with you.”

“So you missed your NHL game to come to see me because you had a feeling that something was wrong?”

He nodded, now realizing how weird and stupid that sounded. He gave her an awkward, lopsided, smile, “Yeah.”

She shooked her head, a grin making her way onto her face, “You are fucking insane Cole Caufield.”

“Only for you.” He gave her a wink.

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

say it's been a long six months and you were too afraid to tell her what you want, want

The past few months had been nerve-wracking for Cole and y/n. They both knew the time till Cole’s NHL debut was decreasing and decreasing. They made the most of it however, spending every waking moment with each other when they could, staying at each other’s dorms, going out to dinner, y/n going to his games. They were never apart unless they absolutely had to be.

Cole’s feelings had only worsened with the more and more they hung out. Every time he would see her his eyes roamed her figure up and down memorizing what she looked like in case one day he would have to pack up everything and leave.

He would see her in his jersey - which she custom-made - when she went to his games, she constantly stole and wore his hoodies every time they were together, they had been telling the whole world they were both unavailable even if it wasn’t true.

Y/n wasn’t the only one who had stolen the other’s things. Cole always had a hair tie on his wrist in case she ever got too hot and needed to pull her hair up or it was blowing in her face and giving her a hassle. He stole some of her larger jackets just because they smelled like her and her scent was comforting. He stole her rings sometimes, the metal around his finger giving him something to fidget with when he became anxious.

As much as they both would love Cole to be in the NHL they were both worried about leaving each other. They had been friends since childhood, always with one another. Their bond strengthened throughout their younger years, each sticking up for the other when needed, and going to each other’s games.

She wore his jersey at World Juniors, and he wore her jersey at her soccer games (both made by her), both screaming out their support. They would wait for each other in their designated spots after each game, running to hug each other once they laid eyes on each other. They always gave one another a small present, a pin or a sticker, or a piece of jewelry.

The last six months they both noticed the slightly growing distance between them. They were trying to lessen the hurt of him leaving when it came time. Cole had been more worried about her than he ever had been before. He didn’t know if it was his best friend’s protective instincts kicking on or if it was the deeper feelings that had made him feel like this.

Despite both harboring unknown feelings for each other, they both knew there was a chance that if the other didn’t feel the same, their friendship could fall apart. They were both afraid of how the outcome would end. Cole’s worries were worse than y/n’s, she had been by his side for so long, never doubting him one step of the way, he couldn’t let his stupid little feelings get in the way of that.

He had been on his way over to her dorm when he received a text from the girl, ‘Bring ice cream and tissues, please.’

His heart broke slightly at the message, confusion plastered on his face. He typed his message in response, asking if there was anything particularly wrong or if something had happened.

She didn’t respond, just emphasizing her first message. Cole sighed at the lack of communication that was going on before turning around and walking back to the parking lot of his dorm to grab his car and go to the store to pick up her favorite ice cream and the soft tissues she had requested.

While he was there, his eyes caught the leftover Valentine’s Day decorations, candy, and other gifts that were severely messed up from the number of times people had gone through them. He sighed when he saw couples rummaging through remnants of the red and pink objects, teddy bears and other stuffed animals, and heart-shaped boxes with chocolates in them. He could’ve been getting them for her.

He did end up buying a teddy bear, one from the kids section and not from the Valentine’s Day spot. He grabbed her favorite ice cream and some apple juice, picking up her favorite chips and cookies as well. If she was upset, he was determined to make her feel better. He picked the softest tissues he could find and when he was walking his eyes caught sight of the book section.

He looked down at his watch before making a rash decision to take a peek down the aisle. He spotted one of the books she had been wanting for a while and picked it up before heading to checkout. He bagged everything before running back out to his car and driving to her dorm.

He was lucky that one of the kids that had lived there was walking into the building when he got there, so he just followed suit behind him. He didn’t want to make her come down and get him when he could’ve easily found a way in. He ran up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator, and knocked on her door.

