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animeredhead101 · 5 months ago

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Al Ghul Siblings DP x DC Crossover

Complete(Twins)

The Lost One by DizzlyPuzzled :

Danny never wanted to meet his real parents for a good reason. And now all of Amity Park is in the crossfire.

Word Count: 36,427

Reaching for a New Light by ghostly_frogly :

In the safety of his room, he would look at the other side of the room where Danyal’s bed was once placed. Everything that could have hinted at his existence was wiped away. Not even the encyclopedias about the stars and all their legends were safe. Damian would look but never stare, only quick glances. Grief would be seen as a weakness and like Danyal weakness would be wiped away. or Danny and Damian were separated when they were young and one of them thinks the other is dead, he's only half right. An unsuspected gala is just what they need to meet once again. or or The obligated twin AU that every DPxDC fanfic writer has to write Word Count: 8,510

Twin Stars by CrescentCyan :

After making fun of the galas Sam is forced to attend one too many times, Danny is dragged to a Wayne Gala to experience just how awful they are to attend.

Danny would have gone willingly if he knew who was there.

Word Count: 13,377

You Look Like You’ve Seen A Ghost by ShootingFromAfar :

"The runes are wrong.""What does that mean for us?"?" Tim hisses over the beginnings of a dozen voices rising in chant."Nothing good." Jason states grimly, frantically racking his brain for any way out. Whatever entity is about to come out of this circle is going to be baring a fate worse than death.Jason would know. He’s been dead.…Actually speaking of being dead. Jason does know someone from the Ghost Zone with enough sheer audacity to help him fight what very well could be an actual demon.With a mental ‘fuck it’, Jason begins to chant.AKA: Jason and Danny became friends in the Ghost Zone. This is about to be everyone’s problem. Batman just wants to know who this illusive teenager is. Because he’s a meta. Obviously. Not for adoption reasons. No siree, not him. Word Count: 37,602

O Brother, Where Art Thou? by HalfBlackWolfDemon :

A collection of prompts for DP x DC Week 2022.

Danny reconnects with his twin brother, Damian! It's a long read. Please enjoy this!

Some are fun, others are pretty angsty, some are meh. Enjoy

Word Count: 18,261

A Crown Without Jewels by Rottenest :

27 people had a lot of blood; what could he say? “Danyal?” Damian asked, his voice faux-confident. Danny knew that voice, though. Damian spoke in it every time Danny came back from training, his eyes still burning green.Danny sighed. He dropped the katana, hearing it clatter to the floor. Damian carefully, suspiciously, lowered his arm. He still kept his own katana tight in his hands. Both of them knew Danny didn’t go rabid with the red; he could still plot and be deceitful. He didn’t get that blinding Pit Rage. ---OR--- Some 8 years after Danny ran away from the League after his own sort-of experience with the Pits, he and his brother happen to reunite in some less than stellar circumstances. Meaning right after Danny fought and heavily injured roughly 27 assassins. Not-- not the best.TL;DR - Demon twins AU with Pit influenced!Danny Word Count: 10,738

Displacement / Replacement by halfgone (milkywxy) :

Damian has a twin. Damian has never told anyone about said twin. And with a lie, comes its consequence.

Word Count: 11,814

the continuous death of us by sundaze (LegaciesandMemories) :

Damian opened his mouth, but all his usual words failed him. “You’re dead,” he said instead, far hoarser than he expected. At that, the other teenagers tensed. The surprised grin fell from the boy’s face like it had never been there in the first place, his arm falling from Danyal’s shoulder.Danyal smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” With the careless, yet precise way it’s uttered, it sounded like one of Drake’s incessant references. Damian swallowed, but his throat was as dry as the Katpana.Damian and Dick go shopping for Steph's birthday. They find a key piece of Damian's past in the process. Word Count: 2,960

The Fenton Twins by AceFace98 :

The Demon Twins are unique in the League of Assassins, being the only children. With no precedent to guide their tutors, it's recommended that they have a mission together before their first solo ones.

Jasmine Fenton finds two amnesiac boys in a park, not one. This changes the timeline irreparably.

Now the pair are just fourteen, and a suspicious car accident has taken their adoptive parents from them. But Damian Fenton has a secret; his memory had returned to him several months prior, when Danyal had his accident in the ghost portal. With his knowledge, the twins and their adopted - but very important, very close, deeply protected - sister decide to make the trek to Gotham in the hope that Batman is willing to take them in.

That's not the only thing to hope for, of course. Going to Gotham means they may be spotted. And neither twin wants to think about what might befall them if their mother - or grandfather - discovers they're alive.

Or, well, mostly alive.

Word Count: 15,151

Socialization of the Demon Twins by pastistoday :

When not one but two trained assassin children show up on Bruce's doorstep claiming to be his sons, well, what is he to do but welcome them in and try to minimize the chaos.Danyal Al Ghul had known for a while that their grandfather was a manipulative old fool who didn't really care for them. It had taken work but he had managed to convince the League of Shadows to let both him and his twin go to their father promising that whoever will not be heir to the bat will return. Of course he's never planning to go back, but he'll need help breaking Damian free of his misplaced loyalty. Word Count: 23,242

Runaway Assassin by DizzlyPuzzled :

Danyal had been sent to be a mole in Bruce's care, but while they were heading though Blüdhaven, Chemo attacked destroying the city. Danyal hadn't been in the city like he was supposed to be and therefore survived. He'd never wanted to play double agent with the that was his father. He ran, and never looked back. Several years and ghost powers later, Vlad Masters has decided that the students need some self-defense lessons, so he hires an organization that specializes in just that.

Written for Invisobang 2023!!

Word Count: 86,884

The Winning Son by Derp_Interpreter :

The 16-year-old Ghost King is summoned to Gotham only to find his "sacrifices" are the Batfamily, including the brother who betrayed and killed him. Bitter and depressed, Danny lashes out at Damian only for his revenge to backfire. In the presence of volatile emotions and certain triggers, ghosts are often compelled to act out their own deaths. Word Count: 4,742

On-going(Twins)

Life, Death, and In Between by SaturdayNightFrights :

Injured, alone, and terrified, Danny flees to an unfamiliar city. He’s hoping to disappear amongst the high percentage of homeless youth. Become just one face in the crowd, heal in the anonymity Gotham provides.

He doesn’t expect to be found.

______________________________________________________________ OR another DP/DC fanfic where Danny and Damian are long lost twins. Danny suffers, Damian is angry, and Bruce adds to the Wayne family. Hey! It doesn’t count as adoption if they’re your blood son!

Word Count: 88,804

Shoot Suspected Ghosts First, Ask Questions Never by yastaghr :

Danny is in over his head and he knows it. He's feeling overwhelmed with trying to stop a war between the Realms and Earth, and he doesn't have a lot of good options. He makes a desperate attempt to keep as many people alive as he can, and it goes both horribly right and horribly wrong. Word Count: 169,508

my starlight by hollowgast1 :

Damian and Danyal al Ghul have always been connected. That connection should've broken when Damian returned to Nanda Parbat and Danyal didn't, because death is the end, isn't it? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Damian doesn't care how inhuman his brother may be. He's going to find his little brother, take him home, and destroy anyone who dares get in his way - and he knows a few birds and bats that won't hesitate to help him.

or: dick has a new little brother who really, really needs some cuddles

Word Count: 57,762

Phantom Assassin by Kanereader765 :

Danny used to be Talia Al Ghul's son, until he failed in his mission and Ra's Al Ghul made every assassin in the League turn their blades on Danyal.Now he's in Amity, adopted by a red-headed girl a few years older than him, and attempting to keep a low profile. Hard enough without becoming half-dead in a portal accident that leads to the source of the Lazarus pits themselves. Word Count: 68,905

Schrodinger's Danny by Die_Erlkonigin6083 :

Faking his death after a solo mission goes wrong, Danny flees into the Ghost Zone, leaving his twin to mourn his passing. Years later, a pair of meddling kids re-activate the portal in the wreckage of the Fenton household. Since no one else is stepping up to the plate, it looks like it's up to Danny to stop the ghosts from invading Amity Park and protect them from the ghost hunters who seek to research them. He was trained to fight, and his father was Batman afterall, so why not?

Word Count: 81,204

I can be both even if it's hard (and it's hard) by mulit_fandomfreak :

Sam and Tucker ran to get Jazz and didn't see Danny come out of the portal. By the time they return Danny has transformed back.This changes things. Word Count: 48,349

Lost and Found by Nanenna :

It's summer break and Danny is having the most stressful vacation of his half life. Can someone please explain what is going on? Maybe one of the many weirdos following them around Gotham could actually approach and start the interrogation, at least then Danny would know WHY he's currently collecting tails like Pokémon. Wait… is that one from the League? Oh ancients!

Word Count: 7,596

Unfair by ForElisLost :

Danny knew Damian would be there — he'd kept track of his twin's public persona (and vigilante life).He'd been doing a great job of not interacting and keeping from being spotted by Damian.Now, Damian was trying to convince him to leave the League. "Daniyah, there is another way.""I know there is another way. Except I told you about it for years and you never listened.OR: Demon Twins AU in which the Fenton's accidentally transe Danny's gender Word Count: 28,919

Green Never Looked So Sad Before I Lost You. by Rin_may_1103 :

His blood turned cold, his stomach twisting in dread, his tired mind pulling up all of his fears. He doesn’t kill, at least not on purpose anymore. Did she find out? Did she know about his past? Or is this something else?

Had he somehow inadvertently gotten someone hurt? Killed? He didn’t like where this was going. Especially since he still couldn’t spot Jack. Gritting his teeth as his knee burned he took a moment to steady himself before he finally asked the crucial question, “Who?”

or:

Danny and Damian are twins, Something happens, and Danny acquires a lot of uncles.

Constantine is very done with everything.

Word Count: 172,411

Twin, Where Have You Been? by mimi_kc_i :

When Danyal, now Danny, met the eyes of his brother- of Damian, he was unsure of the reaction he was expected to have.Did they expect a tearful reunion? He could do that. Was he meant to shake his brother’s hand, and move on to whatever was next? He could do it, any of it, he just needed to know what they wanted from him.Damian made the decision for him. He looked at him for half a second, and Danny knew those eyes. He felt himself tense, but Damian only scoffed lowly, turned on his heel, and walked away. OR Demon Twin AU where both of them have barely started healing and both believe the other is the superior twin. Shenanigans and healing ensue. Word Count: 65,183

Welcome Home by Nanenna :

When Danny accidentally catches his parents plotting against him he does the only thing he can think of: flee to the birth family he's been intentionally avoiding. Now he's got to balance getting to know them and reconnecting with his lost twin while keeping his own secrets from a family of detectives.

Word Count: 34,410

Leave All Your Longing Behind by DisillusionedDanny :

After the Fentons discover that Danny is a halfa, he finds himself heading to Gotham in search of a family he knows nothing about.Along the way he opens up a psychic shop, starts helping the Bats solve murders in the city, make friends with the local rogues, and catches the attention of the Wayne family.Now if only he can find the family that Clockwork told him was waiting for him in Gotham.updates every thursday. Word Count: 33,362

Complete(Brothers)

Ah, Sunflower by DisillusionedDanny :

Danyal Al Ghul faked his death to give his younger brother a better life and to give himself the life that he always wanted.

Damian Al Ghul was happy to learn his older brother was dead. No longer did he have to live under his shadow.

As the years go by, though, this changes for both of them.

Danny Fenton never got the life he always wanted.

Damian Wayne has realized he will never see his brother again.

That is, until the bats summon the Ghost King and soon two sunflowers finally start to grow the way they were meant to.

Word Count: 63,812

Noise and Light by TheWrittingOwl :

It was supposed to be a quick trip to the Ghost Zone. Just there and back before anyone could question why Danny needed to go see Frostbite alone in the first place. However, Vlad just had to bother him with his usual bullshit. While being chased through the Zone, Danny quickly found himself slamming into some weird Ghost Zone nonsense and turning back into a child. Scared and confused, he tries to find the one person who had always kept him safe when he was younger.Damian hadn't seen his baby brother since the day their grandfather had so cruelly killed him. He wasn't sure how Danyal's body had disappeared when Mother had brought him to the pits, but all Damian knew was that he'd never see his baby brother again. Imagine his surprise when eight years later, his six-year-old brother came back, clawing his way out of the pits and reaching out for him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Based on this tumblr prompt: https://www.tumblr.com/bluerosefox/715375918201421824/i-this-came-to-me-as-om-making-dinner-so-ill Word Count: 35,811

I Chose to Close My Eyes by TheWrittingOwl :

Damian is the only son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne.

This is a fact he carries with pride. He is the only heir to Ra's al Ghul. The one who will take over the league, or if he so chooses continue his father's legacy in becoming the next Batman. There is no need to fight for his position as it has been given to him by his mere birth.

So what then, is this wrinkly creature his mother is calling his sibling?

AKA

5 Times Damian said he would kill Danny, and the one time he said he wouldn't.

Word Count: 3,102

But I will hold on hope, and I won't let you choke by ghostly_frogly :

After the destruction of his hometown and being hunted by the GIW at the age of 14 Danny didn’t know what to do. He debated going to the Ghost Zone and living the rest of his life and afterlife there when he encountered a group of ninjas. The details of how and why are still lost to him but in the moment he fought. He fought and let out as much anger, frustration, and sorrow as possible. His eyes turned green and his fists were shaking and bruised from the fight.Surprisingly, or maybe not with the life he lives, this isn’t the last time the ninjas come after him. He fights more and more off until he meets the man sending the ninjas his way. He is offered training by a man named Ra’s Al Ghul. Danny jumps at the chance, thinking how he could finally run away from his problems or fully die trying. or Danny runs away from everything he's ever known when it is all taken from him. Seeing no better option he joins a cult-like group of assassins. What could go wrong? Word Count; 6,521

Cain and Abel Wept by Katlover98 :

Based on this prompt

https://www.tumblr.com/yetanothergreyjedi/706901334951149568/a-dp-x-dc-crossover-danny-fenton-and-damian-wayne

When Danny was ten, he tried to get his six-year-old brother out of the League, not knowing the betrayal he would receive.

Seven years later, the Fentons are on the run from the GIW while trying to find ways to dismantle the government-funded organization. They end up in Gotham where Danny sees a familiar face

Word Count: 31,354

Summons by DizzlyPuzzled :

Phantom was next in line for the throne of the Ghost Zone, however, he was still underage. He wouldn't be king for some time, yet when they summon the Ghost King now, someone still has to show up. Word Count: 17,295

On-going(Brothers)

Off With [the Demon's] Head by halfgone (milkywxy) for satoshy12 :

As it turns out, Damian is not Talia's firstborn. Not her first child, not her first son. This would not be so horrible if Talia's actual firstborn hadn't been stolen from her as a babe. But he's alive. And he's not alone. As it turns out, Talia is a grandmother. She takes this news surprisingly well. If only Damian did the same. Word Count: 62,181

regular boy: daniel wayne by diamond_rozie :

“Reporting live from Gotham City, here at the scene of the crime. Dr. Collin Kilye, renowned geneticist, has shot himself and has been declared dead by the paramedics. Dr. Kilye is suspected to be responsible for the purposeful switching of newborns between families under his care, where an known over 500 babies have been swapped in the last 20 years of his employment here. Based on the information provided to the Gotham PD by Nightwing and Batman, we are led to believe that Nightwing has been investigating this case after an anonymous tipoff. After a month and a half of investigating, Nightwing-” Dick had learned that people never know a situation as well as they assume they did. Dick had always assumed that he wouldn’t be one of those people. He was a detective, a Bat, the first Robin.The case file in front of him glared tauntingly. He should've known better to assume anything. Danny Fenton; Birth Parents: Bruce Wayne (father) and Clarissa King (mother). Status: Alive Word Count: 100,571

Some Kind of Miraculous Bind by Saitrised :

Damian Wayne is the heir to the Bat, the Blood Son. Except, he wasn't always the only blood son. There was another, younger heir once, before Damian had left the league and his brother hadn't had the chance to join him. There was one alive heir to the Bat, and a second one, secret to all but him, that was gone. Danny Fenton is already tired of being the Ghost King. Not even six months into his reign, and he's having to deal with ectoplasmic leaking past Amity's borders and new, unknown threats against his people. And the fact that Gotham, the one city that he had mentally marked as off limits, seems to be where most of the problems are isn't helping. ---This is an upload of a heavily edited version of the previously posted chapter 14--- Word Count: 126,392

Broken Bonds by SleepingDead (PolarBearSeals) :

Severely injured, Danny escapes the GIW and latches onto the first ghost that called to him who offered protection and rest. Danny regrets it when he learns he's in the city of the brother who'd killed him.And it appears he can't leave. Word Count: 123,699

Prodigal of Lazarus by sherashalala :

Damian looks at him, a million things going on in his head. “The Heir.” That’s not… technically true. He looks at Talia, sending her a look. She looks back with a ‘do not tell him.’ He could understand why. They’re trying something new with Damian, something they couldn’t get to do to Danyal who was already the first born. They’re trying to get him to strive for something. And Danny does exactly the opposite. “No, not anymore– but I am more than that now.” he slowly takes Damian’s hand. “I am your brother, your protector.” He grips Damian’s hand with conviction. “I am your family.” He says with finality. OR The al Ghul heir died, which is how Damian al Ghul inherits the title of heir. By technicality, he gets to keep that title even if the eldest son is revived two years later. Some things happens, and eventually Danny is tasked to escort his younger brother, the heir, to their father. They didn't... exactly tell him he's also to be delivered to Bruce Wayne. To be fair, they could really work with their method of communication! (OR OR The adventures of Danny as he traverses to and from Gotham as the technically-not-heir of al Ghul.) Word Count: 86,324

Ghosts of Our Pasts by yetanothergreyjedi :

Seven years ago, Danyal Al Ghul tried to smuggle his little brother away from the assassins. He… he should've explained it better, but to be fair he wasn't expecting a knife in the back. Now, a class trip to Gotham and he meets eyes with his brother. He runs. Word Count: 24,102

#danny phantom #ao3 fanfic #crossover fanfiction #dc universe #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #damian wayne #al ghul family #demon twins

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dottores · 1 year ago

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HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, dottore.

notes: wooooooo this is the start of the heavy plot and finallyyyyy getting into their relationship 😎 it’s gonna be spiral from here on out.

GENESIS

“Don’t you have better things to do than bother me.” You frowned deeply, eyes squinted as you stared at the figure who had cornered you at the women's washroom. “You go from wanting nothing to do with me, to not even letting me freshen up in peace.”

“Alas, you’ve become my job because of your reckless actions,” Dottore said, unperturbed. “I assure you, I enjoy this no more than you do.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” you replied dryly.

The empty smile that painted Dottore’s lips was now edged with a line of cruelty—he was absolutely enjoying this.

“You should be grateful,” he began, and you had a sudden feeling that you weren’t going to like what he was about to say next, “the attention you so desperately craved is finally being given to you.”

You stared at him, a turmoil of emotions eating at your insides, the most prominent of which being outrage but you forced your face to remain cold, as if you were simply dealing with one of the nasty noble kids who liked to poke fun at your lack of a soulmate.