Y/n sat on her bed, her blanket wrapped around her as she watched her favorite show. She had tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, her nose a little stuffed from the crying she had done. She walked over to the door and opened it, before she smiled at him, “Coley!”

He walked over to her, pulling her into a hug, “Hey, y/n/n. What’s wrong?”

She shook her head before scooting over and patting the bed, “Come sit.”

Cole jumped onto the bed, took the Target bag, and placed it out in front of her, “I got you ice cream, chips, cookies, apple juice, tissues, and that book you’ve been wanting. And I got you a teddy bear.”

Her eyes immediately filled with tears again, clutching the bear in her arms, burying her head into his shoulder, “‘M gonna miss you.”

The boy furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that Cole. You could get the call any day saying you have to go to Montreal. You could leave any day.”

He frowned and wrapped his arm around her, rubbing her shoulder with his thumb, “Is that what’s making you upset?”

She nodded, “I don’t want you to go.”

He smiled slightly, “I don’t want to go either.”

The two sat in silence before y/n spoke up again, “It’s been a long six months worrying about this.”

“I know.”

And yet, Cole was still afraid to tell her what he wanted.

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

and that's how it works that's how you get the girl

“Start with a romantic gesture. Maybe something from her favorite movie, or something cliche. For example, standing in the rain at her doorstep. Or maybe singing a song in front of a large crowd of people. Or maybe doing one of your fears to impress her.”

Cole nodded as he sat on his best friend’s bed, taking mental notes on everything that she was saying. He had come to her for advice on how to ask out a girl that he had liked for what felt like ages at this point. Despite multiple attempts, the girl couldn’t get out a name, not even a hint about the girl, and that was because he could not let her find out it was her.

“Anything else?”

Y/n nodded as she flipped through the pages in her mind, “She will probably tell you that you’re insane for doing something like that, but… it’s cute. A lot of girls would like a big romantic gesture like that.”

“How would you react if someone did that for you?”

She shrugged, “I dunno. I’m not a fan of public things. That’s embarrassing.” She breathed out a laugh, moving her attention to a stack of books she had to organize.

Cole thought, so singing in front of a crowd is definitely out of the question then. He watched as she rearranged her books on her bookshelf, following her every movement. She had started to talk again, unbeknownst to him. She stepped in front of him, snapping her fingers in his face, “Cole! Cole! Cole!”

He flinched, “What?”

“Pay attention, Cole. I’m trying to help you here.”

He nodded and shook his head of his remaining thoughts, focusing on her, “Okay so… how long have you liked her for?”

He shrugged, “A while, I think. But I think I noticed it about 6 months ago.”

She nodded, “And you’ve been too afraid to tell her what you want, right?”

He let out a noise in agreement and sat up fully on her bed, “Yeah.”

“Okay, well if you do what I say. You’ll be sure to start dating her in no time.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s how it works. That’s how you get the girl.” She patted his head and launched herself onto her bed, “What do you want to watch?”

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

remind her how it used to be, be yeah, with pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks, cheeks

Cole was unpacking a box his mom had sent to him, things from home that he might’ve wanted in his new apartment. He felt uneasy going back through some of these things, most of them being something related to hockey. When he got to the bottom of the box he saw a few rectangular objects wrapped tightly in bubble wrap.

He pulled them out, moving the box out of his way. He placed them down before unwrapping the first one. He felt the picture frame and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but when he saw which picture it was he smiled. It was from when they were younger, it was their first day of first grade and y/n’s mom made them take a picture. Y/n gave him a joking kiss on the cheek and both y/n and Cole’s mom had captured the moment. He placed it on his nightstand and unwrapped the next one.

This one was similar to the one before, but this time it was one from his and y/n’s high school graduation. They were both in their caps and gowns still and she was leaning over and kissing his cheek. Cole was holding both of their empty diploma cases.

Following that one was another one of a similar pose. It had become one of their signature photos. Every year on the first day of school they would do it, but he had only seen a couple of them. Most of them either lived on an old hard drive or were buried deep in photo albums in one of their houses. This one had been when they had just moved into their freshman dorms and they decided to recreate the photo once more.