“You will find that the attention I ‘so desperately craved’ was received elsewhere,” you responded, watching the corner of his lips tighten at your words. Digging the knife in deeper even though you probably should have left it, you continued with: “I have as much desire for your attention as I do for a bug’s.”

“Elsewhere as in that lowly aristocrat you attended our event with?” he asked, faux-curiosity dripping from his tone but you knew better. His smile promised bloodshed and violence and you were not going to throw Artem to the wolves.

“Not quite,” you said. “He still lives back in Fontaine, Artem was just a means to an end.”

Sorry, Wrio.

“Is Artem aware of that?” Dottore asked coolly—he didn’t believe you, that was unfortunate.

You’d somehow have to warn Artem to keep an eye out but you weren’t sure if you would get the chance. Moreso, you didn’t even know if it would matter. You had a feeling that even if you did warn Artem, it would do him no good. He wouldn’t be able to protect himself from the Second Harbinger.

“Careful, Doctor,” you chided. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous. It’s an unflattering look on you.”

“Jealousy implicates caring,” Dottore didn’t hesitate to counter, lips flat and unamused, “and I do promise you that the only thing I care about is making sure you don’t get in the way of my research. Or have the past two decades of neglect not made that clear enough for you.”

You stared at him, tongue kissing the back of your teeth as you forced back another snide comment—you thought you might be testing his patience a bit too much. The hint of amusement that had crept onto his lips was long gone, replaced by an unnerving emptiness. You hadn’t noticed how close the two of you were standing, your back flush to the wall and his body mere inches from yours, head tilted down as he spoke to you.

Suddenly, the thin barrier of air between the two of you felt all the more hot. There was no way for you to slip away back to the event where you thought you might be a hint safer with all of the aristocrats’ eyes bearing witness. Worse, you didn’t even know if you wanted him to move away but you knew that you had to make him for the sake of your mission.

A shot in the dark to try to force him to take a step back, you leaned up on your toes, bringing your face closer to his. You couldn’t see his eyes beneath his mask but you imagined that you could, catching a glimmer of red as you moved in close. Your lips brushed his as you said: “I don’t think I am the one unclear about anything right now… are you?”

He stepped away.

You smiled thinly, raising your chin.

“No,” he said icily, “I am not.”

“Of course not,” you said, swiftly moving away but before you could even reach an arm’s length distance, gloved fingers curled around your wrist.

“Where are you going?” Dottore asked, you hated how he suddenly sounded amused because you knew it meant nothing good for you.

“Back to the event before my date and his family start worrying about my absence,” you said, trying to ignore how the pads of his fingers trailed across your inner wrist—you didn’t even think he noticed the instinctual motion, much less how it was throwing you off.

“I’m afraid they’ll have to continue worrying about your absence,” Dottore drawled, grip on your wrist strong and unwavering.

“And why is that?” you asked through grit teeth.

You didn’t like where this was going, you felt like a cornered animal.

“Because you will not be returning to the event, the Tsaritsa has so graciously offered you a stay in Zapolyarny Palace,” Dottore said easily as if he had not just handed you a death sentence and ripped away your dreams of avenging your father all in one. “You should be honored, not many are given such an opportunity.”

You stared at him, expression void of the turbulent emotions rushing through you. You didn’t have to be a genius to know what this meant: they were making you a political prisoner. This was a mistake. You should have seen this coming. You thought that the worst that could happen was that they would kill you, you hadn’t even considered that they could use you against your nation, your family. You despised your stepfather but he would not be the one affected by this: your mother, your half-siblings, your grandfather, Wrio and his father, they would be the ones bearing the burden of the consequences of your actions.

For all of the anger and sadness and hurt you had felt because of your soulmate, you had never hated him until now.

“Are you kidding?” you asked quietly, with at least enough control over your voice for it to not crack as you spoke. You refused to allow yourself to be humiliated because of him.

“Unfortunately, I am entirely serious,” Dottore said but he didn’t sound as if any of this was unfortunate. You thought he might even be pleased if you could catch a glimpse of his eyes beneath his mask. “Don’t look at me like that, you put yourself in this position by coming here. You must’ve known that this was a possibility.”

You didn’t respond, staring at him—speechless for the first time in a long time.

“Unless you didn’t.” He clicked his tongue as if disappointed in you. “One of my colleagues will be watching over you during your stay here. I urge you to lose your attitude with him, and with the rest, should you encounter them. You’ll find that they are not quite as patient as I am.”

“What?” you demanded, your body suddenly felt cold and your anxiety skyrocketed as if this couldn’t get any worse. “Why not you?”

“Careful,” he mocked the same tone you took on him earlier. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re desiring my attention again. It’s an unflattering look on you.”

You scoffed. “It has nothing to do with desiring your attention as it does with fearing for my life. There you go with the self-importance again. Why not you?”

“You being here has opened up a weakness that I cannot afford for the others to learn about lest they take advantage of it,” Dottore said dismissively. “I will be limiting any and all contact with you for both of our sakes’.”

“And he won’t take advantage of it?” you pressed, you could feel the panic creeping in.

Who was he passing you off to?

Wasn’t it more of a risk to pass you off to someone else than to just keep you at his side?

“Oh, he will,” Dottore answered. “Just not in the same way the others would.”

Somehow, that wasn’t reassuring at all.

You felt sick to your stomach, you wanted to cry but you refused to let the tears fall. You had never felt so helpless before. You wanted to go home—you were in over your head, flailing in open water trying to find a buoy before the currents dragged you under and the one person in the world that was supposed to be a lifeline for you was standing on a boat watching you drown.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” an unfamiliar voice spoke, amused. Your gaze turned down the hall, eyes falling upon a dark-haired man dressed in black, gloved fingers intertwined in front of him as he walked closer to the two of you. “She’s quite the little spitfire, isn’t she?”

Had he been there the whole time? How had you not noticed? Were you that absorbed in your conversation with Dottore that it blinded you to your surroundings? You were usually good at picking up presences—an asset that came along with your family’s passed down hydro art.

“She will behave for you,” Dottore talked about you as if you weren’t there, but his voice was low in warning and you knew that was directed toward you.

The man hummed, as if not entirely pleased with that statement before he focused his attention on you, eyes upturned and an unfriendly smile painted on his face. “The Regrator, Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers. I will be supervising you during your stay here. I do hope you prove yourself to be useful.”

The final statement sounded more like a threat than an off-handed comment.

An anchor attached itself to your ankle, dragging you down.

Your soulmate watched as you sank in murky waters.

For some reason, Dottore just couldn’t seem to get his head on straight.

As he made his way down to the small lab he had set up in Zapolyanry Palace, all he could think about was the expression on your face as he handed you off to Pantalone. You looked at him as if he had just physically signed your death sentence—you clearly weren’t stupid, you had to know that Dottore wouldn’t do anything that he thought would put your life at risk, so he wasn’t understanding why you had looked at him like that and he didn’t like it.

He tried to focus on getting back down to the lab—Theta was down there and Dottore was sure that the segment made a mess of the experiment he had been running but he couldn’t even muster any irritation, much less anger. He could only manage a vague sense of bewilderment as he made his way down the dark halls of the palace.

You couldn’t have been that angry that he wasn’t going to be the one looking over you. You didn’t even want anything to do with him anyway, you made that very clear. It was the best course of action for the two of you—the easiest way to make sure that the bond didn’t affect either of you more than it already had. Once he figured out what you meant by ‘the Hydro Archon isn’t the only god blind to threats’, he’d get you whatever evidence you needed and send you on your way back down to Fontaine.

And then he’d never have to see you again and the two of you could go on with your lives as if this never happened.

The thought of that left him unsatisfied and again, the bewilderment that was fogging his head grew. Why did that leave him unsatisfied? It was what he wanted. He didn’t want you around dragging him down and distracting him. The Fatui was going into the most critical few years of its existence, he needed to be able to put all of his attention on his research so then why…

“I don’t think I am the one unclear about anything right now… are you?”

Dottore exhaled as your words crossed through his head again, as his lips tingled at the reminder of the feeling of yours brushing his. He knew you had done it to get him to back up, he had known what you were doing as you did it and yet, it had still caught him off guard and he wasn’t used to being caught off guard.

Was he the one unclear? Dottore didn’t think so—in fact, he thought he was perfectly clear with his expectations and needs, or lack thereof, that is. But the more he thought back to your words, your expression when you left with Pantalone, the feeling of you close to him, the more he hesitated and hesitation simply was not acceptable.

Getting to the bottom of the steps to the lowest floor of the palace, Dottore’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask as a burning smell hit his nose coming from the direction of the metal door of his lab.

Theta, Dottore thought, livid.

All thoughts of you swept away as he stalked the rest of the way down the hall, strides long and purposeful before he threw open the door and slammed it shut behind him. The Theta segment’s head snapped up, eyes wide like a caught deer. In his hands was one of the vials that Dottore had been studying for residue energy of the old gods, the vial burned and blackened at the bottom, creeping up to the top—a putrid scent of rot and fire filling the room.

“What did you do?” Dottore demanded.

Theta put the vial down, backing up a few steps. “It was burning when I got here,” was all he said in response. “You must’ve left it on.”

“Liar,” Dottore spat out, temper already having thinned from you having worn it down during both conversations he had with you and on top of that, his own confusion about you. He hated feeling as if he didn’t have complete autonomy over himself and your arrival in Snehznaya had absolutely destroyed any sense of control he might’ve had, questioning everything he thought he knew as true.

Reaching forward, he snatched the vial from Theta’s hands, it burned the pads of his fingers but he didn’t let it bother him, peeking inside to see if there was anything to salvage only to find all of the remains he had gotten his hands on lost.

Dottore shut his eyes, taking a deep breath in as he tried to calm himself down, convincing himself that deactivating Theta would do more harm than help. He didn’t have the materials to make a new segment and he needed all hands on deck for the upcoming project, including hands as disastrous as Theta’s.

“I specifically told you not to touch anything,” Dottore said tightly, tossing the ruined vial into the waste bin before directing a cold gaze onto Theta.

Theta didn’t respond, staring at Dottore in a way akin to how a lesser predator would in front of a greater one—trying to decide whether or not it should fight back or flee. After a few moments of tension, Theta ultimately made his decision, raising his chin. “What happened upstairs?”

Dottore raised his eyebrows beneath his mask. “Excuse me?” he asked, devoid of emotion as his mind raced.

Could they feel that he had met you?

That would spell more trouble than Dottore was willing to deal with. What awful timing, he thought bitterly. Of course, you show up during the few weeks he had all of the segments returning to the north for briefings before the Fatui finally began to set out on achieving their ultimate goal: obtaining the gnoses and bringing down Celestia.

Epsilon and the younger segments had already been in the north—they were still at the estate a few miles west of the palace. Delta had dropped off the Iota segment the other day so he could join Rho in tracking down the rogue belligerent in the east but they were making their way back to the estate, albeit slowly. Zeta should’ve arrived at the estate at some point tonight and Lambda would be arriving any day now.

Dottore suddenly had a headache, trying to figure out what to do. He did not feel comfortable enough to leave you at Zapolyarny Palace alone with Pantalone but if he stayed, the segments would get suspicious and start showing up to snoop around, and if he told one of them that you were here to send them to watch over you, he knew damn well that the rest would know in a matter of hours. He’d either be facing a noose or a sword—either way, his ultimate fate would remain the same: the segments would know.

“What happened up there?” Theta asked again, more intensely this time. “We could all feel it. It was strange. I don’t know how to describe it. What was it?”

Briefly, Dottore reconsidered deactivation as he stared at the younger version of himself, who was getting more and more impatient as each second without a response passed. He could see the way his fingers were twitching and the way he was shifting on his face, it was only a matter of time before he started getting more aggressive. He thought maybe he should let it get that far, that way he can just kick Theta out of the lab and go back to working—or more importantly, go back to figuring out what he was supposed to do about you.

“What was it?” Theta demanded and then Dottore watched his eyes widen through the holes of his mask. “Was it h-”

He never got the chance to finish the question. The doors to his lab slammed open and Dottore had never been so grateful before to see Epsilon… until he noticed the panicked expression on his face and the way the Gamma segment was half-hiding behind him, hands shaking and lips pressed together tight. He wouldn’t even look Dottore’s way, gaze directed on the floor between them.

“You’re supposed to be back at the estate,” Dottore said firmly, a foreboding feeling weighing on his chest as he stared at the Epsilon segment.

“The Iota segment never came back from exploring the estate grounds,” Epsilon said, voice steady. Behind him, Gamma took in a shaky breath, turning away. “Kappa slipped away while we were trying to find you.”

“You’re much quieter now,” Pantalone noted as he led you deeper into the palace, down dark, twisting and winding halls that you desperately tried to keep track of but it was like a damn maze. You thought you might never be able to navigate them on your own. “You had quite the mouth with the Doctor. I’ve never seen someone speak so scathingly with him and live to tell the tale.”

You didn’t acknowledge his comment, eyes tracing the portraits hung up along the walls—lined with gilded garnishes and decorated with a soft glow emanating from the moon outside. You wondered if it was by chance that the shadows cast over the portraits seemed to highlight some of the paintings' more distinct details or if it was a specific design choice.

You remembered Pantalone mentioning that this was his wing of the palace and somehow you doubted that anything this man did was by chance, even something as meager as making sure paintings were positioned appropriately for the best aesthetic. You let out a breath, looking back out toward the window—toward freedom. It was dark out now and clouds were rolling in swiftly over the moon, smothering the little natural light, a storm was coming, metaphorically and literally.

Even if you did get the chance to escape, which you doubted would even arise to begin with, all you would be doing is walking to your death. You’d freeze in the winter storms of Snezhnaya, you doubt you’d even make it to the line of trees half of a mile away from the palace.

Dully, you wondered if that would be a better fate than this.

“Oh?” Pantalone continued when you didn’t respond to him. “Is your cruelty reserved only for him? What a shame, I wanted a taste of that sharp tongue of yours.”

You bit back a scoff, staring straight ahead as you continued forward, ignoring the way his violet eyes laid heavily on you, waiting to see how you responded to each of his digs. He was testing you. For what? You didn’t know and you didn’t like that. You were having trouble reading the Regrator and reading people was one of the few things you could actually pride yourself on.

You spent more than a decade of your life sitting in the back of the courtroom, watching proceedings and watching people because you figured that the better you were able to read people’s emotions and predict their answers and response, the better able you would be to hide your soulmate from those that liked to pry.

Pantalone was an anomaly. Draped in the finest of Liyuean silks and donning the most expensive gems from the northernmost mines of Snezhnaya, a Harbinger and one of the wealthiest men in Teyvat, you expected that the man was well-respected, especially in his own nation… but you had seen the way that the Snezhnayan aristocrats looked at him.

Where they looked at the other Harbingers with anxiety and fear, they looked at the Regrator with nothing less than derision, whispering to each other and ridiculing him behind his back. You had meant to ask Artem why that was the case but you had never gotten the chance because someone decided to interrupt the two of you.

So why? Why do they look at a man who had made Snezhnaya prosper with such mockery? The nation had been fumbling before his promotion—a powerful military, yes, but a powerful military meant little politically when they were in constant economic recession. They had gone from being the poorest nation in Teyvat to the second wealthiest, just below Liyue itself; they had gone from having no international political sway to having several nations in the palm of their hand.

So why?

Your mind raced, finally looking at Pantalone from the corner of your eye. He held his chin high as he walked but there was a stiffness in his shoulders that didn’t match the otherwise lackadaisical confidence. His skin was borderline gaunt—you barely noticed it, it was clearly getting healthier but there was still an underlying haggard look that seemed inherent now, as if he had suffered years of sickness or starvation and no matter how hard he tried to rectify it, the damage had already been done.

Aristocrats were a very predictable bunch. They found commonality with those that were similar to them and they found joy in deriding those that tried to be similar to them. You had seen it many times in the Fontaine courts, particularly when the nouveau riche families tried to find places with the old-blooded aristocrats. They could sniff who was their own and who was not like wolves sniffing out their prey.

The Regrator was not a born aristocrat.

“I can see the gears turning,” Pantalone murmured. “Tell me, what conclusion have you come to, little spitfire?”

You looked at him, studying him for a moment before saying: “You weren’t born an aristocrat.”

Pantalone smiled, as if whatever answer he had been looking for was answered. “You lot really can pick out a needle in a haystack.”

You hummed, “It’s not hard when the needle is bright red when the rest are silver.”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows, curious, “It’s that obvious?”

“If you’re looking for it,” you explained. “Aristocrats are always looking for it.”

“I was an orphan,” Pantalone said, leading you further down the halls. You had given up on trying to keep track of the twists and turns. “I lived on the streets for two decades.”

“And yet here you are,” you responded.

The richest man on the continent, a Harbinger, the reason for an entire nation’s economic boom.

“And yet here I am,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, it’s not enough for some people, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Yes,” you said dryly, “and I’m sure you’ll make them eat their words eventually.”

Pantalone let out a huff of laughter, drawing to a stop outside of a dark door. You came to a stop next to him, eyes meeting his as he watched you carefully.

“Naturally,” he acknowledged but now there was a darker edge to his voice, a vein of poison seeping into his tone. “You will be staying here, I will be right across the hall. If you need anything, just knock.”

If you try anything, I’ll be there to stop you, you translated silently, catching the cold look in his eyes even as he smiled thinly at you. You gave him a smile that was just as void of kindness, pushing open the door to step into the room you would be staying in.

Vast and well-decorated, your eyes traced the span of the room from the large bed against the wall to the dressers that you wouldn’t be able to fill because the little clothes you brought to Snezhnaya were back at the inn that you had been staying at. There was a fireplace on the wall opposite of the bed and wide windows that rattled against the winds of the incoming storm.

“I’ll be sure to send some of my subordinates out to fetch you some more outfits,” Pantalone offered but his offer was not made from generosity. The heartless, underlying meaning of his words struck deep: you are not leaving any time soon. “I believe we’re going to get along very well with each other.”

“You… were supposed to be watching the younger segments, Epsilon,” Dottore said, now sitting at his lab table as he tried to keep himself calm, voice tight and teeth grinding.

Every time he thought things couldn’t get worse, somehow they did. It was almost comical at this point how blatantly the Celestial gods seemed to have it out for him, using his life and misery as some twisted game of entertainment for them to watch.

“I’d like to see you try to handle all three of the younger segments at once,” Epsilon responded, voice somehow calm and snide at the same time. “… I nearly forgot, you couldn’t even handle one young segment, could you?”

Dottore’s gaze snapped toward Epsilon, rising to his feet in an instant. “What did you just say?” he asked lowly—he had dealt with enough insolence the past few years from his segments, and with you here now too, there was only so much left he could handle before he snapped.

Epsilon smiled casually. “My apologies,” he said, faux-remorse dripping from his tone. “I forgot the Beta segment is still a sore subject for you. I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me.”

Except the Epsilon segment did not forget anything and he, more than any other segment, always thought before he spoke. Every word he spoke was carefully chosen and articulated, each one with a meaning of its own that sometimes even Dottore couldn’t follow along with.

He thought when making the Epsilon segment that he would be the easiest segment to deal with—empathetic and sentimental. But somehow, he became the most manipulative and cruel of all of the older segments, giving kind smiles all the while speaking words that ripped into each individual segments’ insecurities.

He and the Delta segment in particular tended to be at odds the most. Delta was one of the easiest segments to set off and for some reason, Epsilon rose to Theta’s defense frequently—be it solely for the reason of getting under Delta’s skin or him actually sympathizing with the destructive and volatile segment, Dottore didn’t know or care. What he cared about was the fact that it led to him and Delta clashing nearly every time they were in the same room as each other; Delta getting loud and violent while Epsilon just stood there with amused smiles and quiet, antagonizing comments.

The next week would be exhausting with the three of them all in the estate together. And now with you—he cut off his thoughts abruptly, only getting more irritated. You just had to make everything more complicated. He had to focus on finding the younger segments before he allowed his mind to inevitably drift back off to you.

“Where was he last seen?” Dottore asked, the pads of his fingers pressing hard into the metal of his lab table as he awaited a response from the segment.

“He was searching the ruins to the east of the estate,” Epsilon said. “He’s been there and back tons of times, I figured he would be okay on his own while I finished up what you asked of me.”

“You figured wrong,” Dottore said immediately, voice curt and icy. “He couldn’t have gotten too far. He gets distracted easily. He has to be somewhere between the palace and the estate. I can track a general location.”

“I’ll come with you,” Epsilon offered. “We’ll cover ground faster together.”

Dottore stared at him for a moment, studying him irritably. He hadn’t forgotten the snide comment the segment had shot his way—he wondered if this was his attempt at an actual apology or if he had some ulterior motives.

He nearly scoffed, knowing the answer instantly: Epsilon always had ulterior motives.

“Theta,” Dottore said coldly, gaze cutting to the side toward the other segment. Theta went stiff at the acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue. “You are to find Kappa. This is your chance to prove you are more useful active than destroyed. Do not fail.”

Theta’s lips pressed together tight, twitching as if he wanted to say something but decided against it. He nodded shortly after a moment and then looked away.

“What about me?” Gamma asked suddenly. “What do you want me to do?”

Dottore stared at him a moment. He would do more harm than help with him and Epsilon out looking for Iota—the last thing he needed was having to worry about another one of the younger segments getting lost while searching for Iota.

“Stay with Theta, help find Kappa,” Dottore finally said. “There are a lot of people in the palace for the promotion of the Eleventh. Many of whom would hurt him or use him as a weakness to try to get to me. Find him before they do.”

Gamma nodded but swallowed thickly, nervous at the mention of all of the people in the palace for the event. Usually, the attendees all tended to stick to the ballroom during the course of the event but toward the end, some of their bolder enemies meandered down the halls of the palace in hopes of a chance just like the one Kappa wandering off presented.

He needed to be found before that could happen.

His gaze drifted off to one of the thin, high windows in his lab as Theta and Gamma set off to look for Kappa. A familiar, foreboding feeling settled in his stomach when he noticed a storm rolling in over the mountains in the distance.

“Are you ready?” Epsilon asked, tightening the drawstrings of his cloak as he prepared to go back out into the cold.

Dottore nodded, reaching for his own hanging up on the hook near the door. “Let’s go.”

It took about forty minutes of just sitting around the room with nothing to do for you to leave it. He hadn’t locked the door on his way out and he hadn’t told you to not leave the room, so you assumed that you had some semblance of freedom.

Realistically, a part of you figured that this might be what Pantalone wanted—he wanted you to leave the room and do something suspicious so he could interrogate you, but in your defense, you didn’t have anything malicious or suspicious planned. You just wanted to go up and down the hall to get a sense of where you were.

You hesitated as your hand wrapped around the handle of the door, heart beating rapidly inside your chest, an irrational fear of being attacked as soon as you stepped outside of the room sweeping through you. Logically, you knew it wasn’t going to happen. There was no way that Dottore would hand you off to someone that would put you in a position where you could get hurt, or worse—for his own sake, if not yours.

With that thought in mind, you pushed the door open, breath catching as you peeked your head out to look around.

No one.

The hall was dark, only dimly lit by a few candles in the distance. There was not a soul in sight and the only other door besides yours was on the opposite wall of the hall—you assumed that was Pantalone’s room, he had said he would be nearby. You could see a faint light emanating from beneath the door, so as quiet as possible, you slipped out of your room, shutting the door behind you gently.

Looking up and down the hall, you decided to go to the right first. You wouldn’t be out for long—you just wanted to see what the wing of the palace you were staying in looked like, you didn’t like living somewhere where you didn’t even have a layout of the area. It made you feel helpless and trapped.

Exhaling deeply, you kept your eyes peeled and your attention focused as you made your way down the hall, trying to ignore the creepy, expensive portraits that lined the walls—you swore that their eyes followed you as you walked by.

The further you walked, the more anxious you got. It was a cold, creeping feeling that made you feel as if someone was watching you. Each little alcove that was built into the wall suddenly looked as if it was housing enemies, you thought the shadows seemed to be moving.

Just as you were about to abandon your mission and run back to your room, unable to handle the fight or flight feeling rising to your chest, you caught a flash of red from one of the smaller alcoves. Your head snapped to the side, peering through the darkness to try to figure out what you had just seen—your heart leapt to your throat when a pair of red eyes stared back at you. On instinct, your vision reacted to your shock and anxiety, buzzing against your skin.

But the red eyes widened in surprise, fear, seemingly trying to press back against the wall but unable to move any further inward. It was only then that you realized how the pair of eyes were rather low to the ground—at the height of a child’s.

“Come out,” you said quietly, kneeling down to the ground to try to make the kid feel more comfortable.

After a few moments of silence, the figure drew out from the shadows, shoulders tense and hands locked in front of his body. He was young, looked only around five or six at most with tussled, silvery blue hair and trembling lips. He seemed nervous, borderline terrified, his fingers were shaking where he was holding them in front of him.

It was then that you realized just how similar he looked to Dottore. The hair was styled differently but the same color and you remembered the glimmer of red you had caught beneath his mask when you had leaned in close. You stared at the kid, at a loss for words.

Did he have a child? It didn’t make sense. Dottore didn’t seem like the type of person to have a lover, much less kids. You’d like to think you had a decent idea of him considering you spent over fifteen years feeling his emotions and ten receiving random words from his train of thought. Shouldn’t you have realized at some point that he had someone else? Was that why he was constantly ignoring you?

A familiar, ugly feeling stirred in your chest. Jealousy. You thought back to the snide comment you had made to him earlier, unsure if you wanted to laugh or cry at the irony of it.

The thoughts raced through your head, rampant and damning, were you about to be like your stepfather? Intruding on a pre-existing relationship because you happened upon your soulmate. You felt sick to your stomach, you wanted to throw up, but the longer you stayed there without speaking, the more uncomfortable the child looked, refusing to meet your gaze and shifting on his feet anxiously.

He was lost, that was clear enough from his body language and demeanor so you held your hand out to him. You figured that Dottore would come looking for him eventually, or someone would at least, and you thought he shouldn’t be wandering around the halls when there were still so many people in the palace. You could still hear the music and chatter in the distance.

“Come here,” you said softly, holding your hand out toward him. You watched as he stared at your hand curiously, an odd expression on his face, but he didn’t say anything as he moved closer to you. Your brows shot up when you noticed he was limping, gaze dropping down to the blood staining his pants. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer, which you should have expected, the kid seemed shy and anxious. Instead, as soon as he got close enough to you, you lifted him up to sit him on your hip as you rose to your feet. The child let out a surprised noise, fisting at your top when he realized that his feet were no longer touching the ground.

“You shouldn’t be walking on that,” you told him. “I’ll bring you back to my room to check your leg. The Doctor will come for you soon enough.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, you couldn’t help the way your heart squeezed as he relaxed into your arms, resting his head on your shoulder. You could feel his eyes fluttering shut, lashes brushing your neck as they drooped. Instinctually, you hummed softly, one hand rubbing circles between his shoulders as you made your way back to your room, trying to sort through all of your racing thoughts as he fell asleep against you.

Was it his son? It had to be unless the kid was some weird scientific experiment… which you supposed was also possible. You sighed heavily, making it half of the way down the hall back to your room when you caught sight of two figures standing at the end of it—you couldn’t make out their faces, it was too dark, but you could see their forms dimly illuminated by the moon glowing high in the sky.

Instantly, something didn’t sit right in your stomach about it, alarm bells ringing through your head, echoing as one of them stepped closer.

You stepped back, grip tightening on the boy. He stirred a bit, confused, but you kept your attention focused on the two new arrivals.

“Hand the boy over.”

RBS APPRECIATED

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you

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dancinglikebutterflywings · 2 months ago

Text

Not Dead Yet | Part 01

-> Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Medium-Fem!Reader

-> Sypnosis: After a strange encounter, Jeonghan wakes up outside of his body. The only person who can see him is Y/N, a woman with a gift (or curse as she would call it) who is able to see and communicate with the deceased. But Jeonghan isn't dead... not yet anyway.

-> Warnings: Supernatural au. There is a mention of God's and collapsing. Jeonghan is a bit of a heart breaker/player. Only mentioned once that reader has dark hair. This was going to be just a prologue but it ended up a chapter.

-> Word Count: 1,605

-> Taglist: open. Leave a comment on the masterlist post, send an ask or fill out the Tag List Form.

Not Dead Yet Masterlist | SEVENTEEN M.List

As Jeonghan walks with Ji-Ah, the woman he’s been seeing for the last three weeks, alongside the Han River, he takes this moment to do what he’s been trying to do all night. He drops her hand as he stops walking and turns to face the river, his arms resting on the railing. Ji-Ah notices the shift in the atmosphere as soon as Jeonghan lets go of her hand. The warmth of his touch is replaced by a sudden chill in the air. With concern, she turns to face him but before she could say anything, he starts to speak.

“Ji-Ah,” he begins, his voice feigning regret. “I’m sorry, this just isn't working for me.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve only just started getting to know each other.”

He can hear the hurt in her voice but he feels no sympathy. “Listen, Ji-Ah,” he continues, starting his well-rehearsed go-to break up speech, “You’re an incredible woman. It’s just that I don’t think we’re a good match. I’m sure there’s someone wonderful out there for you. I just don’t think I’m that person.”

“But it’s my birthday,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she fights back tears.

"Aish," he mutters under his breath, recalling the reason they had gone out for dinner in the first place. For a fleeting moment, he feels a pang of guilt but quickly suppresses it.

“I thought we had something special,” she sobs, unable to contain her tears any longer.

"It's only been three weeks," he blurts out, not realizing the words had escaped him until he sees her expression, a mix of hurt and disbelief with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Do you even care?” Ji-Ah’s voice is barely above a whisper as it cuts through her cries.

“Of course I care,” he says looking at her with faux sympathy and feeling slightly awkward that this wasn’t ending as quickly as he hoped. After all, they’d only been on four dates in the span of three weeks. According to him, that wasn’t a long enough time to get attached to someone. “I’m doing this because I care about you. I don’t want to waste your time on something that’s never going to work out. This way, you can find someone who truly deserves you and is worth your time.”

“So, this is it?” she asks wiping her tears away.

“I’m afraid so,” he nods.

“Okay,” she says trying to put on a brave face and forget the embarrassment and hurt that’s coursing through her. “Thank you for making my birthday awful. I hope I never see you again.”

“I hope so too,” he says, his words once again slipping out before he could stop them.

“Maybe you’re right,” she concedes, her expression taking on one of offence. “This wouldn’t have worked out because you’re an asshole. I feel sorry for your next girlfriend.” With that she walks away deliberately bumping her shoulder against him as she passes.

He grumbles to himself about how that could have gone a lot quicker and pulls out his phone, finding the number of the woman he met the day before and quickly sends her a text 'plans fell through. Do you want to meet up in 30 minutes?'.

With a smile on his face, he makes his way back towards where his car is parked occasionally checking his phone for a reply. As he reaches his car, he finds a strange man wearing a black top hat, a bright orange suede jacket and horrendous green pants leaning against the tailgate. His expression is blank, not giving Jeonghan any indication of what his motives could be, but his deep brown eyes are fixed intently on him making Jeonghan feel like he was looking right into his soul.

"Can I help you?" he asks the man with a hint of annoyance.

"When are you going to stop breaking these lovely ladies' hearts?" the man replies, his voice calm and steady. "Yoon Jeonghan.”

"Do I know you?" He asks, his eyes widening slightly. He’s 99% sure he’s never seen this man before this moment.

“You don’t, but I’ve been watching you,” he replies, moving away from the car and steps closer to him. The man’s gaze remains steady, and Jeonghan feels a shiver run down his spine. There’s something unsettling about the way this stranger seems to know him. It’s as if he’s been examined under a microscope.

Jeonghan shifts his weight, attempting to shake off the sudden wave of vulnerability that washes over him. "Look, I don’t know who you are or how you think you know me, but I’m not interested in whatever you have to say."

The stranger chuckles softly, a sound that feels oddly out of place given the tension in the air. "Oh, but you should be, Yoon Jeonghan. I’m not here to lecture you on your romantic escapades. In fact, I’m here to give you a warning."

“A warning?” Jeonghan furrows his brow, trying to make sense of the cryptic words. The man’s presence is unsettling, and the way he speaks feels almost as if he’s reciting lines from a play or a movie. “What warning? And how can I trust you? I don’t even know your name.”

“You don’t need to know my name right now,” the man tells him. “The only person who will be able to see you will know my name and that’s when you’ll learn it.”

"I really don’t have time for this," Jeonghan sighs, shaking his head as he goes to take a step past him to get into his car. "I have plans that I need to get to.”

"Plans, you say?” The man says, tilting his head slightly, as if considering Jeonghan’s words. “I’m afraid the only plans you have are with the Gods.”

Caught by surprise, Jeonghan turns back to the man, confusion written on his face. “The Gods? I don-”

“Oops,” the man winces as he clicks his fingers and Jeonghan collapses to the ground unconscious. “Probably should have given him a heads-up first,” he says and then shrugs before walking away. “I did try to warn him.”

When jeonghan finally regains awareness, he sits up and finds himself in a hospital room. The faint beeping of machines that monitor his vitals, rings loudly in his ears, the smell of antiseptic fills his nostrils and the fluorescent lights are harsh against his eyes. Before he could panic about how he ended up in hospital, the man from earlier enters his mind. The stranger’s words echo inside his head, a haunting reminder of the bizarre encounter they had and the warning he tried to give him.

Wanting to find a nurse or doctor so he could get discharged knowing there can't be anything wrong with him, he gets out of bed and makes his way to the door.

As he exits the room, a nurse walks by. He tries to get her attention by calling to her but she continues as if she doesn't hear him. Thinking she was being rude. He tries again as another nurse walks past him but she too ignores him.

"Excuse me!" Jeonghan raises his voice, desperation slowly sinking into his tone. "Can someone please help me? I want to go home."

But the nurses and other hospital staff continue past him, their expressions blank. It's as if he’s nothing more than a ghost haunting the halls of the hospital.

Frustration bubbles within him, and he takes a step forward, determined to find someone who will acknowledge his presence. The fluorescent lights hum overhead and his heart races as he wanders down the corridor. He glances into the rooms he passes, catching glimpses of patients lying in beds, some asleep, some having visits with family members and others staring blankly at the ceiling with nothing else to do.

Finally, he spots a doctor in a white coat, clipboard in hand, walking briskly toward him. Jeonghan rushes to intercept him. "Excuse me! Can you help me? I need to know what happened to me," he pleads, his voice tinged with urgency. But just like the nurses, the doctor brushes past him as if he were invisible.

Feeling confused and overwhelmed, Jeonghan sinks into a chair meant for waiting families. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands, mumbling to himself.

Eventually he lifts his head, glancing around the waiting area. The chairs are filled with families, most of their faces etched with worry or relief, some with boredom, but none of them seem to notice him. The weight of everything that’s happening starts to get to him, and he fights back the urge to scream and demand for someone to see him.

Taking a deep breath, he stands up, a spark of determination igniting within him. Just as he prepares to approach the doctor at the nurse's station, the elevator doors across from him slide open. His heart races as he sees a figure step out, exuding a warmth and confidence that draws him in. Her dark hair is slightly tousled, as if she just rolled out of bed, and her outfit—a black faux leather jacket, a white shirt, ripped jeans, and white sneakers—makes him think she’s not part of the hospital staff.

Before he can make another move, she looks up, their eyes connecting, and for the first time since waking up, he feels truly seen and is reminded of what the odd man from earlier said.

“The only person who will be able to see you will know my name.”

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

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maximotts · 1 year ago

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18. “so perfect all tied up for me.” With your dollhouse au? I’m imagining those silk ribbon bondage rope not just tying you down but wrapped around you because Wanda thinks it’s such a pretty sight <3

I'm a different person posting this than I was yesterday when I started this fic... and then it got Deleted in drafts and I saw my life flash before my eyes. This is edited kinda, but honestlyyy I just needed to conquer it at this point lmao

please don't flag this fic, I have warnings clearly labeled

Doll House AU. masterlist. wc: 1.7 cw: 18+ only, please. smut, fluff. loose ribbon bondage. body worship. inspection. fingering (r receiving). oral (r receiving). size kink if you squint. overstim. mommy kink. snuggly aftercare. and then all the usual Doll House warnings.

Wanda and Doll spend an intimate afternoon in bed, Wanda perfecting her ribbon tying skills while judging your patience

⁛— 2nd birthday sleepover.

"There you go, all nice and pretty..."

Silk ribbons adorned your figure, wrapping you like an extra present to Wanda, from Wanda. She'd spent the past hour fawning over you atop your plush bed, shedding your morning outfit only to replace it with buttery soft threads. "So perfect, all tied up for me."

It wasn't tight enough to restrain you really, if you truly wanted to wiggling away was an option— but you didn't want anything of the sort. Wanda's undivided attention was the best kind of afternoon you could hope for.

Curious as ever, you still had your questions. "Mommy, why aren't these tight?"

Shrugging your shoulders showed off the little movement you could make, careful not to undo any of Wanda's hard work. The older woman laughed and kissed your hip above the ribbon she'd tied over your curves, amusement filled green eyes gazing up and instantly bringing a dopey smile to your face. "I don't want to tie you down, not today at least."

"Then what are we doing?" Oh you wished so badly you could reach up and kiss her, but your wrists tied at your middle stopped you from bending too far, again more fearful of messing up whatever goal Wanda strove for.

And that was the most of what you were doing, Wanda testing your patience, whatever willingness you had to let your reverence of her outweigh your own desires... so far you were performing perfectly.

“We’re playing, of course. Silly thing,” Wanda sat up between your legs, crawling over your prone body until she could reach your neck for her next area of focus. It was an excessive show of possession, biting endlessly along your throat, leaving marks she'd be tending to for days after, relishing in how helplessly you squirmed under her; this could easily become her favorite afternoon playtime. "Aren't you having fun?"

Lithe fingers slid under the thick ribbons at your legs, playfully tugging just to hear your surprised squeak. Your legs fell apart with nearly no coaxing, Wanda’s fingernails scraping over your inner thighs just the way she knew you adored. Small shivers rattled your body as best they could within your restraints, ever conscious of leaving them in place, and the moment she laid eyes on your glistening sex she remembered why she’d decided to keep your lower limbs tied separately.