He gathered the two frames he just opened and placed one down on the living room table and one in the kitchen. His apartment instantly felt more at home to him. Something to remember his best friend by made him feel more relaxed.

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

When she visited for the first time she noticed the pictures immediately, “Where did you get these?”

“My mom sent them to me. I had them in my room back at home.”

She nodded and held the one that he put in the living room in her hands, “We were so little… and cute.”

The two giggled at her comment, “You’re still cute.”

“Thanks, Coley. You are too.”

The two both blushed at each other’s comments before sitting in silence. Y/n smiled sadly when a thought plagued her mind, “I miss how it used to be. Everything was so simple back then.”

Cole nodded, throwing his arm on the back of the couch, “Yeah. We were never apart back then, were we.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, “I miss you, Cole.”

“I miss you two, y/n/n.”

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

tell her how you must've lost your mind when you left her all alone and never told her why, why

One week after Cole had left, y/n had fallen into a tiny depression state. They hadn’t gone even a couple of days without seeing each other ever, let alone Facetime each other. Cole had been so busy with flying out to Edmonton making his debut and then having to go to Calgary, before finally being able to settle into his new apartment in Montreal.

She was nervous for him but she was also nervous for herself. They hadn’t got to say goodbye to each other, she had gotten his text while she was in class that he was leaving. She tried to call him but it went straight to voicemail and she felt defeated.

On the flip side, Cole had been anxious, not about himself but about y/n. He knew about how she typically handled things when she was alone and most of the time it wasn’t the best thing to happen. When he finally got a chance to breathe and sit in his apartment, he called y/n and she answered on the first ring, “Hi Cole! How’s your apartment? Everything going okay up there?”

He nodded, a smile tugging on his lips when he laid his eyes on her picture on his screen, “Yeah it’s been going okay.”

“Anyone giving you any trouble because I’ll fly up there to beat them up for you.”

He laughed, “I know you would.”

The two went silent for a few minutes, a slight frown gracing y/n’s face, “I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head in confusion, “For what?”

“For leaving you. Especially without warning really.”

Her frown deepened at his words, “It’s not your fault Cole. You were, are, moving on to bigger and better things.”

“But I didn’t want to leave you, y/n/n. I need you to know that. I would’ve stayed for you.”

“I know you would’ve, Cole. But like I said, you’re doing something greater for yourself. I shouldn’t be holding you back from your dreams.”

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but you’re a part of that dream. Yet, he couldn’t get them out. He wasn’t going to be the one to ruin their friendship over something like this, she didn’t deserve it. So he kept his lips shut and listened to her talk about whatever had happened that day, the reason he called, going blank in his mind.

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

and that's how it works that's how you lost the girl’

“I don’t think she’s into me, y/n/n.”

“What do you mean?”

“I tried what you said but she didn’t even bat an eye to it. She completely dismissed me.”

Sure it was weird for Cole to be talking about his girl problems to y/n when she was the girl he was talking about, but it’s not like she would ever know. Cole was thankful at that moment for his friend’s obliviousness, it came in handy sometimes.

“Maybe she did and she just doesn’t know what to think about it, maybe she’s still trying to figure something out.”

Cole signed on the opposite side of the phone, growing a little frustrated at both himself and her. Why couldn’t he just say how he was feeling, if she didn’t like him then fine they could just move on, try and move past this, “But what if she just doesn’t like me.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything Cole, but did you do anything stupid to make her think differently about you? Or think differently about her feelings toward you?”

“I mean, I did kind of leave her without telling her why…”

“You’re telling me you didn’t tell her you were leaving to go play in the NHL? You just got up and left her?”

“Well when you put it like that, it sounds worse.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “You probably broke her heart, Cole.”

Cole let that thought sink in, the thought of leaving y/n there all alone in Madison with little to no friends. Of course, she had other friends but she was always hanging out with him. He repositioned himself on his bed and placed his free hand on his head, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t mean to hurt her.

“Cole?”

“I’m such a fucking idiot. How could I do that to her?”