“I asked you a question.” The only answer she received was your meek nod, an action that resulted in a faux pout from Wanda, more concerned with how often you forgot you were allowed to speak now rather than whether or not you were truly enjoying yourself. That much was evident.

“It sure looks like you’re having fun,” Spreading your folds apart was just as easy as your legs, leaving you completely vulnerable to Wanda’s impromptu inspection. No matter how long you stayed with her, there was a persistent shyness about you, but your longing for your mommy’s approval always won out. It would be so easy to uncurl your hands where they rested bound together a mere few inches above Wanda’s, to push her away and cover yourself… but you didn’t— just as Wanda expected of you.

Today’s obedience earned you a reward, but Wanda wouldn’t spell it out for you, preferring instead to continue her game of testing self-restraint. It was better to train you into behaving even without possible reward, no matter that she already spoiled you rotten every chance she got. Two wet digits left their examination and came to settle on your waiting lips, your patience forced but steadfast. “Say please.”

“Please mommy, may I clean your fingers?” The drawn out please was so adorable Wanda wanted to suffocate you, but instead she sated herself with your grateful sigh around her, your tongue diligently licking until she drew them away.

Her hand came back to settle between your supple thighs, fingers sliding easily through your sex, knuckles just barely grazing your clit. Curious fingertips fell down to your entrance, gathering warm wetness from where you were dripping and bringing them to her own mouth this time. She always wondered if you knew how desperate she was to have you, but one look down at your dazed expression answered that for her easily. “Did my playtime make you all icky? Do I need to clean you up?”

Admittedly, the past hour of Wanda’s gentle touches, sweet words and even sweeter kisses left your brain fuzzy. The tingling in the pit of your stomach had grown into a calm and pleasant ache, much gentler than the gnawing, desperate clawing that plagued you whenever Wanda was rough. Sometimes she left you at that painful edge, frustrated to no end and chastising any complaints she caught. Today if she’d left you with nothing, maybe you’d be able to manage the evening with dull nagging, but the notion of an orgasm at the end of your slowly building high was too tempting to pass by; you had to make your need known. “Make it better, please… want it so bad.”

“So now you speak up, whenever you need something from me…” Wanda took her sweet time traveling down your front, lips brushing over every curve and divot so that when she finally placed one last adoring kiss atop your mound, anticipation buzzed through your veins. “You can cum as much as you’d like, but don’t you dare untie yourself.”

Sometimes Wanda’s rewards were straightforward, a simple start and finish before she sent you off. Surprisingly, you preferred rewards you worked towards together, ones like these where her tongue drew intricate patterns over your clit, teasing and testing just how far gone she could pull you while you remained committed to following her rules. It was harder than it looked, knowing you had the ability to twist and turn with every perfectly placed stroke, but willing your body to stay confined, to preserve Wanda’s ribbon-tied handiwork.

Thankfully they allowed space for the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the clenching of your core as the first wave of orgasm washed over, knocking your head back into your plush array of pillows as you erupted into a fit of moans and pleas. “Mommy.. Mommy, please.. again! Wanna cum again-”

“Such a needy doll, so pretty all tied up for me and begging for my mouth.” It was a brutal inner battle to keep from bucking your hips, fingers fidgeting at your midsection to keep busy in anything other than Wanda’s hair. When she descended again it was all worth it, warm mouth suckling at your swollen bud to distract from the three fingers prodding at your hole.

The stretch was maddening, an instantaneous full feeling sending you over the edge again before Wanda even got the chance to move. She groaned around you as she felt your walls clench, free hand coming to wrap securely around your upper thigh; instinct drove you to back away from the thick intrusion, but she couldn’t have any of that. “Shh, sweetheart, let mommy play a little longer.”

“O-Okay..” Your previous pleasant need evolved into something more, something starved within that only reared its head when Wanda’s intentions turned heady. Careful not to toss around too much, you relaxed as your thoughts settled into a low hum, taking every thrust and each curl of her fingers until individual orgasms merged to one neverending bliss.. you’d lost count after three anyways.

After some unmeasured amount of time, Wanda granted you a reprieve, leaving you dreadfully empty and weakly clenching around nothing. You felt limp head to toe, unable to even raise your arms without Wanda’s help as she worked to slowly unwrap you. She took her time so as not to startle you, smoothing over any tiny indent her ribbon left from your movements and doting on it with a cautious rub of her thumb.

Once she was done, she was genuinely surprised you hadn’t dozed off; the act of overstimulation alone was occasionally enough to leave you napping for hours. But today heavy eyes lazily followed her every move, bottom lip quivering more visibly by the second. “You did a wonderful job today, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

The praise was much appreciated as always, but you’d been missing one thing terribly since Wanda had first given the instruction to lay back while she unfurled her ribbon and tired as you were, you needed one last clarification. “Can I touch you now, I want a hug…”

“Of course, we’re long past our game.” You were in Wanda’s lap after the second word, curling into her and wrapping your arms around her middle in the tightest hug you could muster. Any time she searched your thoughts, they were full of her, the urge to be near her so strong Wanda was surprised whenever she got a moment to herself these days.

It was the sweetest form of devotion she could imagine, the pure need to keep her presence in whatever capacity; your lovey ways never failed to render her heart gooey. “That’s why you were so pouty just now, my poor little snugglebug.”

Giving your tummy the gentlest tickle before drawing the sheets closer, Wanda scooted you both until she could lay you down; not that the position mattered much when you stayed attached at the hip. Content little noises rumbled against Wanda’s arm as you made them, keeping still even as you craned your neck to cover her cheek in appreciative smooches. “Nap with me, mama. I’m sleepy.”

“If you insist,” Now it was Wanda’s turn for restraint. It’d take little to no effort to pull herself from your grip even without her powers; there were a myriad of things waiting for her to do downstairs… but she stayed put. The desire to see your smiling face when you woke up in a while, ever excited to wake up in her arms, far outweighed any living room cleaning.

#I'm so exhausted pls forgive typos #doll house au #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #maximotts 2nd anniversary #motts writes.#maximotts

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ackerifle · 1 year ago

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Can you make an asylum patient needy yandere levi ackerman x asylum worker or reporter reader also do you do crossovers if so are you familiar with outlast or the Mount massive asylum

a spoonful of sugar!

yan. asylum patient levi ackerman x fem asylum nurse. reader

+ CW. — au: recon psychiatric hospital, reverse power dynamics, solitary confinement, medical drugging, escapement, morally grey darling, mentions of: mistreatment/abuse of patients, illegal medical procedures; my apologies, i’ve no knowledge on outlast, or asylums for that matter (but the effort is there, trust); not proof-read.

there is something innately unnerving about working so late into the night. it doesn’t help that any remnants of the sun’s presence had since been replaced by the humorless light of the moon, almost mockingly as it shone down on the equally dour and somber asylum. but much to your pleasure, you had been away for the entirety of the day, a blessing for you, but a curse for the recon psychiatric hospital. the asylum without its head nurse may have been left in ruins had you not returned any sooner, all thanks to a particularly high-maintenance patient, one you happened to be on your merry way to see.

delivering medications was child’s play; wonderfully easy, lacking in any form of demanding labor, and so effective. in spite of the fact that you were still quite privy to the more intense and morally questionable procedures performed by the doctors and assisted by the fellow nurses, it wasn’t like you to get your hands dirty. perhaps that is why they always stuck you with the night shift, because it was much simpler and favorable to deal with unconscious patients.

in your dominant hand grasped a singular nonbenzodiazepine pill, colorless and bland, an all white capsule with the only labeling being a letter ‘z,’ engraved on the surface of the medication. it was pinched between your forefinger and thumb, and you were careful as not to be too rough; what would be a sign of poor handling on your part, but you also held an insouciant grip on it to prevent any powdery residue from getting onto your skin. a glass, or rather faux-glass, cup took the empty space of your other hand. a glass half empty with water from two corridors down, courtesy of the leaky faucet from the dingy kitchenette. for once, the water appeared tasteful in the luster of the night, it made you lick your lips when you held the clear glassware up above you as you passed beneath the ceiling lights.

your pace was slowed so as to not allow the water to slosh around too much within its confines, and you made sure the uneven steps on the top floor’s staircase wouldn’t impair neither your ankles, nor fingers. when you had conquered the ascent and found yourself steady on flat ground, you stood motionless and inspected your hand, letting the pill gracelessly fall from your fingertips to the cup of your palm. folding your hand to cover the tablet, you continued down the daunting hallway.

had you not been working at an asylum, you would’ve run for the hills upon seeing such a sight: formidable walls and weak floorboards that creaked under the slightest weight, defectively dismal lighting that was unreliable at its best (constantly flickering) and completely useless at its worst (broken and shattered), and an indefinite silence that would likely cause one to go mad. this was the location deemed as ‘solitary confinement,’ seeing that there was no applicable area for those who deserved such a punishment. the courtyards and other floors were regarded unfit, as it was often frequented by patients and staff alike, and the most suitable section, the basement, was… occupied for more unruly operations.

the latter thought causes a cold shiver to crawl down your spine, and you shake your head with leaden stagnancy to avoid remembering the imagery. thankfully, it doesn’t take long to reach your destination, and you bend down to crouch in front of the door before you. with observant eyes, you gently set the cup down onto the floor, grimacing at how it touches the ground, and you retract your fingers from the body of the glass once the water’s splashes reduce to complete stillness. rising to your feet and straightening your posture, you dig into your pocket, rummaging for the ring of keys set, and looking for the singular key to the top floor’s only inhabited room. you avoid looking into the pathetic excuse of a window, eyes trained to the doorknob; insert, turn right, and pull back. sliding the ring of keys back into your pocket, you take a risky hold of the glass, raising it back up to your level by the rim.

there is absolutely no sense of urgency when you open that door, guiding it with your dominant hand as the inside of the room begins to reveal itself. stepping inside and far enough away from the door’s line of movement, you make eye contact with the patient residing within the recon psychiatric hospital’s loneliest floor, and he does not look happy. your gaze doesn’t shift, locked in place as you feel around for the door, pushing it back with a harsh shove, and only moving once you hear the bolts fasten it closed with an obnoxious slam. you idly meander your way over to the bed, where he is sat, one leg crossed over the other and his hands interlocked atop his knee. he doesn’t look to be someone who requires psychiatric treatment like this, but you’re no fool.

“i heard you gave dr. zoë quite the scare earlier.” you turn your hand faced up, unfurling your grip and displaying the capsule that continues to sit unperturbed in the cradle of your palm. a sour expression was already present on levi’s face, but at the mention of your peer, his eyebrows furrow and lips tug further into a frown, “where were you?”

taking a small step forward, you gradually traipse closer towards the bed that was pressed into the right corner of the room. he is motionless, even as you near. you dully tilt your head to the side with a quizzical look, it is only until you’re within arms reach does levi unravel from the stiff position, uncrossing his legs and unfolding his arms, “you can’t go terrorizing our psychiatrists and psychologists—”

“where were you?” your face falls at his demanding tone, but that is the least of your concerns once you feel levi’s eager hands on your body. simultaneously, he languidly spreads his legs apart until there is enough room for you to stand in between them; something you fail to take notice of as you’re far too distracted by him grabbing you by your torso, digging his fingers dangerously close to the underside of your breasts, then sliding down and tapping his fingers against the sides of your stomach, squeezing almost playfully, before he ultimately decides to sink his claws into your hips.

abrasively jerking you forward, levi’s arms snake around your waist until his hands meet one another overtop the curve on your lower back. you gasp when he pulls you closer, gaping with distraught panic at the glass of water, which fortunately did not spill, but it had come close. your knees collide with the inner side of his thighs, and you clasp your hand that was holding onto the z-drug to restrain it in place, so as not to lose it. once fully retaining your stability, your eyes dart down to levi, offering him an irked glare and placing the closed fist of your dominant hand on his shoulder, attempting to push him back to provide yourself some space. he doesn’t budge whatsoever, even when you continue your futile efforts in prying him off of you.

“where were you?” he repeats for the third time, but when he asked, levi didn’t sound pushy or domineering, unlike the previous two times, just bemused. your attention finally drops down to him, analytically observing as he gaped up at you. it was almost as if he looked at you with vacant, absentminded eyes with the way he refused to avert his gaze, but his gawking was anything but absentminded. his eyes felt intimate, accompanied by his endearing touches and the close proximity. you felt intimidated to hold this unspoken staring contest, “i, well, i was away.”

levi leans into you, until his head can rest in the crook of your neck. you’re rigid in his hold, refusing to let up your firm posture, only slightly bending to accommodate his height, “where?” you grind your molars together, and although you have the right to leave his questions unanswered, you do respond anyway just to satiate his curiosity, “my presence was requested for an asylum in stohess.”

“and what business do they have that involves you?” levi withdraws away from your neck, only to place his chin in between your collar bones, angling his head to look up at you, “i’ve been requested for a possible transfer, there is a young girl over there, i believe her name is annie… regardless, they think she’ll do better in my care. that’s why i’ve been telling you that you need to treat the other staff nicer.”

levi gives you an incredulous scowl, hands shooting up to cup either side of your face and drawing you closer until you’re nearly forehead to forehead. his eyes are awfully scary when he’s this close, and his voice goes monotonous, “you aren’t going. that’s ridiculous, they need you transferred to help one patient?” he asserts as if he’s the one in charge of that choice, you scoff.

“it’s ridiculous to stay for one patient, levi.” you’re given a break from the leer he was boring practically into your skull as he rolls his eyes, “it’s not your place or mine to finalize this decision. please don’t be difficult, it’s past time you take your medication.” it is both extremely embarrassing and annoying that you have to beg him to do literally anything, considering it only further feeds into his power and control complex when it comes to you.

he’s quiet for a while after that. perhaps not totally out of the ordinary for him, but you can see the gears turning in his head. levi is thinking about something, and whatever it is, it cannot be good. suppressing your unease, you careen backwards, breaking free from his clutch, but not without dipping your clenched hand into his, finally letting go of the pill. levi’s focus is redirected to the little white caplet, and you nudge the glass of water against his other hand. you cross your arms, waiting impatiently, and his eyes briefly flicker towards you before placing the pill in his mouth, mindful as not to accidentally swallow it, before tossing his head back and taking a hefty sip of water. levi raises the empty glass, and you take it from him, practically snatching it out of his hands and kneeling to set it down on the discolored and tarnished floorboards.

when you stand up and dust off your uniform, levi peers at you expectantly. and you let out a defeated sigh, to which levi smiles, “come here.” you instruct him to do so, but it is you coming to him. levi reels you in by the buckle of your apron, causing you to stumble over your own feet. you place both of your hands flat on his shoulders to ground yourself, wordlessly scolding him with a glare, one that only makes his smile grow wider.

you set your middle finger and thumb on the underside of his jaw, pulling it down slack and examining the inside of his mouth. your other hand finds itself on his cheek while you force his head to the left, then to the right, “lift your tongue.” levi obeys, pressing the muscle to the roof of his mouth, you press an index finger down onto his front teeth, causing his head to incline. you’re far too focused on ensuring that he actually consumed the pill to notice levi had gotten increasingly closer to you, and more level as well. levi catches you off guard when he bites down on your finger—

“ow! levi, i— what the hell? why would you do that?” you jump back, cradling the injured appendage in your other hand, mortified at the bite mark it had left on his wake. levi doesn’t give you much time to fully curse him out like you had wished, seizing you by your hips once more and falling back onto the bed, sitting upright with you at his mercy.

you descend with him, landing in a position that has you straddling his lap. the flat of your palm pries at his shoulder and chest, while your other arm is captured by his own hand, unbothered by your feeble endeavors in distancing yourself from him. levi’s other hand slides across the back of your neck, gripping onto your nape with a strict hold before pushing your head forward. his lips are on yours in an instant, letting go of your arm in favor of cruelly pinching your nose. you almost gag, frantically gasping for air, and without hesitation, levi’s tongue bullies its way into your mouth. and through the feeling of his hand tightening around the back of your neck, of his teeth nipping at your lips, of his tongue dominating yours; there is the feeling of a foreign object, and it feels like a pill.

wildly fighting his hold renders you breathless, and this is a fight you cannot win. tears swell in the corners of your bleary eyes, and the urge to cough becomes more eminent. to subdue the desire to hack and wheeze — which would certainly end in you choking — you instinctively swallow back the build up of both yours and levi’s saliva that gathered in the back of your esophagus. levi draws back from the kiss when he sees the lump in your throat bob and disappear, but he makes no move to release you, only relaxing his hands in their place. and it is now that you remember why he was administered to this asylum in the first place.

“i should’ve done this a long time ago…” apart of you wishes that z-drugs were immediately effective, just so you wouldn’t have to be conscious during your struggle against levi— which was, as always, in vain. it must have been due to the lack of air that you could only recount fragments of what happened. you turned your heel to flee, but levi had pinned you to the ground, keeping you in place with a chokehold that was alarming for someone who had been allegedly sedentary during his time in solitude. if your memory served you correctly, the sound of keys jingling and a door being unlocked could be heard; but whether it was in your dreams or in reality is unknown to you.

but that wouldn’t matter, by now, you and levi would be far from the psychiatric institution. it was easy, laughably easy for him. despite the fact it was such a late hour into the early mornings, and that he was carrying an unconscious and seemingly violated woman on his back, no passerby dared to question him. why would they? he was in a guard’s uniform after all, a stolen guard uniform— and thus, all the onlookers had just assumed that levi was kind enough to help an exhausted nurse on a particularly rough night shift get home safely. oh you were going home alright, back to levi’s home beneath the cities above, and how delighted he is now that he’ll be the one taking care of you. at the end of the day, it is what ‘normal,’ lovers do, isn’t it?

#ackerifle #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot #yandere aot x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader

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mihawkhugs · 5 months ago

Text

night changes

haikyuu | iwaizumi x reader | soulmate au (colours)

a/n : may make a part 2!

Falling in love with Iwaizumi was easy.

It was like watching the night change. You don't really notice how the night passes until dawn arrives, and the sun breaks through the inky hue of the night. But if you play close attention, there are signs that time passes through the night, with clouds floating lazily about as the night sky dances between its shades of midnight.

One may think his gruff nature and blunt manner may be off-putting, and perhaps they once were at first glance, but now, you can read in-between the lines, and see his loud barks of advice for what they conveyed - his concern for you.

You first met him in high school. It was hard not to notice him, often accompanied by his flamboyant companion, Oikawa, and his loving (and loud) fans. In a crowd of smiles and laughter and adoration, his serious face, shouting and angry cursing definitely stood out to you. Especially because of how loud he could get when dragging Oikawa away. They certainly made an iconic dynamic duo.

It was his shouting that led the two of you to become friends.

You were holding your file, spacing out in the hallway whilst going to your next class, when an roar caused you to shriek, drop your file, and jump like you've been electrocuted by Pikachu. You swear your heart almost stopped as you were jolted out of your daze.

"OI SHITTYKAWA! GET YOUR ASS - "

Iwaizumi was interrupted by your (embarrasing) reaction and the both of you had gaped at each other, like demented betta fishes before they fight.

You were the first to snap out of your impromptu staring competition with Mr Spiky Loudmouth, scrambling to pick out your file amd all the papers that had scattered out, blushing in horror at your social faux pas.

"I am so sorry ohmygod you just startled me and I just reacted instinctively jesus I'm a mess please ohmygod - "

His chuckle halted your rambling and made you fumble, feeling mortified that one of the most popular guys in school had just watched you scream, drop your file like an atomic bomb and ramble like a 5 year old who had too much sugar.

He knelt down, and you absentmindedly noted how large his hands were as they helped you pick up the remaining pieces of work, gently arranging them in a neat pile.

"No, I'm sorry for startling you. I shouldn't have been shouting in the hallway like that."

He had a nice voice, mellow and a little deep. He'd probably make a killing reading audiobooks or doing podcasts.

He choked out a laughed as his eyes crinkled, handing you your papers as the tips of his ears turned a little darker, "Thank you? I think?"

As your hands brushed against each others, and before you could hit yourself for saying that out loud (like GOD he was gonna think you had a thing for voices which was NOT the impression you were trying to give) your world burst into colour, and the monochrome world you knew was replaced by so, so many colours, that you had only read about.

Distantly, you heard Iwaizzumi inhale sharply, but you had long forgotten about him and your papers, standing up and looking out the window, entranced by how bright the world was, and how everything looked so different from the shades of grey that were all you knew.

You turned to Iwaizumi, who was staring at you like it was his first time seeing you, and smacked him repeatedly in excitement, causing him to flinch in surprise.

You pointed out the windown as you whacked him in glee, "Look!! Outside!! There are COLOURS!!!! Look!!"

He followed your hand, laughing as he covered his mouth, eyes squinted shut with joy.

"Yes soulmate, I see them too."

You beamed at him before registering what he said. For the second time that day, you gaped at Iwaizumi Hajime like a dead goldfish, trying to say something but your words and brain failing you (again).

He laughed again, a pretty shade of something painting his cheeks as he beamed at you, holding out his hand hesitantly.

"Nice to meet you?"

You reached out automatically to shake his hand (which were indeed much larger than yours), and gargled something gibberish in response.

"Yo Iwa-chan~, it's lunch time! What's taking you so long -"

Oikawa popped his head out from around the corner, before spotting the two of you, his best friend smiling like he had just seen a real life Godzilla, and a cute girl who was blushing like she had seen someone dance naked up a tree.

His eyes gleamed with mischief and he opened his mouth, ready to shit on his best friend, when Iwazumi's head snapped towards him like a demented Annabelle doll, eyes promising revenge, pain and destruction if he so much as breathed in his direction.

So Oikawa did what anyone would do. He screamed out, "Iwa-chan's got a girlfriend!" as he sprinted away, hauling ass.

Your soulmate went from cute happy babyboy to angry demon dog ghost child as he snarled in the direction of the other half of his duo, as you stared at him, brain not braining anymore.

He turned towards you and flashed a small, shy smile.

"Wait for me after school?"

You nodded mechanically. He could have told you to throw yourself out the window and you would have agreed anyways (God he had such a nice voice).

He beamed at you, dimpling his cheeks, before he turned and scowled at the direction his friend had run of too.

"DIE TRASHYKAWA! GET READY TO…"

His voice trailed off as he sprinted down the hallway, yelling obsceneities and insults so creative he could write a book, leaving you staring after him, world completely overturned.

Your hands came up to your cheeks, papers and file totally forgotten as you buried your face in your hands, letting out a silent scream.

You had just met your soulmate.

#haikyuu #iwaizumi x reader #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #aoba johsai #oikawa tooru #hq oikawa #soulmate au #they're just goofy teenage boys #but iwa-chan's got that rizz

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victimeyez · 28 days ago

Text

Collared

The Professionals Masterlist - an In The Woods Somewhere x Professional//Victim crossover AU

Fletcher's home provides more freedom than Tommy is used to, but with new freedoms comes new temptations to disobey.

Tommy’s relationship with his collar changed from day to day now. He was overjoyed when Fletcher finally removed his old collar. The clink of the lock against metal haunted him, and sometimes he still swore he could hear it.

Fletcher replaced it with a new collar, a simple leather piece. They gave it to him in a white box, sat atop crinkly tissue paper. They pulled it out, showed it to Tommy, and then beckoned for him to take it.

“Do you lock this one in the front?” Tommy asked, staring at it in his hands.

“No lock.”

Tommy should have felt happy. Instead, he just felt an uncomfortable drop in his stomach.

“You’re not locking it? At all?” Tommy asked, trying not to sound too petulant.

“No... But I think you’ll find it in your best interest to keep it on.” Fletcher's voice was cool, but Tommy heard the implied threat.

He rubbed the leather between two fingers. It was very sturdy, but also soft.

“Put it on.”

Tommy looked up at Fletcher in surprise. Put it on himself? And unlocked? It felt very strange. A funny part of him felt that Fletcher was doing this all wrong.

Fletcher folded their arms and waited.

“Are we going to have a problem here?”

Fletcher’s voice was calm and dangerous. Tommy swallowed uncomfortably.

They want you to voluntarily submit to their control.

He already felt naked without his other collar. He slipped it around his neck and fastened it, a little clumsily.

“Good choice,” Fletcher told him.

It wasn’t long before he needed to shower. He felt uncomfortable showering here, where he could not lock the door against the trainees staying at the lodge, but he needed to get clean. Tommy undressed and looked at himself in the mirror, inspecting some healing cuts and bruises he’d been marked with. He started the water before he realized he was wearing the leather collar now, and it probably was not waterproof like his last one. He sighed and stopped the water, redressing so he could venture out to find Fletcher.

It took a few minutes, since the lodge was big, and Tommy did not dare call for them. He checked the usual places, but Fletcher was nowhere to be found. Tommy finally settled on asking the students mingling in the kitchen.

He stood by the counter nervously, fumbling with his hands. It was still embarrassing for him to interact with them, and he avoided it as much as possible. Fletcher had not explained anything to them, they just saw that Tommy did whatever Fletcher asked. Fletcher was not hesitant to punish him in front of them either, so they were well aware of their dynamic. Even if they hadn’t, he was bound by the bulky tracker around his ankle, and the collar around his throat.

He’d tried to cover it with a bandana once. As soon as Fletcher saw it, they gave him a dangerous look.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Tommy immediately backpedaled, pulling it off quickly and stuffing it in his pocket.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Fletcher said sternly, but Tommy caught the little smirk that graced their lips as they turned away. He did not try to cover it again.

The students’ conversation paused for a moment as they looked to him.

“Hello, um, has anyone seen where Fletcher is?” Tommy hated how his voice sounded so meek, but any normal social skills he’d had before were long gone. Both students looked to each other, each waiting to see if either spoke up.

“No idea. Do you need to go outside? Maybe get taken for a walk?” Caldera spoke up, her voice filled with faux-sympathy. She wore a mean little grin. Tommy was less than enthused about living with a revolving group of sadists and apaths throughout the year.

“I think I saw them headed to the basement a little while ago, you could check there,” Barlowe suggested helpfully. Tommy swallowed. He wasn’t allowed in the basement alone. He’d have to wait until Fletcher reemerged to get his collar removed.

“Okay, thank you,” he murmured, and shuffled back to the bathroom to remove his change of clothes. He had hoped to get in before someone else used up all the hot water, but he might still get lucky, depending.

He waited around for a while, settling in to watch some television with another trainee. It felt too bold to sit on the couch beside them, so he sat on the ground with his back against the couch. They were watching some show about fairytale characters in a live-action world, but he had a hard time keeping up with it.

Finally Fletcher reappeared, and Tommy saw them passing through the nearby hallway. He hurried to catch up, scared to lose them again.

“Fletcher, hey, um - “

Fletcher stepped into their room, but turned to look at Tommy as they started pulling various odds and ends from their pockets onto their bed. Tommy hovered by the door.

“Is it okay if I take a shower?”

Fletcher rolled their eyes.

“How many times do I have to tell you, you do not have to ask permission for this stuff, just do it.”

“No, yeah, I understand, I just wanted to see if you could remove my collar first?”

Fletcher sat on the edge of their bed.

“Get my boots off.”

Tommy obliged. It felt weird to be in Fletcher’s room, but he wasn’t about to argue. He kneeled to untie Fletcher’s boots, and loosened the laces so he could slide them off without pulling too hard. Once he was done, he tilted his head up to expose his neck. Fletcher shook their head.

“No, it’s not locked. I need you to make the right choices to take it off only when you have to, and I expect you to put it back on right away. Do you understand?”

Tommy tugged a few strands of his hair anxiously. “Yeah, I - if you’re sure, then yes, I’ll do that, I guess.” It felt like a trap, but he didn’t want to disagree.

“Okay then. Go clean yourself up.” Fletcher pointed out the door, and out Tommy went.

Once he was back in the bathroom, he fidgeted with the collar. Caius had always been very clear that he wasn’t even supposed to touch it, much less remove it. If he didn’t, though, Fletcher would probably just lock it on again, right? Tommy sighed and fingered the strap to it, hesitantly undoing the buckle and taking it off.

His neck was scarred from the barbed hooks that had secured his old one in place. He was grateful the new collar covered those marks, at least. He ran his fingers over the thick callus-like swells of scar tissue, trying to minimize them by pushing down on them with the pads of his fingers, but it never went anywhere.

Showering without the collar felt foreign. He’d long gotten used to soaping his hands and pushing fingers up underneath the band, cleaning as best as he could around it. Now nothing was in the way, and he felt the trickle of water on his throat in a way that felt new and a bit ticklish. It was very relaxing.

He shut off the water before he’d dawdled for too long, and drying himself with the towel felt foreign as well when he rubbed his neck. He redressed, toweling off his hair as well as he could, and was about to leave when he saw his collar lying on the counter still.

He felt a bit naked without it, having been attached to his body for so long. A part of him wanted to eschew it, destroy it, a silent protest.

You are being tested. Don’t fail - Fletcher is just hoping you will.

He sighed and wrapped it around his neck, opened the buckle and adjusted the placement to fit snugly, but without discomfort. Caius had threatened to weld a collar onto him before, and Tommy didn’t need to be threatened by his new master as well. He still felt a familiar pang of shame sometimes when he saw it, but what could he do? Resisting would result in the same outcome, only worse.

Caius was still right about that.

Tommy buckled it in place, turning it to sit straight on his neck. He’d be better off considering any ideas of freedom from it as moot. Truly, he wasn’t even sure how he would feel if he didn’t have to wear it. He just knew he had to show Fletcher that he would cooperate - for better or for worse.

It was an unseasonably warm day to be working outside.

It was a wet heat, and working in it had Tommy dripping with sweat. He wiped his forehead for the millionth time and stretched his back out, achy from being hunched over the plants for so long. Fletcher was inside where it was cool, entrenched in a lesson. They would call Tommy if they needed him, but so far he’d been left to his chores.

He tugged on his collar, trying to get a little air on his skin. It was too hot to be wearing leather, and his face was flushed and overheated.

It suddenly occurred to him that he could take it off. Fletcher was inside, maybe a hundred feet away, and probably wouldn't notice if he removed his collar for a bit. Even if they did, he’d hear them coming and have a chance to reattach the collar.

The idea tempted him. It would be so nice just to get a little break from it, and he could just throw it back on later, right? He started to feel for the buckle with his hands, circling the collar twice before he found it.

He hesitated on it, fiddling with the metal along his thumb nervously. What if Fletcher did spot him? What if he forgot to put it back on? What if he dropped or lost his collar while he moved around the yard? So far, he’d shown Fletcher that he was willing - but Fletcher had kind of put it up to his discretion, right?

Tommy started to pull at the strap and then hesitated. He sighed, and flicked it back into place. Who was he kidding? It couldn’t be worth the potential fallout if Fletcher didn’t approve. Would he be punished? Worse, would he be put back in his old collar?

He wiped the sweat from his brow and threw back half his water bottle before picking up his tools again. It wasn’t worth it. Once again, he would just have to endure.

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging @utopian819 @whumpinggoodtime @pretty-face-breaker @inpainandsuffering

#captive whumpee #the professionals #professional//victim #in the woods somewhere #collared whumpee #scars

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star-farer · 1 month ago

Text

the vanishing clone

Summary: Young Clone Force 99 have a moment with their ad'ika on the way back to Kamino AU: Ik'aad Taglist: @kybercrystals94, @fionas-frenzy, @padawancat97

Author's Note: Alrighty anon-whose-true-username-I-know-but-refuse-to-disclose, I've finally tied this one up. I'm officially a year older today, so consider this my gift!

“Sarge!”

The cry startles him out of his reverie, hands juggling for the vibroknife that snaps out of his grip. With a jolt, he catches the hilt between his two wrists. The relief of not losing a finger is quickly replaced by annoyance.

He sighs as he pivots his wrists together to catch the hilt. Sheathing the blade, he looks up at his brother’s hulking figure, desperately fighting the urge not to strangle him for the disturbance.

“What is it?”

“It’s Megs, that’s what!” Wrecker doesn’t hold his disgruntled gaze, eyes wide in a face that turns this way and that, scanning the cockpit with faux-urgency. “I can’t find her.”

Ah. He tries hard to keep the grin from his face and voice. “Again? You lost the kid again?”

“Aww, gimme a break already,” Wrecker declares, mirth clear in the wide smile on his face, “Ya know how good she is at hidin’. I mean, she did learn from the best.”

The last bit is accompanied by a nudge to the shoulder. Hunter only rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Was she with you after we left Kashyyyk?”

“Yup. Had ta pull Tech’s hydrospanner outta her mouth.”

That sounds like their girl alright, the hungry little biter.

He gets up, shaking his head fondly.

“Come on, Wrecks,” he says, loud enough to carry throughout the ship, “I’ll help you find her.”

Wrecker grins at him, jerking his head at the rear cabin as he strides out the cockpit.

“Oy Tech.” The brother in question sticks his head down from out the hold overhead. A thumb is tossed over Wrecker’s shoulder, straight at Hunter. “Got some help.”

Tech presses his lips together, inclining his head when Hunter enters. “I hope you have better luck than we did.” His clever eyes dart briefly to the racks.

Hunter follows after it to see Crosshair lounging on the lowest one along his side, head propped on one hand as the toothpick slides across his smirking teeth. In front of him, Gonky makes little noises they’ve come to make out to be the droid’s equivalent of snickering.

It’s the clone-girl behind Gonky and in front of Crosshair sat on the rack that makes Hunter bite away the tempting laugh. Her little paws cover her eyes, lips spread in a toothy smile.

One long and boring day on Kamino a while back had seen them playing hide-and-go-seek with their ik’aad. Somewhere along the way, she’d given up toddling around and shrieking in search of a hiding place for plopping down on one of the bunks and hiding her face in her hands.

There really had been nothing else to do other than play along, if only for her sake and not the fun of it all, going ballistics over the ‘disappearance’ of their youngest. They’d kept it up even when she’d laughed her hiccoughing laughter and peeked past stubby little fingers.

It was only until after she’d pulled her hands away completely, like unfurling petals, to reveal a face beaming like the sun that they’d breathed a sigh of relief and all but cosseted her with affection.

Today, travelling through hyperspace back to stormy Kamino, seems to be a replay of the game. And they didn’t really have anything better to do, so why not indulge her?

“Tech,” says Hunter, voice as stern and Sergeant-like as he can keep it under the circumstance, “Keep searching the hold. Wrecker, you check the cockpit out. Crosshair—”

“I’m going to take a nap,” interrupts the sniper ungraciously, even as the other two scurry off to make a ruckus. Moving to lie down on his back, he hooks his hands around the toddler and lifts her into the air.

She squeals at the movement, limbs flailing when he holds her awhile up there. But her surprise dissipates into lovely giggles of amusement when he drapes her over his torso, little hands and feet dangling on either side.

When she catches Hunter’s eye, her head resting so that she faces him, she gasps, eyes like two wide moons for her ‘mistake’. With a squeak, she turns to hide her small face into Crosshair’s chest, getting a chuckle and a pat on the back for it.

Hunter would be chuckling too, but he’s got a tiny clone to find first.

“Blast,” he snaps his fingers, head whipping this way and that, “Where’d she go? Could’ve sworn I just saw her.”

Crosshair hums, burying his nose in her curls. “You’re seeing things, vod.”

Hunter flaps a hand his way. “Gonky,” he calls, the droid honking up at him, “You saw her too, didn’t you?”

Playing two descending notes, wholly unconvincing, Gonky sways in negation, washing his make-believe hands off the matter.

“But she was right there. I know she was, and I—” here Hunter flips his hair over his shoulder, hand on one hip with his chin tilting upward— “know everything.”

There are the telltale giggles again, sweet and sunny, just like its maker. It’s the one song he’ll never get tired of hearing over and over again.

He steps aside when he hears shuffling overhead, and Tech flips down from the hold, landing sharp on his two feet. The gleam in his shrewd eyes and the smug tilt of his lips are precursors to a witty remark.

“If that is true — your knowing everything — then how is it that you still don’t know where Omega is?”

Hunter folds his hands over his chest, an eyebrow arching. “Who says I don’t know where she is?”

He’s given a look that says he’s stupid in every language of the universe — including the language of sarcasm. A gloved finger is jabbed at the air in front of his nose. “You did. Approximately 43 seconds back.”

“Hunter knows where she is?” Wrecker pops back into the rear cabin, eyes bright with mischief.

“Well,” taking a seat at the console, Tech adjusts his goggles, “He certainly implied it just this instant.”

And Hunter can’t keep the osik-eating grin off his face this time.

“And who says I’m right?”

He dodges Lula before she hits him smack in the face, along with the glare shot at him from behind yellow lenses. Wrecker gives an exasperated sigh, even as Crosshair mutters something that makes the blond mess of curls shake with laughter.

“Come on already,” whines Wrecker, “We gotta find her!”

“Uh-huh. And tell me who lost her in the first place, Wrecks?” Hunter turns an accusatory eye at the brawler, who raises his hands.

“Hey, I didn’t lose her! She just…disappeared.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Into thin air?”

“Yeah, with a poof and all! You shoulda seen it, Sarge. It was amazing!”

Shaking his head, Hunter asks instead, “Where’d you last see her?”

“Uhh, in the ‘fresher.”

Tech leans forward sharply, an eyebrow angling upwards. “You let her into the refresher by herself?”

“Yeah?”

“Wait,” says Hunter, eyes growing wide, “You don’t think she went down the drain, do you?”

A snort from Crosshair makes them turn to where the man lies with his eyes closed. Through barely moving lips, he mutters, “Only you would lose her like that.”

Not a moment is lost by a gasping Wrecker, slamming the button for the refresher door and lurching into it. Hunter and Tech share a grin when they see his large hands clutch the edges of the sink.

“Omega,” he yells down into its bowl, “Omega! You down there, tracinya?”

Crosshair shushes the toddler on his chest when her giggles grow too loud.

Rolling his eyes, Tech clasps one of Wrecker’s shoulders. “If she went down the drain, she is most likely in the water reprocessor.”

“What?!”

That word, high-pitched and frantic, is torn out of both Hunter and Wrecker’s mouths. A glance is tossed between all four brothers, tight-lipped and sparkling-eyed.

“Oh Force,” murmurs Hunter with mock-dread, dropping down to his hands and knees and pressing his ear against the floor.

Wrecker seizes Tech by his shoulders and shakes him. “Can you shut it down?”