Y/n felt heartbroken for him, he sounded so upset with himself for his actions. She was also heartbroken by the fact that Cole had these strong feelings for someone else, someone who wasn’t her. She tried to keep her composure by staying silent, letting a tear make its way down her face. She wiped it before talking again, “Cole, it’s okay. There are ways to fix these things. Did you at least apologize to her?”

“Yeah, kind of I think? I totally have lost my mind, haven’t I y/n?”

She just shrugged, “I don’t think you ever had a mind, to be honest, Cole.”

He forced a small laugh, “Gee, thanks.”

“Has she talked to you since then? About what happened?”

“No. She hasn’t brought it up. She said she supported me after I apologized but that’s about it. She sounded sad but also a little angry.”

She stayed silent for a minute, “I hate to be the person to tell you this but I think you lost her.”

Cole ran a hand over his face in frustration, letting her words hit him like a truck.

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

and you could know that I don't want you to go

It was the first Friday without Cole and she was sitting in her dorm room. He had made his debut two days ago and she couldn’t even gather the strength to watch his game. She felt horrible about it, she was his best friend, and she should support him through everything.

She watched the movie that they were planning on watching that day, 13 going on 30. It was y/n’s week to choose, hence the reason why it was a Rom-Com. Cole didn’t mind, he would watch every cheesy romantic movie with her if she wanted to watch it.

He had a game that day, but once again, y/n had no desire to watch it. It was just another reminder that he was gone, she could only handle so much. She sat on her bed, the movie playing on the TV with a bucket of popcorn sitting on her right side.

Of course, she had to pick the movie in which the two main characters of the movie were love interests and were best friends. It was like the universe was mocking her of some sort. She couldn’t escape the facts. Her heart sympathized when Jennifer Garner’s character felt as if she lost her best friend to the girl he was getting married to. She couldn’t imagine life if Cole got married to someone else.

It was like a blow to the face watching it. She had the chance to do something but she still sat in her dorm room doing nothing but stuffing her face full of popcorn. Much like Elle in Legally Blonde, when the final scene of the movie came up and Jennifer Garner and Mark Ruffalo got married she threw her popcorn at the screen in frustration, why couldn’t she have that life?

She looked at her phone to see a text from Cole, saying they lost and he didn’t want to talk tonight. He had taken the loss as a burden to himself, being new on the team and not being able to contribute. She was honestly grateful that he texted her that because if he hadn’t she would then have to come up with an excuse on why she didn’t want to talk.

She scrolled through pictures of her and Cole in her camera roll, tears welling in her eyes. As much as she wanted Cole to go and pursue his dreams, the thought in the back of her mind was being selfish, she didn’t want Cole to leave her. They had been together for so long and hockey just ripped him away from her. She had been so supportive of him so she thought she at least deserved a little bit of selfishness.

She threw her phone across the room much like she had done with the popcorn. She sat there crying as the credits rolled across the screen before Netflix gave her more recommendations on what to watch based on the movie, but she was in no mood to watch another romance movie. She rolled her eyes, tears still streaming down her face. She backed out of the menu before putting on a random stand-up show.

He could’ve known that she didn’t want him to go because, in reality, he didn’t want to go either. However, y/n’s mind was like Cole’s and she didn’t want to ruin their friendship due to her feelings. It felt stupid and silly. They had a perfect friendship so why should she ruin it because of her feelings?

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

remind me how it used to be and say you want me, yeah, yeah

The clouds covered a majority of the sky, not a star in sight. The moon was visible every few minutes once one cloud passed by before another one came and covered it. When the moon was shining, it shone right into y/n’s dorm room where she sat in her normal state with her blanket wrapped around her watching her and Cole’s favorite movie.

They had watched it since they were children. Every Friday night Cole and y/n’s families would have one another over for dinner and y/n and Cole would sleep over at each other’s houses depending on where they were that night. They would choose a movie to watch and most likely if they didn’t know, that movie would be the one chosen.