“Of course not,” says Tech, tilting his head away from his brother’s face, “It's a part of the ship’s life-support system. You’ll have to shut the entire ship down in order to shut off the water processor.”

“Then get us out of hyperspace, find the nearest habitable planet, and land us there,” orders Hunter as he sits back on his haunches, “I can’t feel her on the ship at all—”

“Dada!”

As one, their heads swivel around to the star glowing at them where she sits atop Crosshair, her little arms up in the air. She waves, tiny hands turning on her wrists, with a wide smile. “Hi, hi!”

“I found her, haha!”

A grand swoop takes her off her perch and into Wrecker’s arms, twirling her up in the air. She squeals all the way, giggling when he presses a loud kiss to her cheek.

“Technically, we found her.”

“Ah, shove off, Tech. I’m holdin’ the ik’aad.”

“I am aware,” he deadpans, though his lips curl into a small smile when she peeks out at him from her hiding place in the crook of Wrecker’s neck.

Hunter lets out a large sigh and sits right on top of Crosshair’s legs, grinning when it gets a yelp out of him. He swipes a wrist over his forehead. “Thank the Force she’s okay. I thought we’d lost you, kar’ika.” She laughs again at his wide eyes, small palms pressed over her mouth.

His face splitting in a grin of his own, he fights hard to squint his eyes in a stern glare. “Don’t do that,” he wags a finger at her.

She copies him, cooing the same sounds with a wrinkled expression and a tiny finger. Crosshair muffles a surprised choke of laughter into his hand at the same time he kicks Hunter’s side.

It gets him blinking. “Are you copying me?”

Her head turns left to right, curls bouncing, the very picture of angelic innocence. “Mm-mm, Dada.”

He blinks harder now, leaning forward — Crosshair manages to get his feet out in the motion. “Are you lying?”

“Mm-mm.”

He narrows his eyes at her, pursing his lips. She plays mirror, even going so far as to crossing her arms.

“I don’t believe you,” he accuses, jabbing a finger up at her. The only response is an indignant little squawk before she turns to wrap her arms around Wrecker, deciding Hunter is no longer worthy of her attention.

“Are we angry at Hunts now, tracyn?"

She bobs her head, humming, as she points at the cockpit. There’s a good bit of impatience where she bounces in Wrecker's hold.

“Oh,” he nods, “We’re real mad at Hunts.”

Without preamble, save for the evil grin he shoots Hunter’s way, he carries her out. Her chin rests on the muscle of his shoulder, and she pouts at Hunter over it, all scrunched-up nose and drawn eyebrows.

It’s hard to hold a pout, especially when a half-tattooed Clone Sergeant sticks his tongue at you like a cadet, and Omega learns this the hard way. With a surprised yelp, she babbles in outrage, hands flailing and legs swinging, all the way into the cockpit.

Until Wrecker slaps a button and the door cuts her little cry short by sliding shut.

“Ah,” says Tech, in that tone that gets Hunter’s hackles raising. Crosshair’s shoulder bumps into his as he eases up beside him, and he exchanges a wary glance with the sniper. Hunter's almost afraid to ask, but gives in any way, bracing himself for the dreaded answer

"What is it?"

Barely lifting his head from his ‘pad, Tech holds up three fingers, then two, and finally one, before clenching his gloved hand into a fist. He taps a button on his datapad and grins up at his brothers.

“We are nearing her bedtime.”

A wail from the thin durasteel of the cockpit pierces Hunter’s eardrums and makes him deflate.

So much for heading back to Kamino on a good note.

#tbb #the bad batch #clone force 99 #sw tbb #tbb fanfiction #ik'aad #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb omega

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andkisses · 1 year ago

Text

♡ roman holiday | sunghoon ♡

will this bucket list trip be the thing that finally forces you to face your feelings? or will it be the thing that tears the two of you apart for good?

♡ sunghoon x gn!reader | wc. 9.4k ♡ genres/tropes: childhood friends to lovers and the fluff and angst that comes with it, college!au (not obvious but implied), road trips ♡ mentions of/warnings: arguments, references to a toxic family environment, allusions to drowning, i think that’s all but lmk if there’s smth else that needs added! ♡ a/n: this has been a wip for SOO long we’re talking YEARS and has changed muses several times but i finally sat down to finish this and im so proud of what i managed <3 truly some of my favorite things ive ever written ! inspired by roman holiday by halsey! this is also the longest thing i think i have ever written <3

♡ masterlist ♡

The coffee ring on the counter stares back at you, warm brown against a stark egg white. You can’t tell if it’s old or new, and part of you doesn’t care. Another part wants to know, though, when the coffee stain was made and why it was never cleaned. The motel is practically empty, the older lady behind the front desk and a tired-looking family in the corner of the dining room are the only other inhabitants.

Through the windows, dressed quaintly with homesewn drapes, you see the tall mountain trees, dark green and prickly, stretching up to the crystal blue sky. The television across the room is set to the weather station, and the anchor talks about how a cold front could potentially lead to an early snow.

A tray with various breakfast items clunks against the table, and the boy you’ve been traveling with settles in across from you, faux leather chair seat squeaking beneath in subtle “I’m hardly ever used” protest. His dark hair falls into his eyes messily, as if he only just now got up and rolled out of bed. The red flannel and vest he wears matches the surroundings, but looks absurd on your best friend.

“Sunghoon,” you start, interlacing your fingers and resting your chin on the bridge they form. Your eyes scan the tray, accounting each and every tiny portion of food. Eggs, both scrambled and hard boiled, some toast with an assortment of little jam containers, a little bowl of butter, two pancakes, half a waffle, and a few strips of bacon. “Thank you for getting everything,” you continue, leveling a stare over the top of your nose, “but you forgot the syrup.”

The boy in front of you blinks, bites his lips, and nods his head. A soft yeah, I forgot the syrup escapes his lips as he slides out of his chair, the pleather squeaking once again. “Give me like two minutes,” he says, “the breakfast bar is crazy to navigate. Do you see the things I do for you?” His smile is teasing.

“It’s no problem, Hoon—” Your voice trails off as he jogs off into the distance. You shake your head, feeling lethargic and sleepy beneath the slow-turning ceiling fan. Your gaze follows its metallic clink, and the fan seems as if it’s never been replaced in the 50-something years this establishment has operated.

You’re brought back down by a small tug on your sleeve, and when you look, it’s the little girl from the tired family across the room. She blinks up at you, not much unlike Sunghoon, innocent and full of curiosity. You nod your head, encouraging her to talk. The little girl takes a big gulp of air, dual pigtails bobbing, before, “I think your boyfriend is very nice and I like how he gets you your breakfast.”

The laugh that leaves you is easy, the statement hardly shocking at all. You’re used to it, strangers and acquaintances alike assuming the relationship status between the two of you. It’s nothing new. The little girl’s face is confused, her head listing to one side. You nod again, swallowing any additional laughter. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you reply, and you see a little bit of the light in her eyes diminish. “We’re just really good friends. He’s my best friend, actually.”

The girl’s brows furrowed together, a small pout forming on her lips. Obviously not the answer she was expecting. Then she nods, lips pursed. “Yeah, okay,” she mutters, seeming confused. Before she turns to walk back to her family, she looks back up and adds, “He’s a good friend. I would keep him as my friend for a long time.”

“That’s what I intend on doing, kiddo.” Your voice is quiet as the little girl skips back across the old, faded carpet towards her family. You see Sunghoon emerge from the breakfast bar, where everyone else at this motel must be. He waves small packets of syrup in the air. The smile that flits across your face is fleeting. You try to ignore, again, this feeling in your chest. Your voice is small, talking to yourself. “For as long as possible.”

***

The candy-colored Valentine stared back at you, practically mocking you. Third grade and only one Valentine. You tried to fight back the tears, attempted to sniff them back inside, but nothing worked. They fell, one by one, onto the homemade card, soaking through the pink construction paper and leaving roundly-shaped wet splotches across your only card.

You read the simple message, “Happy Valentine’s! – Sunghoon”, over and over and over again. You racked your brain, trying to figure out why, why, why no one else gave you a card. You were nice, you offered to help them when they needed it. It seemed like everyone liked you. They even let you sit by them at lunch.

So why?

The hand on your shoulder startled you, your head whipping up to face the figure standing beside the desk. It was Sunghoon, the boy who gave you the only Valentine in your possession. The edges of his dark hair curled around his eyebrows and the corners of his eyes. His brow scrunched with worry, and he ducked down to see your face.

“Are you okay?”

You shook your head, a bitter pout filling out your lips. “Does it look like I’m okay?”

Sunghoon shrugged, removing his hand to pull out the seat beside you. “I guess not.” He pursed his lips, hands clasped in his lap, before looking back at you. “What’s the matter?”

You flung the single Valentine—his own Valentine—back at him. The construction paper flew through the air before catching, floating down to land on the table by Sunghoon, who deftly picked it up and turned it over in his hands.

“It’s the only one you got?”

You nodded, crossing your arms on your desk and sinking into them. A heavy sigh left your chest and you sniffled, trying to keep the angry tears from falling again. You wished the day would end; that the bell would ring and release you so you could go home and cry somewhere comfier instead.

There was silence, then, “Does it matter if you only got one?”

You scoffed, still hidden in your arms. “Uh, duh? It means no one in this class likes me.”

“Then… why does it matter if everyone else doesn’t like you? Shouldn’t one person liking you be okay?”

You bit your lip. You can’t tell if you like his thinking or not. You decided not to respond.

You heard the chair scrape against the wood floor beside you, and you figured it was Sunghoon leaving to return to the other students. That was fine, you figured. It’s what you should expect, anyway. Even if he was the only one who gave you a Valentine, it was probably only because he gave the whole class Valentine’s. What a guy.

Then the chair was drug against the floor again, much closer this time. You popped your head up, a scowl still on your face, to see what was happening. Sunghoon had scooted it closer, and in his hands was another Valentine. You watched as he flipped the card over to the decorated side and skillfully pulled off the foam heart-shaped sticker, as if he’d had to do this thousands of times before.

His question is one you didn’t expect. “Where do you want to go?”

You look up at him, incredulous. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if you don’t have many friends here, you must want to be somewhere else?” Sunghoon shrugged, as if the thought made perfect sense to him. “Right?”

You pursed your lips, mimicking his shrug. “I guess you’re right...”

“Then,” Sunghoon began again, “where do you want to go?”

“Uhm, my house?” you answered. Crying on your fluffy bed would be much more comfortable than crying on this hard desk. Your arms were sore from resting on the edge and your back was stiff from the awkward angle.

Sunghoon shook his head. “No, think bigger. Like, vacation places and stuff.”

“Hmm... then, maybe, the big cities? The ones you always see in TV shows. And... the beach, because the ocean is really nice.”

Sunghoon nodded, diligently taking note of every place you suggested. His handwriting is a little crooked, but it fit on the now vacant front of a Valentine’s card. He looked up at you, eyes wide with question. “Anywhere else?”

You frowned, deep in thought. Then, as if someone tapped you on the shoulder and whispered it in your ear, an idea sprung to mind. “A really tall mountain, where it’s snowy all the time. No matter the season”

The pencil lead pulled across the paper, leaving information behind. Sunghoon returned to the top of the page, tapping the pencil’s eraser on the side of his cheek before scribbling a final note down. “There! It’s finished!” He slid it over in front of you.

You read the title of the list aloud: “The Wanderlist? But that isn’t even a word.”

Sunghoon shook his head. “It is now.” He leaned over, pointing at all the places you had stated. “And that’s everywhere we’re gonna go, because I’m your best friend now. We won’t be lonely, because we have each other. And we’re gonna travel all over.”

You sat up, leveling him a stare. “Well, this is gonna be expensive, you know. Trips aren’t free. They cost a lot.”

Sunghoon smiled, the kind that, even for a tin moment, makes everything seem like it’s possible. “Then we better start saving now!”

***

The pink paper stares up at you from its place on the dashboard, stuck with a random sticker right next to the air vent. The edges had aged, curling and warping, and your tear stains from 3rd grade are still faintly visible. You read over the list—your wanderlist, as Sunghoon had named it all those years ago.

1. Big cities (because TV) x2!!

2. The beach (because cool ocean)

3. Tall mountain (because always snow)

The big city had been marked off in 6th grade, when the class had a trip to the modern art museum, and again in 8th grade for a series of school-wide competitions, from writing and art to band to mathematics and science. Sunghoon had excelled at creative writing while you swept the math category for your region.

The beach was crossed off the day before the two of you left for college. How bitter it was that you had to be separated, together for ten years only to be settled in two different places. Yes, you weren’t that far away. A half day’s drive. But you both knew, deep down, how likely seeing each other was.

So you did something about it. The day before, you woke up before the sun. You loaded his car up with everything you would need for a daytrip, and you took off for the coast. You spent the whole day, afternoon, and evening parked at a spot on the beach. If you think about it now, you can still smell the seabreeze, imagine it in your hair. You can hear Sunghoon’s laugh, about what, you can’t remember. You do remember how happy you both were.

You remember sitting side by side, sharing a blanket over your shoulders as the seabreeze grew colder, watching the sun disappear on the horizon. You remember the thoughts you had–the ones you normally stamped down and annoyed. You should tell him. You’d been so close before. You wouldn’t even say the word to yourself, but you knew.

You didn’t say anything

“Can you believe these clouds?” Sunghoon says, slipping into the driver's seat and shutting the door. He places his keys into the ignition and turns like he always had. You watch the keychain you got him freshman year of high school swing from momentum. When you look back up, Sunghoon is watching you, leaning one elbow on the center console, hair in his eyes. “I suppose even the weather believes my sunny disposition is more than enough.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, smacking his shoulder. You turn to look out the window, biting your lip. You’ve got to get it together. You blame that little girl from breakfast. You’d been doing just fine not thinking about Sunghoon in That Way. Now here you were, all these stupid feelings drummed up.

It doesn’t help that Sunghoon pulls out a cassette–MT-PSH-5–and pops it into the player. His smile grows wide as he turns out of the parking lot and onto the road, heading further up the mountain. “Nothing like some classic tunes.”

It was dumb. It didn’t mean anything.

It’s all you can think about.

Sneaking out late, hot summer heat still sticky and oppressing. You could feel the waves rise up from the concrete as it finally felt relief in the moonlight. You’d felt like dressing up, sneaking into your mother’s room and applying her fancy department store perfume to the nape of your neck. Your fingers gracefully found her pearls in the glass bowl on the dresser as you left, and you pulled them over your head, letting them rest against your collar bone. They’re still cool against your hot skin.

You escaped through the back patio, walking past the fist-sized hole in the drywall you wished you could forget about. The dusty edges kept raining down debris if someone walked too close to it. You let yourself out the gate in the fence, pulling it shut behind you. You felt for the keys to the front door in your pocket, and they jingled in response. You clasped your hand around the cool metal, the cuts sharp and edgy beneath your palm.

He met you at the corner of his street and yours, his dark hair swallowing up the soft moonlight. It made his features seem younger, softer. It felt like you were kids again.

You fell in line beside each other, walking the empty streets without fear. Who was to stop some teenagers walking the street at midnight? Random cars passed by, people finally returning home from the late shift but paying no mind to you two. And that was fine; you didn’t want them to care.

The black gates around the community pool glinted in the yellow streetlights, reaching out to you like a beacon. The closer you drew, the more the overwhelming scent of chlorine filled the air. You walked forward, hands in your jacket pockets, one wrapped tightly around your house keys. You took a deep, steadying breath. This was fine. You had this.

“Hey, [Y/N], do we really have to do this?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hands from your pockets and grabbing the top of the fence. You’d have to pull yourself up, and be extra careful of the metal pickets at the top. It’d be tough, but you could make it. “What?” you snapped back lightly, voice echoing amongst the night. “Scared of hopping the fence?”

“No, that’d be ridiculous,” Sunghoon replied, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to rest on one foot. “Jumping fences is nothing for me. Jumping fences into property that—” he pointed to a white and red sign just beside your knees. “—considers jumping fences into property after hours as illegal and trespassing? That sets me on edge.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes again. “It’s not like they’ve got police roaming around or anything, and the owner’s too cheap for security cameras. I’m sure if we tried hard enough, we could just pull the fence down instead of having to jump it.” For emphasis, you grabbed hold of the rods and shook. A loud metallic echo escaped into the night, and before you could pull back and shake a third time, Sunghoon had dashed to your side, placing his hands on yours to stop you.

His brown eyes caught the light as he shook his head back and forth and hissed, “If you’re going to do something illegal, do it quietly! Especially when I’m here.”

You leaned forward, head inching towards his, with a scowl on your face. “Then shut up and hop the fence.” You drew back, replacing your hands at the top and pulled yourself up and over with ease. Maybe mandatory PE did have benefits.. Your sneakers landed on the pavement, and when you stood upright from the landing, you stared at Sunghoon through the bars. “You can either join me,” you began, a smirk on your face, chin tilted up, “or you could just wait while I go and find my car keys.”

You turned on your heels, walking towards the lifeguard’s shack. You could have sworn the sigh you heard was strong enough to blow the fence down altogether

Your shoes scuffed against the concrete, and you felt the humid air of the pool spill over and try to reach out to you. Its arms clung and bit at your ankles as the water inside sloshed around with the teasing wind. You shook them off, changing course from the pool’s edge to the guard’s shack. The padlock on the door seemed old—really old—and you crossed your fingers before giving a giant tug and having it pop open in your hands.

The wooden door swung open and you stepped inside the dingy shack. Various lost pool toys littered the floor, and a box of deflated tricolor beach balls appeared to have seen better days. But you weren’t interested in any of that: you needed your car keys. Above you, nestled nearly at the top of the peaked roof was a loft filled with white plastic bins. One of them, you noted, was closer to the edge than the others, as if someone had lazily swung it up there.

You crossed your fingers again, reaching up to pull the basket down to you. “Please be there, please be there, please be there,” you chanted under your breath. You peered into the basket. On top, someone’s embroidered handkerchief. You pinched the soft material between your finger and thumb before tossing it aside in the basket. Someone’s crazy straw, two Rubik’s Cubes, a school ID lanyard, and—yes!

You fished your car keys out with one hand and swung the basket back up into the loft with the other. You turned to leave, ready to find Sunghoon, reunite with your car, and drive home, but before you can even take a single step back out you’ve run into something.

Or someone.

Your scream’s instantly shushed by your best friend, a single finger coming up against your lips. Sunghoon was so close, and you felt the pool humidity roll off his shoulders as he looked at you with confusion. “Are you done?” he asked. “And why are you screaming?”

You shook your head, holding up your keys. “Yes. Also, you scared me. How did you get in here? I didn’t think you’d hop the fence.”

“Didn’t have to.” Sunghoon held up a matching padlock to the one you’d pulled off outside. “Looks like the owner’s too cheap to buy actual locks for his gates. I simply walked in.”

You left the lifeguard’s shack, replacing the lock and headed for the entrance, where Sunghoon easily swung open the wrought iron gate. You walked towards your car as Sunghoon redid the lock, simply looping it through and clicking it shut.

You kissed your car keys and unlocked the doors, swinging down into the driver’s seat. Sunghoon slid into the passenger seat beside you, and as soon as his door shut, the engine was starting and you were pulling out of the parking spot.