It had been a month since she last saw Cole. She had flown out to Montreal as soon as she was finished with school, going to his games when she could. She had stayed there for a week or two before going back home for the rest of the summer. It being her first time in Cole’s apartment, she noticed the lack of decorations in it, the only thing really there was pictures of her and him.

She looked around her room and a picture frame caught her eye. Cole was wearing his World Juniors USA jersey, his medal hanging from around his neck. They had just won and Cole was beaming and y/n’s lips were pressed firmly against his cheek. The photo they had been recreating since they were 6.

She smiled when she saw it and something clicked in her brain. Cole had three of the same picture just at different times in his apartment, and when she saw them she remembered how they used to be, much like now. Continuing to mentally flip through things she had told him, she remembered telling him to make a grand gesture; singing in front of a crowd, standing in the rain-

“Holy shit…”

She jumped out of her bed, the blanket falling from around her shoulders. She couldn’t believe what she was thinking, there was no way that her best friend liked her. I mean she knew that she liked him but Cole Caufield, liking her? It was one of the most unbelievable things that had happened in her lifetime.

She continued to run through everything and anything that she might’ve told Cole that he could’ve done. Even running through things Cole had done for her that seemed even remotely romantic. He had bought her a book that he knew she was eyeing, he bought her cookies and chips when she didn’t even ask him to. He showed up at all of her games that he could. He apologized for making his NHL debut and leaving her alone at Madison when it wasn’t his fault.

He bought her multiple gifts for her birthday and Christmas, he dropped everything to make sure that she was okay, he made her food when she was feeling down and felt like she couldn’t do anything, he helped her with her homework and helped her study for exams. He did everything for her and she was just now realizing it.

She mentally punched herself in the head for not realizing it sooner. He had done so much for her that basically screamed ‘I love you.’ Why did it take her this long to notice? She was frustrated at herself for not doing something about it. She literally gave him the advice to get the girl but she should’ve been following her own advice and picking up on the cues.

She was quick to book a flight to Montreal and repack her suitcase. She ran out of her bedroom, explaining how much she needed to go see Cole and her mom just gave her a knowing smile before ushering her off with a ‘be careful’ and an ‘I love you.’

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

and then you say i want you for worse or for better i would wait for ever and ever broke your heart, i’ll put it back together i would wait for ever and ever

Flying to Montreal wasn’t something she had on her list. But when she had her epiphany she had to see him, she had to get to Cole.

Of course, it was raining when she arrived. She did her best to shield herself from the water but ultimately failed with how hard it was coming down. To her luck, her Uber had dropped her off a block away from where Cole’s apartment was. Instead of waiting to get a new one she just walked there, her suitcase in toe.

She arrived at his house, shivering from the rain. She wrapped her coat tightly around her as she knocked on the door to his apartment. It didn’t take long for Cole to open the door, a bright smile on his face when he opened it, “Y/n! What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.”

“Are you fucking insane? Aren’t you supposed to be going on a trip with your family right now?”

“I needed to see you, Cole.”

Cole let her in, stepping aside to create space for her. She stepped in and before she could even think about reaching for her suitcase, Cole grabbed it and moved it in. She was visibly shaking and Cole pulled off his hoodie to give it to her.

He took her jacket, placed it in the drying, and directed her to the couch.

“So what was so important that you needed to fly to Canada to see me?”

“Remember when you were asking me about that girl?”

Cole nodded his head, looking confusedly at her, “Yeah? What’s this about?”

“And you remember what I said to you when you asked?”

“Yeah you told me to say I want you for worse or for better, I would wait forever and ever. I broke your heart, but I’ll put it back together.”

She only gave him a soft smile and waited to see if the words would click. It didn’t for at least five minutes, causing the two to sit in awkward silence. Cole’s face lit up when he realized what she was trying to say, “Are you serious?”

“If I wasn't, would I be doing exactly what I told you?”

Cole stood up and walked over to her, grabbing her face, his thumbs rubbing gently under her eyes. He let out a soft breath, still smiling, “Can I kiss you?”

“Do you even have to ask?” He kissed her immediately after that, both of them smiling into the kiss.