“Let a guy put on his seatbelt first?” Sunghoon joked as he clicked his into place. “I don’t see you wearing yours, [Y/N].”

“Then you’re not looking close enough,” you replied, taking one hand off the wheel to pull at your own seatbelt. “Seems as if someone isn’t paying attention.”

“Forgive me, I was busy making sure no one saw our illegal activity. I would like to graduate high school next year with a clean record.”

You laughed something similar to a scoff as you flicked on your turn signal and made your way down his street. “You say that as if we robbed a bank. Is it really trespassing if the locks don’t even work? The wind could have undone them.” You turned to catch a glance at your friend, and what you caught was a judgmental glare in the green glow of the dashboard.

With a simple curve of the steering wheel, you pulled in front of his house. You shifted the car in park and rotated towards the passenger seat. “Thanks for breaking the law with me, Sunghoon. It means a lot. I’m touched.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He leaned towards the door, making as if to pull the handle and open it, when he reached inside his pocket. His eyes lit up and he turned back towards you. “Oh, yeah!”

You shook your head, confused. You hold a single hand up. “Oh, yeah, what?”

“Here’s that mixtape you wanted,” Sunghoon answers, placing a cassette tape in your unintentionally outstretched hand. You scowled. You didn’t know how he had the technology to make a cassette in this day and age, but then again, you were the one with a car so old it still had a cassette player. You two were a pair, you supposed.

“When did you finish it?” you asked, spinning it around in your hands. The clear, Sharpie handwriting read MT-PSH-5 on the short white label.

“This morning,” he replied, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Why didn’t you give it to me earlier, then?” You turn to look at him. The yellow glow of the streetlights blend in with the green of the dashboard lights. His eyes remained that entrancing brown color, though. Romantic and homey all at once, untouchable by any other shade.

Sunghoon shrugged. “Perhaps it was because you didn’t have a car to play it in when I finished it? It was unavailable to you, shall we say.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You kept turning the cassette in your hands, as if you’d find something new and exciting on each turn.

“Oh, and—” Sunghoon leaned across the center console, reaching to take the tape from your hands, like he had something to say or show you. But he stopped. His brows furrowed together, and he turned to you, face mere inches from your own. “Are you wearing perfume?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My mom’s, and I got mad at her since she got mad at me about the car so I...”

An eyebrow quirked up. “You’re showing your mom up by stealing some of her perfume?”

“It’s expensive,” you muttered, sliding down into your seat. “She’ll have to pay for it later. Literally.”

And with that, he laughed. Nice and hearty and his eyes turned into tiny crescent moons and you felt your heart flutter—something that had happened a lot as of late, and you’re not entirely sure why. Yes, Sunghoon was a good friend. A best friend. But that’s all he was. He—

“Hey.” Your attention snapped from a distance spot on the road over to him, and he felt even closer now for some reason. Your heart registered how soft he’d spoken and proceeded to beat faster because of it. His eyes searched yours, but for what you don’t know. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Make sure you get home safe, okay? Wouldn’t want anything happening to the city’s greatest delinquent.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, but it was short and stilted. You barely heard what he said over the thumping of your own blood in your ears. You felt the red flush creep up your neck, dusting your cheeks and turning your ears a cherry color. When you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry, all you could think about was how loud it seemed. Your grip on the mixtape tightened, it seemingly the only thing tethering you to the real world.

You couldn’t tell if the radio was one or not or whether you’d turned car off and left the keys in the ignition. All you could tell was Sunghoon, so close and so real he almost seemed unreal. And then it happened. He leaned in, eyes fluttering shut before placing a soft kiss on the side of your cheek, right next to your lips. It happened too fast and it was the slowest moment of your life all at once. Your heart was practically screaming now, hands rattling around the mixtape.

When he pulled back, he kept going, opening the car door and stepping out. Before closing it, he leaned in and nodded. “I meant what I said about getting back safely. Promise?”

You nodded. “I promise.” You were surprised your voice worked at all. That you were able to form a coherent, albeit a simplistic, sentence. That you could think at all. The door swung shut and you shifted the car into drive.

The whole way home felt automatic, limbs working separate from your internal instructions. When you returned home, you pulled up beside your mailbox and turned the car off, pulling the keys and letting them rest in your hand. You sat motionless, seatbelt still in place, as you stared, eyes fixated at someone mindless spot on the dashboard. The pearls were cool against your heated skin.

It was dumb. It didn’t mean anything.

It’s all you can think about.

You flip the mixtape over in your hands, reading the slightly-faded yet still legible handwriting. MT-HVC-5. You’d run through the songs already, and Sunghoon had switched to some CD mixes he had brought. Why he didn’t get a car with Bluetooth, something you’d done a while ago, you’d never know. Maybe that was part of his charm.

You’d managed to learn to forget about that kiss, or at least ignore it. But Sunghoon pulling out the mixtape he’d given you that night pulls it back up to the surface. You aren’t even sure how it even got into his possession. The longer you recall the memory, the more you can feel the burn on your cheek from where his warm lips touched your skin. The rest of the flush comes back from how you wish so badly it would happen again.

“What’s up?”

“Huh?” You turn towards his voice, away from the window.

“I asked what’s up,” Sunghoon repeats, looking over at you for a split second before returning to the road. “You seem like we’re on another planet.”

“Just thinking about when we were younger, you know...” Did he? What did you want him to think about? The day you’ve been obsessing over? And then what would he do about it? Pull over and confess? Kiss you, but mean it this time?

Sunghoon laughs, breaking your thoughts. He spares another quick glance in your direction. “Younger like what? Like third grade or two days ago?”

You reach across the center console to smack his shoulder. “Why would it be two days ago?”

“We were younger then. Wild, foolish.” Sunghoon takes one hand off the wheel and places his knuckles on his forehead. “The way we were is actually unimaginable now.”

“I’m done with you.”

Sunghoon scoffs. “Sure you are.” A quick beat, a hum to the music. “Anyway, what were you thinking about?”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you think we'll change?”

“We have changed.”

“Really?” He said it so simply, it takes you off guard. You turn to look at him, even though you know he’ll keep his eyes glued safely to the road.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “We’ve totally changed. We don't like the same kinds of music as the old us used to. We don't eat mac and cheese for every conceivable meal—except for the day after that one chem exam.”

“That final was hard!” You reach across the center console to shove at his shoulder–oh, god, why do you keep finding ways to put your hands on him?–earning a smug grin. “None of it was covered in class and you know it!”

“See what I mean?” Sunghoon asks. “We're different, but like, a good different. We’ve adapted.”

The silence that fills the car after isn’t weighty or overbearing. It’s comfortable and common, safe like a child-loved security blanket. Yet, somehow, your stomach fills with stones of dread, and all you want to do is sleep off any bad feelings.

You keep your eyes trained ahead, the curving mountain road, when you ask, “Do you ever think we'll be bad different?

Sunghoon spares a confused glance at you, brows knit together as he switches focus between you and the road. He shakes his head. “No, not us. Never us.”

“Is that a promise?”

The hand closest to you leaves the steering wheel and drifts over the center console, pinky out. “Always.”

You wrap your pinky around his, and try to ignore the heated flush you feel creeping up your neck and the backs of your ears. You focus, instead, on how real Sunghoon feels. How solid the mixtape is in your hands. How, here out in what feels like the middle of nowhere surrounded by evergreens and roadside snow piles that have started to pop up and tall mountain views, time doesn’t feel like it can get you.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe, out here, there’s only good different.

Maybe, that’s all you need.

The clouds from the morning have turned darker, more potent. You can smell rain in the air, hear it as the wind rushes through the trees. It’s so cold though, you wonder if it will snow instead. The mountain weather you’d been looking forward to for so long.

Sunghoon knocks his shoulder into yours, cheeks pink from the cold. He swings your duffle bag towards you, letting go of the strap before you’ve gotten a good grip on it. “Your luggage,” he declares, before marching towards the hotel entrance.

You’d both decided, with your combined measly college student incomes, that wherever the last hotel would be, it needed to be the best you could afford. Standing in front of it now, styled like a fancy chateau with white walls and a red roof, you think the two of you made the right choice.

You had forgot what made such a nice place so affordable, until Sunghoon swipes the key, opens the door for you, gesturing for you to walk in first. The room is cute and delicate, with pretty yet aged wainscotting, petite floral wallpaper, a nice view of the surrounding mountains and–

And one bed.

You freeze. You can’t help it. Maybe the you from this morning, before that girl talked to you, could handle this. The you of right now? The lady at the front desk calling you a cute couple, and Sunghoon going along with it and not correcting her, didn’t help. You aren’t sure if you’re strong enough to keep everything the same.

“Rats,” Sunghoon says, and you breathe a sigh of relief. He’s not cool with this either, you think. He turns toward you with a coy smile. “I’m gonna go back downstairs and ask for more pillows. Three simply won’t cut it. Want me to ask for some fancy water?”

You shake your head, voice gone, and you don’t move until you hear the door shut behind Sunghoon.

And that’s when it starts, as you drag your feet in circles trying to think your way through this. Your hands clench and unclench, fists forming so tightly you leave half-moons from your nails in the fleshy part of your palm. Your breath comes ragged and shallow, and you feel like drowning, except from too much instead of not enough. Too many memories reminding you of too many things. Too many emotions leading to too many feelings you neither want to recognize or acknowledge.

But one keeps pushing its way to the forefront, demanding attention and definition. The one that’s been bothering you all day. It makes you dizzy, to the point you feel you need to lay down and clutch at your stomach. Maybe that’s it, you think as you sit on the edge of the one bed. You’re just sick. Breakfast was bad. But you know it’s not. It makes you angry, because how dare you feel this way about him. It makes you flustered, since you shouldn't look at your best friend's face and have your gaze wander to his lips and wonder what they'd feel like against yours.

It makes you happy, so undeniably happy that you feel like crying, because it feels so right. When you allow yourself to think more about it, and imagine what life would be like if you were able to confirm and agree with all the strangers who already think you’re dating. Lovers. It fills you up with breaths of fresh air to the point it's like floating on cotton clouds.

It makes you fearful. Its dark side claws at your heart, threatening to tear at the tender seams and leave you bloody and raw, so intensely damaged you're afraid of doing anything along the same lines. You had asked about a bad different, and Sunghoon said it wasn’t possible. Right now, you feel like you have to disagree–confessing this? Altering the relationship you’ve carefully crafted for so long?

That would be a bad different.

That’s why, when Sunghoon comes back, three more pillows and a bottle of sparkling water, you don’t answer. You roll over on the bed, curling up away from him, hiding with a pillow on your head. You hear Sunghoon say something about it being a long drive, and he gets it, you should rest. You hear him open the closet door, then feel the spare blanket get draped over you.

And, as you lay here, hot silent tears threatening to spill over and run down your cheeks, you let yourself think about it. You're in love with your best friend. Your nail-bitten palms come to swipe at your eyes, you make the mistake of sniffing aloud. Sunghoon calls your name, and you hate how much you savor the worry in his voice.

But, it’s also too much. He can’t know, you decide. Not now, not ever. That is what would be best, you decide, for the two of you. To be able to get through the rest of this trip.

“[Y/N], what is it?” he calls again. Sunghoon’s voice is laced with care, something tender and soft and so distinctly him it pulls at the tears in your eyes. How can he make this so unfair? “What's wrong?”

“You wouldn't understand,” you snap, pulling yourself to sit up, the pillow falling off. You don’t look at him, but instead at your hands, fists in your lap. Sunghoon easily notes your posture, and confusion floods his features. You hate how quickly he can figure out something’s wrong, that something is bothering you.

“Can I try to understand, at least?” You look up at him, lips pursed, tears smarting your eyes. You take him in–turned towards you in the chair, sitting on the edge, like he can jump to your rescue at any time. The confused look in his eyes hurts—you've always been straightforward with one another. But you know you can’t about this. “I can’t try to fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

You shake your head, wiping one of your cheeks with your fingers, a half laugh falling from your lips. “No, Hoon it's—”

“No.”

The force of the single word hits you, and it hurts more than the angry look in his eye.

He stands, takes a step toward you, then sits hesitantly on the edge of the bed. He's close, and he's been closer, but it's still too much. The rushing sound is back in your ears and your heart pounds against your ribs, telling you to do something, anything, but you stay still.

“Hoon—”

“I said no, [Y/N].” Sunghoon’s words are ice, colder than the breeze outside and sharper than butcher knives. His eyes, once warm and homey, that romantic shade of brown you love, are now dark and piercing. “You don't get to call me special names when you aren't telling me what's wrong. When you aren't acting like the [Y/N] I've known since third grade.” His hands come up to run through his hair, and it flips slowly back into place. His voice drops, the softer, confused Sunghoon returning. “You've been acting weird this whole trip, and especially since this morning. It's driving me insane that I can't figure it out and fix it. I know you better than this.”

He's so close, so, so close. Much too close. Somehow he’s scooted towards you on the bed. You can smell his cologne—when did he start doing that? Why hadn’t you noticed earlier? His eyes are back to the romantic brown, the warm and homey color, the ones that remind you of so many good memories—his eyes are so pretty. Your gaze follows its past patterns and drops to his lips, redder from being gnawed on with worry. A kiss would—

A shaky breath leaves you, and you're talking before you realize, voice so small it's hard to hear. But Sunghoon is listening. He always does.

You blink. “Do you want to know what's wrong?”

“Of course. I need to know if I can do anything or—”

“It's you.”

You want to be upset, angry. How dare it come to this. But you can’t, you realize. You can’t be angry at him. Whatever energy you had coursing through your veins leaves after your pseudo confession, and you turn away, resting your weight on the headboard, hoping he’ll go away.

This, for certain, was bad different. You can feel it, weighing you down. Here, in a chilly, single bed hotel room, you’d ruined everything. Your brain told you to shut up, to be quiet, to try and save anything you could manage from this shattering relationship. But your mouth—or maybe your heart—kept going, and going, and going.

“It’s you,” you repeat, turning back towards him. He’s still there, frozen in place, face filled with concern. “It’s everything you do. The way you... you tell me bad jokes when I’m upset over a grade or make me mixtapes because you want to share your music with me. It’s–I’m–I’m sick of it. I hate it. I hate you”

Sunghoon recoils, eyes wide. He looks around the room, as if the answers to what to say are hidden around. He stands, backing up without turning away, like you’re something he has to keep his eyes on or he’ll get hurt again.

Again.

Sunghoon’s voice is flat when he speaks, like he’s out of breath. Shaky, like he’s about to cry, too. What have you done? “I’m… I’ll go downstairs and ask about if there’s anything nice around for dinner. I’ll–I’ll wait for you in the lobby. Whenever you’re ready, you know.”

Even now, after the nasty things–after I hate you left your lips–he’s still trying to make peace with you.

What did you do to ever deserve him?

And would he even stay with you once you return home?

The door falling shut is what starts your tears again. You slump down off the bed, between it and the window. You pull your knees up to your chest, put your head in your hands, and you cry.

***

It still isn’t over.

You’re breathing heavy, tears still stinging your eyes, but you aren’t sure if you’ve actually cried yet or not. Your fists are balled at your sides. Years of friendship are stuck in your throat, enough to make you want to scream or cry or vomit from the nauseous feeling it induces. The pouring rain, those clouds finally opening up, doesn’t help.

Dinner had been awful, awkward. The only person either of you talked to had been the waiter. You can’t remember what the food tasted like. You can’t remember what, if any, songs played on the radio on the way back. Sunghoon hadn’t bothered to pick anything out. All you could remember, or hear, or see in your head–I hate you. The look in his eyes. How he has barely looked at you since.

You aren’t sure what you have to do to get away, but you’d be willing to make a deal.

Anything to get away from this moment.

Anything to get away from your best friend.

Sunghoon stares at you like he’s only just now met you, and maybe he has. He’d stopped you halfway between the car and the hotel’s entrance, despite the rain. He’d called your name in such a way you froze. Your angered confession from earlier hangs in the air, untouched or acknowledged. A single parking lot light illuminates you two, dim yellow casting shadows through the rain.

“Do you mean that? What you said?” he asks, daring to step forward. You don’t move, anchored in place. By fear or something else, you aren’t sure. He takes another, then a third. The gap between you has been halved. “I know you don’t mean it. I’ve been thinking about it this whole time. You don’t mean it.”

“What makes you so sure?” you spit, taking a step closer in your upset. You level Sunghoon with a stare you hope is intimidating, bitter. You hope he sees the duress. You have to push him away. “I said what I said. I hate you, Park Sunghoon.”

The boy shakes his head, hair stuck to his forehead from the rain. He seems almost incredulous, and it angers you even more. Why doesn’t he get it? There’s a small smirk at the corners of his lips, but you’ve known him long enough to recognize it as mock confidence. “You didn’t mean what you said.”

“I did!” Another step, and now you’re nose to nose with him, staring into the eyes you’ve had memorized for so long, that romantic brown even in the rain and yellow streetlight. Your gaze betrays you and you drink in the slope of his nose, see how his eyes examine you as well. Note the downturn of his lips, almost unnoticeable. Your voice is weaker when you speak again. “I did mean it, Sunghoon.”

He leans in, closer and closer until he stops–a breath away from your lips. He freezes, closes his eyes, and waits.

And you cave, despite your best interests. You find yourself tilting your head and wishing he’d do something more. This can’t be how your first kiss with Sunghoon goes? When he pulls back, and you nearly stumble forward. You look up at him, and the smile on his face is no longer mock. You know what his question will be before he says it, and you know he’s caught you in your lie. “You hate me so much–why did you kiss me back?”

You want to spit back, I didn’t! You want to argue. But the truth is, ever since you’d remembered that day in high school, you’d been imagining what it would be like to actually kiss him, and again, and again. You wanted to know what kissing Sunghoon would be like, even if it meant redefining the relationship you worked so hard to keep as is. The one you said you hated him to protect.

Sunghoon gently cups the sides of your face, forcing you to look at him, and you see worry and concern etched into the space between his brows, spilt in the color of his eyes. “Tell me,” he whispers, voice almost breaking, “what’s wrong. Let me try to fix it.”

You shake your head, trying to form words to explain everything, but all you do is shiver drastically beneath his touch. You watch as Sunghoon’s eyes grow wide, and he leads you inside, arm over your shoulder. The woman at the front desks awards you a quirked eyebrow, but that’s all you get before she returns to her clipboard.

The room is icy cold when you return, but Sunghoon adjusts the temperature in silence. “You get dry first,” he says, pointing at the bathroom. “Take a shower and get warm.”

“But about you?” You want to point out the subtle shake in his hands, and the way his breath catches. “There’s not enough towels to share.”

“I’ll ask for more at the front desk. I’ll be fine. Go.”

The shower water never feels hot enough, but you do stop shivering. You do your best to towel dry your hair. When you peek the door open to see if he’s back, and if you could get your things, you see that Sunghoon has already done it for you. Everything you could need taken from your bag, folded and placed nicely right outside the door. You have no idea when he did it–you’re thankful he did.

When he comes back with extra towels–which, surely, did not take this long–you’re curled up on the bed, similar to before. You rest your weight on the headboard, looking out the window at how the rain patters against the glass. You wish you could see the stars.