If only y/n was as good at following advice as giving it, they would’ve been in this position so much earlier.

and that's how it worksthat's how you got the girl

𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗘𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ୨୧

@toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @quinnylouhughesx43

#: ̗̀➛ sunny’s writing 📓 !#: ̗̀➛ ❝ [ fics ] ❞#: ̗̀➛ ❝ [ cole caufield ] ❞#nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #hockey fic #hockey imagine #cole caufield #cc22 #cole caufield fic #cole caufield imagine

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scoonsalicious · 7 months ago

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 16, Unaccompanied - Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, allusions to sexy stuff, a long overdue conversation with Steve.

Word Count: 2.4k

Previously On...: You went to Tony for answers about how Carthage ended up on the Quinjet; he asks you to attend his annual shareholder gala on Saturday. You, vomiting, + a bunch of stuffy rich people. What could go wrong?

A/N: Quick note about how text messages are written herein: Outgoing messages (in this instance, from Pocket to Bucky) will be indicated by ">>" in front of them. Incoming messages are labeled with the contact name the phone owner has for that person in their phone. In this instance, Pocket has Bucky saved in her phone as "Magic Dick🍆🦾" lol

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when I update, please enable notifications from my Blog page!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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The gala had barely begun and you were already exhausted. Your stomach bug hadn’t let up, and you’d been vomiting for the last two days. Fortunately, you were able to get an injection of an anti-nausea medication from one of the interns down in the med bay, so even though you didn’t currently have to worry about puking your guts out on some obscenely wealthy financier, you just had to deal with the constant exhaustion you’d been feeling from your illness.

Just a few more hours, you told yourself as you brushed off the advances of yet another man old enough to be your father. Not once had anyone actually wanted to discuss the Crisis Prediction Algorithm System. It seemed you were being viewed more as potential arm candy than Stark Industries’ CTO. That alone was enough to leave you longing for an early night in your bed.

You did look amazing, though, you had to admit, even if you’d had to go a little heavy on the makeup to mask your pallor. When you asked Tony for a new dress, you’d anticipated taking the girls on a shopping trip. Tony, however, had other ideas and had sent a designer from one of the city’s top fashion houses to the Tower to collect your measurements, and then, the following day, a garment bag appeared in your room containing a striking dress in shimmering Iron Man-red. The bodice was form fitting and strapless, with an asymmetric neckline, and the skirt was full and came down to just below your ankles.

It was gorgeous, and when your hair and makeup had been completed, you looked like a princess straight out of a fairy tale. You’d sent a picture to Bucky and he’d immediately sent you back a series of panting emojis that had you laughing. The following string of text that described exactly what he wanted to do to you in the dress then had you panting, yourself. Fuck your parameters, apparently.

But now, you couldn’t wait to get out of it for an entirely different reason. The call of your pajamas was so alluring. Not only were you physically tired, but you were bored out of your mind. As this was a Stark Industries party, and not an official Avengers gathering, most of your friends had opted not to come. Rhodey was here, now almost fully recovered from his gunshot wounds, but Tony wouldn’t leave his side, so he was constantly being surrounded by people and you couldn’t really find an opening to go talk to him.

When you’d asked Nat and Wanda if they wanted to come with you, Wanda had politely declined, letting you know that she and Vision already had plans to go out of town for the weekend, while Nat just scoffed at you. “I would literally rather swallow broken glass, Pocket,” she’d said. “Those things are boring as fuck and there is not enough money you could possibly pay me to go to one, sorry.” She’d ended up going bar hopping with Clint and Sam, instead.

So, there you were, all by yourself, not even able to distract yourself with the elaborate spread of food that Tony had provided, as the thought of eating still turned your stomach, when you felt a hand at your elbow.

“Hey,” Steve said softly. His presence took you by surprise– you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d truly spoken to one another, aside from clipped conversations about work and missions. “That’s a lovely dress.” A slight blush tinted his cheeks. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Steve, hi. Um, I’m good, thank you. Just really tired. Not quite in the right headspace to schmooze, you know?” you asked him, trying to fight off the awkwardness you were feeling at speaking to him again after so long. “You look very dashing tonight.” And he did, with his dark navy suit and cream button-up.

He smiled, then held out a hand. “Would you care to dance?” he asked. You thought about it for a second. You didn’t want to lead him on, let him think you had any interest beyond the platonic relationship you’d always shared, but you were so fucking bored. One dance couldn’t hurt.

“I’d love to,” you said, taking his hand and letting him lead you to the dance floor.

He was surprisingly light on his feet, given his hulking frame, and he led you through the steps with ease. You somehow managed to only step on his toes twice, which gave you both a good laugh.

“I must have forgotten all my finishing school lessons,” you teased.

“Nah, you’re doing great.” Steve sent you out for a spin, but as he twirled you back into his arms, you were overcome with a wave of dizziness and stumbled. You felt your knees give out and your body begin to collapse in its exhaustion.

“Whoa,” said Steve, using his super soldier reflexes to grab you before you could fall and hold you steady. “I got you. You wanna sit down? Rest a bit?”

You nodded and he led you over to a quiet corner where some couches had been arranged for that very purpose. He guided you down to sit, then placed himself next to you, concern clouding his features.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just, you know, between the nausea and the vomiting, I haven’t really been able to keep a lot of food down over the last two days. It’s got me so tired. I think I overdid it with a dance number.”

Steve chuckled, then stood up. “Let me go get you something to drink,” he said. “It’s important that you stay hydrated.” You nodded, and he was off.

With a sigh, you reached into your clutch and pulled out your phone, sending a quick text to Bucky, but knowing that, due to the time difference, he was probably sleeping.

>> I miss you.

You were quite surprised, then, when you saw the three dots appear almost immediately.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Not that I don’t miss you too, because I desperately do.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: But aren’t you supposed to be livin' it up like Cinderella at the ball?

You chuckled at that before responding.

>> This Cinderella is tired and bored and would much rather be snuggled up in bed with her metal-armed Prince Charming watching a movie or literally any other activity aside from being at this ball unaccompanied.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: You better be talking ‘bout me, doll.

>> How many other metal-armed men do I have in my life, dipshit?

>> Why are you even awake, anyway?

Magic Dick🍆🦾: I’m just teasin’ you, smart ass ;)

Magic Dick🍆🦾: I’d much rather be curled up in bed with you doin any variety of bedly activities, too >:)

Magic Dick🍆🦾: And I’m up because we’re getting ready to act on our intel and raid the communications office we were sent to find.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Hit 'em at dawn when they’re least suspectin’ it, ya know?

>> Jesus Christ, baby! Be careful!

Maybe it wasn’t a good thing you hadn’t gone on the mission– you didn’t even have the energy to imagine yourself having the energy to conduct a raid in your current state.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Always, doll. Gotta get back to my best girl, don’t I?

>> You absolutely do. Cause if I found out you died, I will kill you.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: I have no doubt that if someone were to find a way to murder me from beyond my grave, it would be you.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Shit. Sorry sweets, I gotta go.

Magic Dick🍆🦾: Try to have fun. I love you.

>> I love you too, Buckaroo.

You stared at the screen for a moment longer, but there was no further reply. Wonderful. Now you would be spending what little energy you absolutely did not have to spare worrying about Bucky’s safety.

Steve returned then, handing you a cold glass dripping with condensation. “It’s lemonade,” he said as you took a sip. “I know how much you like lemons.”

You smiled in thanks, but it came out more like a grimace. Steve noticed immediately.

“Are you alright? Does it not taste good? I could go get you something else…”

You put a reassuring hand on his arm. “No, Steve, the lemonade’s fine. Thank you for getting it for me; that was very thoughtful. It’s just,” you sighed, “I was texting Bucky. He and Carthage are running a raid on a communications office as we speak, and now I’m just nervous and worried about him.”

Steve’s brow creased. “Oh,” he said, though you could tell there was more behind the word than the single syllable would imply. “I didn’t realize the two of you had gotten back together.”

Fuck. You were by far too tired to be having this conversation. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you decided it was time to confront the giant elephant that had been sitting between you and the Captain for far too long. “We haven’t, not officially, anyway, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t still love each other, in spite of everything that’s happened. We’re just working on building trust. Or rather, he’s working on building trust, and I’m working on determining if I can trust him again. It’s a process.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, the movement so minute you would have missed it if you hadn’t been watching him so closely in the moment. You took a deep breath before you continued.

“Look, Steve,” you began, “I know about your feelings for me.” His eyes shot up to meet yours, and he opened his mouth to protest, but you gently held a hand up to stop him from speaking. You needed to get everything you had to say out while you still had the energy to do so. “I’ve known for a bit, and while I’m truly flattered, and honored, that you care for me, I’m also so sorry that I don’t feel the same way about you. You’re a good man. A wonderful man, and I know most people would tell me I’m an idiot for not reciprocating, but I just don’t share those feelings.”

“It’s because of Berlin, isn’t it?” he asked softly, not meeting your gaze, and for a moment, you could see the small, shy boy Bucky had told you about from his youth.

“Berlin altered our relationship, it’s true,” you told him, “but the nature of my feelings for you were cemented long before that. You’re my family, and do I love you, but I love you as a member of that family. The way I love Tony, and Nat, and Thor, but maybe a little better than I love Clint.” Steve chuckled softly at that, and you smiled, glad you could make him laugh even a little. “I’m sorry this isn’t the answer you want to hear, and I’m sorry that you’ve had to watch me be with your best friend. None of it was ever done with the intention of deliberately causing you pain, but at the same time, I need to do what’s going to make me happy, and I hope you can accept that, as my friend and a member of my family.”

Steve looked like he was going to argue with you for a moment, but he kept his mouth shut and just nodded. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “I can accept that. It hurts,” he chuckled humorously, “but I want both you and Bucky to be happy.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” you said, suppressing a yawn. “Holy shit, I’m tired. I think I’m going to call it a night. I put in enough time to fulfill my obligation to Tony.” You stood, but immediately stumbled, the motion of standing enough to make you dizzy.

Steve was instantly on his feet, an arm out to steady you. “I got you,” he said. He put a hand to your forehead, checking your temperature. “You don’t seem to have a fever, but I’m getting worried about you, Pocket. I should escort you down to med bay.”

You waved the suggestion off. “No, it’s fine. The last thing I want is a bunch of doctors poking and prodding at me all night. I’ll be fine, I just need to sleep.”

“You can barely even stand up on your own,” Steve protested. “Let me at least walk you back to your room. Make sure you get there without falling over.” You were going to tell him you’d be fine on your own when a wave of nausea overtook you.

“Yeah, okay,” you said, clutching tightly to his arm for support. You had planned on going over to Tony and Pepper to say a proper goodbye, but given the way you were currently feeling, an Irish one was going to have to do, instead.

Steve put a hand to your back and led you out of the banquet hall. You had to stop more than once to steady yourself, and you were grateful for Steve’s assistance. By the time he’d walked you to your door, you were running on fumes.

“Do you need help getting inside?” he asked, looking worried.

“No,” you assured him. “I’ll be okay. I am literally just going to collapse into my bed. Might not even bother taking the dress off, to be honest.”

Steve blushed, and you regretted putting the idea of you getting out of your clothes into his head. “Well, if you’re sure,” he said, running a hand behind his neck, the movement so similar to Bucky that it threw you for a moment. “If there’s anything you need in the night, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me, alright?”

“Sure, Steve,” you said as he placed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. You were grateful for his help, but you knew that, even if you were suddenly dying, you would not, in fact, be calling him. “Thanks for your help.”

You wished each other a goodnight, and soon you were once again within the sanctuary of your room. Managing to summon the will from somewhere, you shimmied out of the dress, draping it over your vanity chair; it was, after all, probably far too expensive to either sleep in or leave in a puddle on the floor overnight. You debated whether or not to take the time to remove your face full of makeup but, God, your bed was just so inviting, you’d deal with the consequences in the morning.

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