Sunghoon is fast, but who’s to say? You aren’t exactly keeping track of time. You know he’s back because you feel the mattress shift. His voice is almost silent when he speaks. “Can we talk?”

“About what?” you ask, turning towards him. You haven’t seen Sunghoon look this tired in a while. And you know it’s your fault. “How I was mean to you?”

Sunghoon smiles, looking down at his clasped hands. He takes a moment to determine what he actually wants to say. “Let’s start with…what it is about me that made you say that?”

His eyes are pleading in the dark. The room is barely lit, the overhead light off. There’s just a lamp on the desk and the streetlight from outside. The rain sound is almost overwhelming in the silence. “If there’s something I’ve done that hurt you–”

“It’s not that. It’s–” You pause, trying to find the right thing to say. You decide to start with the obvious. “There’s a reason I kissed you outside.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because I’m charming and irresistible.”

“This is serious!” You do what you always do when he makes some kind of quip–you reach out to push his shoulder, scooting closer, but Sunghoon catches you by your wrist.

“I am serious. Do you know how much you hurt me when you said you hated me?” He levels you a stare, one that makes you want to shrink away, but you can’t. “When I left, I didn’t ask the front desk about restaurants. I went to my car and sat down and cried because the person I love just said they hated me.”

“You love me?”

“Not like that,” he corrects, and now you have to know what he means.

“Tell me how then.” You take your free hand and grab his other wrist, a mirror of what he’s done to you. “When you say you love me, what do you mean?”

“It’s not like you think, not like what it has been.” Sunghoon looks down, takes a deep breath, then carries on. “Not like friends, or like siblings, but like–”

“Lovers?” you offer.

Sunghoon swallows, sets his jaw. Then, “Yes. Like that. And I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know if it was overnight or gradual or all at once. I do know that I woke up one morning and I realized that I didn’t want to imagine my future with anyone else. And I didn’t want to see you with anyone else, either.”

“Kinda selfish,” you say.

Sunghoon laughs. “Yeah. I couldn’t help it.”

Somehow, you’ve both moved closer to each other. The knees of your crossed legs knock into each other. You still have a hold on the other’s wrist. Sunghoon levels you another stare. “Will you tell me why?”

“Why I said I hated you?” He nods, and you take a deep sigh. “Do you remember the night we snuck into the pool to get my car keys back?”

He nods again, a small smile on his face. “You mean the first night I got enough courage to kiss you? You looked so pretty, with the pearls and the perfume.”

You blush, hearing Sunghoon talk about you like that. “That night. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. And you know how all these people always say we look like a couple or whatever. And it all just stuck together and made me realize that I haven’t seen you like a friend in a long time. I’ve seen you like–”

“A lover?” Sunghoon offers, copying you from earlier.

You smile. “I said I hated you because I was afraid and overwhelmed, and I need you away from me. I thought that if you hated me, I could get over you and just move on. We could make up, and I wouldn’t have these feelings anymore, and we could go back to being friends.

“But if I’m being honest,” you add, moving even closer. Your shoulders knock into one other. “Even though it wasn’t even that long, those hours over dinner just now were some of the worst things I have ever had to do. I was ugly to you, Sunghoon, and you’re the last person on earth who would ever deserve to be talked to that way. But if you could forgive me, I…”

You try to look down again, but Sunghoon lets go of your wrist to place a finger under your chin, tipping your head up to his gaze. “You what?”

“I love you. I’m in love with you, I’ve been in love with you. I love you, Park Sunghoon.” You take a deep breath, just as lightning strikes somewhere far away and the thunder rumbles through the room.

Sunghoon reaches out for you, his hands reach cupping your face again. It’s the most reverent you’ve ever seen him. His eyes roam over your every feature, as if you’ll break if he breathes too hard. It’s thrilling. “Genuinely?” he asks, voice fragile. “You love me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. It feels wrong to be too loud right now, like someone else could join in this moment between the two of you. “And if you would have me, I’d like to love you for a long time after this.”

Sunghoon pulls you to him, resting your forehead against his. He takes a deep breath. Then, “We’ve both just been really, really stupid about it, haven’t we?”

You laugh, savoring his touch and his warm and his smile. You stare into his eyes, those romantic brown ones you love so much. “I guess so.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and your heart jumps. “I know we did outside, but that’s a terrible story for a first kiss.”

“And the one from so long ago doesn’t count, because you just gave me a kiss then,” you say, not sure why you’re rambling when you have the opportunity to just kiss him already.

So, you shut up, and you do.

This kiss is reverent, unlike any that came before. You probably shouldn’t even bother comparing them. Maybe it’s the intentions behind the kiss—that you both want to be here, doing this, for the sake of just being, not proving. Maybe it’s because it hasn’t followed any dramatic late night outings or arguments. Maybe, it’s how you shiver closer to his frame, hands on his shoulders, and his own find the small of your back. You feel his smile against your lips, and the butterflies against your ribs.

Maybe, you should have said something a while ago. You could have avoided the whole I hate you stint, but then would anything else have been dramatic? Some couples are like puzzle pieces, perfectly fitting together with no stress. And maybe you two are a puzzle, one that fits together with ease, but you both intentionally hid pieces from the other, making it difficult to complete. Maybe airing grievances is the only way to get all the pieces back on the table.

You sigh as Sunghoon’s lips travel from your own down the line of your jaw, tickling in a delightful way. You feel safe in his arms, a safe you’ve always felt, but now it feels like something more, something even greater. Your heart jumps, and you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him close. Sunghoon instinctively holds you tighter, his hands against your shoulder blades.

“What is it?” he asks.

You shake your head, finding any words to be incredibly difficult. “I’m just—I’m glad.”

Sunghoon pulls back gently, quirking his head to one side as he looks at you. He uses the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away a stray tear. “Glad for what?” he asks, still cupping your cheek.

You lean into his touch, feeling dizzy with excitement and relief. “Glad that it’s you,” you say, your voice quiet. You lean in, placing a chaste kiss against his lips and, for once, he’s the one to shiver. “I’m glad you’re the one I love. Glad we’re here now, finally.”

Sunghoon pauses. His eyes dart between yours, your lips, and back. He rests his forehead on yours again, and you can already imagine getting used to this, and craving it when you can’t have it. “I waited so long, and I didn’t even know if...” There’s a catch in his voice, and he sounds like he’s about to cry. When he opens his eyes, there’s an honesty to them, a gaze you’ve only seen in Sunghoon’s eyes a handful of times. He smiles, his eyes going soft once more, like you are the most beautiful thing he has ever beheld. And to him, you are. “I always knew we were meant to be.”

***

The lady behind the desk did, in fact, look at you two like you were crazy. The night before you were acting like you were gonna tear each other to pieces. But now you’re walking out in each other’s arms? His around your shoulder, yours around his waist?

The sun is out, and there’s hardly any evidence of the downpour from last night. Maybe the earth needed to be just as dramatic as the two of you.

With the luggage in back, you two climb into the front seats. Sunghoon leans over the center console to press a kiss to your temple, just like he did when you woke up in each other’s arms and just like he did when he insisted on getting you whatever you wanted for breakfast.

“That’s not something new though?” you laugh, as he brings you small portions of everything the hotel had to offer. “You did this before.”

“Well, it’s obviously different now,” he replies. “I didn’t get to kiss you before.”

Now, Sunghoon taps at the Valentine heart on the dash–your wanderlist. What started this all. “We need a new one,” he says. “It took us a while, but we did everything on here. Should the new one be full of cringey couple things?”

“Only if you’d like to go back to being single.”

Sunghoon fakes shock as he shifts the car into gear. “You wouldn’t.”

This time, you lean over to give him a kiss, and you relish how quickly he blushes. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.” You sit back down, still turned towards him, hand atop his. “Maybe, we make the list up as we go. I mean, we’ve never been here before.”

“Didn’t stop third grade us,” he says. “Honestly, they seemed like they had everything together. We should think more like third grade us.”

“You mean complaining about how much things cost? Because I can think of so many things we could do together that would put major dents in our wallets.”

Sunghoon turns to you, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and you know you’ve got this right, even if it took a while to get here. He reaches over, poking your cheek, before turning out of the parking lot. “Then let’s go find it, together.”

#kdiarynet #kwritersworld #kflixnet #k-labels #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen scenarioes #enhypen imagines #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon headcanons #sunghoon scenarioes #sunghoon imagines #enhypen #fluff #angst #college!au #ftl

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firefly-in-darkness · 1 year ago

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Hopelessly Devoted

Pairing → Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary → You visited the Harvest Festival and your boyfriend, James 'Bucky' Barnes surprised you.

Word Count → 1.3k words

Warnings → none, fluffy lovey dovey stuff.

Beta → none.

Prompts/Bingo Cards

AFG Square Fill → Grease AU - @anyfandomgoesbingo

AF Fluff Square Fill → Carving initials in a tree - @anyfandomfluffbingo

Sebastian Stan Square Fill → Blindfold - @sebastianstanbingo

Writer's Note → Well, it's been a while since I wrote anything, let alone shared it on here. This was something I had written last year and just gone over it briefly so hope you enjoy it.

Summer was fading; the sun was setting earlier, and the cool breeze was picking up. Bright greens, blues, and yellows disappeared and replaced with oranges, reds, and browns. Fall was fast approaching, and you didn’t mind one bit. Cozy cardigans, knitted stockings, roaring fires, and hot chocolate were calling your name.

The town’s Harvest Festival was in full swing; pumpkin patches, hayrides, corn mazes, and even hosted a fairground with a Ferris wheel and arcade games. Everyone from town was there, including you and your cousin, Danny. Who had conveniently just left you to show off his bowling skills to his girlfriend, Sandy.

"Hey Doll," the low timbre sent a wave of giddiness through your body.

"Hey yourself," you turned to James and returned his lopsided grin.

James was wearing all black and the trademark T-bird leather jacket. His hair wasn’t as slicked back as earlier. It was a little fluffier, and you prefered it that way too.

He presented a small stuffed teddy bear, "Told you I’d win something for you before night fell."

"And how much did that cost you? I bet the amount you spent would have bought three of these from the store!" You wrapped the bear in your arms as you teased your boyfriend.

"Where’s the fun in that?" He puffed out his chest in faux machoness, "Gotta prove my worth to a Zuko."

You giggled as he exaggerated and flexed his biceps. He turned his head to the side, and you kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, I love it."

His eyes sparkled with mischief, "Let's get out of here."

"What are you planning, mister?" Your eyes narrowed at him in jest.

“Follow me.”

Your gingham skirt and petticoat fluttered out and around you with each step as you skipped to keep up with James' longer strides. You bypassed the bright and colorful fairground. The laughter and joyful screams echoed with each stand and ride you left behind.

James didn’t stop at the coconut shy to show off his throwing skills or the Ferris wheel to charm you with whispered sweet nothings and to kiss you at the top. Instead, he diverted you to the exit and straight to his car.

James held the door open for you as you gathered your skirts and climbed into the car. He raced around the front with a massive grin, slid inside, and handed you the soft blue tie he had worn to prom last year. You'd only been on a couple of dates by the time prom had come around, but he'd made your heart swoon at the gesture of matching the color of your dress.

"It’s a blindfold. I want this all to be a surprise,” the quick explanation eased your confusion.

You nodded and placed the material over your eyes. It wasn’t thick enough to block out the light but obscured your vision enough to not see much in front of you. You tried to tie it but fumbled. James’ hands covered yours and took over.

“Are you going to tell me anything?”

"No, Doll. It will spoil it, but we'll be there in about 10 minutes."

Butterflies erupted in your belly, excited for what lies ahead. You thought of all the places that could be nearby and what the surprise could be. Maybe you were going to have one of those giant sundaes at Frosty Palace, or you were going to see a movie at the drive-in.

The engine started, and you released a small yelp. James laughed as you tried to regain your composure. The familiar sounds of the crackling radio filled the car. You relaxed against the leather bench and enjoyed the sounds of Bill Haley and His Comets.

The absence of Bucky's touch was brief as he held your hand while he drove. You're sure he could hear the race of your heartbeat, but you didn’t care.

The car pulled to a stop, and you heard Bucky open and close the car door before opening yours. A cool breeze wrapped around your exposed calves, and a shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t long before Bucky's warm hand took yours. You climbed out of the car as gracefully as possible. A slight snigger from Bucky had you doubting how well you achieved that.

You focused on your other senses and tried to work out where you were. The soft ground under your pumps meant you weren’t on the sidewalk. Birds chirped above, the slight rustle underfoot and the sweet scent of flowers wafted around. You almost screamed at the feel of something tickling your legs. You managed to choke it down but earned another snigger from James.

"Barnes, you're cruisin'." You mustered up a stern voice.

You lost James’ touch without a word. Your heart dropped as you reached out to find nothing.

"James?"

"I'm here. Gimme a sec, doll."

Your heartbeat returned to normal, and the fear of being left alone was gone as quickly as it had entered your mind.

"Okay, I'm going to come up behind you now."

You felt the warmth before his torso pressed into your back. His body encircled, and a not-so-unfamiliar feeling ignited in your belly as he whispered in your ear.

"Hope you like this doll. You deserve the best."

James removed the blindfold, and it took a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the fading sunlight. Slowly, you looked out over the golden meadow. The blanket, a wicker basket at one, and James’ leather boots on the other, at the foot of the oak tree made your smile widen.

You turned to James with your hands on his chest, "A picnic? For me? Oh, you shouldn't have."

He smirked and lightly kissed your forehead, "I definitely should have.”

Your head rested on Bucky's lap, his arm draped across your waist underneath the makeshift blanket of his leather jacket. Stomachs full from sandwiches and treats. The peace of being close to one another brought unbreakable smiles to your faces.

"Y'know what, doll, I'm so glad Ma moved out of Brooklyn last year. I miss home. But I’d never have met you if I hadn't come here."

You grinned up at him and caressed his cheek, enjoying the scratch from the stubble on his jaw. James leaned into your palm and peppered a kiss there.

His face contorted away from adoration to neutral in a flash. You might have missed the shift if you didn’t know him as well as you did.

“What you thinkin’ about stud?”

“Nothing, it's silly,” his cheeks tinged pink, and he looked away.

Gently, you turned his face towards your line of sight, “This is silly.”

You pulled a ridiculous face with your eyes crossed and tongue sticking out while rocking your head from side to side. James chuckled, and the crinkle of his eyes warmed your heart.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips.

“I’m hopelessly devoted to you,” He whispered back and kissed you once more.

After you enjoyed the last moments of the sunset, Bucky helped you to stand up. You brushed your skirt down and draped his jacket over your shoulders. Then you heard the sound of clicking and scraping.

You followed the noise to find James braced against the tree trunk. You unashamedly gazed at how his muscular arms and back shifted under his top. The propped foot at the roots gave an enticing shape to his behind in the already tight black denim. You almost missed him calling out your name.

Bucky moved away from the tree, closing and pocketing the pen knife to reveal his handiwork.

Yours and his name inside a heart, etched into the bark, for all eternity.

Tag List - it's been a while so please letme know if you would like to be removed from this.

@aeo10fan @capsgrl @charmedbysarge @coffeebooksandfandom @eclipses-and-moondust @emmabarnes @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @foxyjwls007 @gooddaykate @guera31 @ihatecats123 @im-squished @impala1967dwinchester @justagirlinafandomworld @justanotherblonde23 @justile @kalesrebellion @leyannrae @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @nekoannie-chan @queenoftheunderdark @quinjetboi @redbarn1995 @selen-o-phile @starryeyeseunbyul @stuckonjbbarnes @stuckysavedmylive @suchababie @supraveng @valsworldofcreativity @vicmc624 @vintagepigeon @weird-mumbling @wiccanmetallicrose @writerwrites @doasyoudesireandlive @princessmisery666 @rainbowkisses31 @little-diable @ajaviary @pottahishotasf @itsamarvelfan-writes

If you'd like to be added to my Tag List then please complete the form.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Fic #Bucky Barnes x Female Reader #Bucky Barnes Fluff #Bucky Barnes Fanfic #Bucky Barnes Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #James Bucky Barnes

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periwinkla · 8 months ago

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AU where everything is the same but all animals are replaced by Pokémon. So Phoenix cross-examines a Chatot, defends a Wailord (I know Finizen would fit better but it's funnier) and Missile is a Growlithe that probably sets something on fire at some point, maybe Miles' jabot somehow, which probably leads to Gumshoe not being able to afford anything but noodles for a month or two. Pess is probably a Dachsbun? Miles' main partner would be a Gardevoir (little Miles with a Ralts would be adorable), possibly a Kingambit as well in adulthood? It would kinda fit him in a weird way (chess theme, literal steel samurai theme, general color scheme). Honestly there are many mons that could fit him but these are the main ones I thought about.

I can really see Trucy somehow having a Hoopa and screwing with everyone. Phoenix is a tad bit more difficult to pinpoint. Any mon I thought about is a flying type but he's afraid of heights and it wouldn't fit. The most interesting would probably be a shiny Decidueye because it would fit with his colors and the fact that it's not really a flying type. His hair too, kinda. Also can you imagine little Rowlet with his faux bowtie next to little Miles? Gosh. Phoenix would be like 'see, you're like twins!' would take a thousand photos. (and then when Miles moves away and Phoenix looks at Rowlet he's always reminded of his long-lost friend...cries) Maybe I'll sketch something about it sometime. Also Trucy somehow involving a Decidueye in her magic tricks would be hilarious tbh. A Decidueye with a top hat. Imagine. Athena would probably have a Rotom in her Widget and a Pawmot and/or a Medicham. Apollo would have a Scorbunny or a Whismur. Klavier obviously a Toxtricity. Maya a Munchlax because I like the idea of them both driving Phoenix penniless with burger orders. I want to draw some sketches about this sometime, although I'm still pretty unsure about Phoenix. Other mons I thought about were Appletun (since he likes apples and he's also a dragon type, but maybe it's way too goofy for him even), or even a Goodra (esp in his crybaby days, but also from a pokedex entry: 'It loathes solitude and is extremely clingy—it will fume and run riot if those dearest to it ever leave its side.' so kiiinda similar nature). Maybe a Wobbuffet for funzies because he's a punching bag that always bounces back somehow. Maybe I spent a bit too much thought on this. Oops.

#ace attorney #pokemon #pokeattorney au

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wisteriasymphony · 10 months ago

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writers block is kicking my ass so I am procrastinating. sorry tweos stans i’ll get over it I promise <3

presenting my newest blasphemy contribution to the fandom! :) my own Loveybug AU within TWEOS :) (that's the one where ladybug tries to kill chat btw. more than once) (forgive me @asukiess)

More info under the cut :)))

Faux Paws: Catwalker if all of the life and joy and wonder had been sucked out of him and spat on the fucking floor.

After the countless abuses Lucky Lucky Ladybug has subjected him to, Chat Noir feels this is the only way to make it stop, as he genuinely believes that ‘leaving’ is not a viable option. As such, Faux Paws is Adrien under the impression that there is no escape and there will never be an escape from the abuse in his lives as Chat or as Adrien, so he defaults to what would best shield him from harm—becoming calloused, robotic, and often entirely mute.

His name is based off of “Faux Pas”, an embarrassing remark or action, and reflects this notion that he’s accepted that his true self is nothing more than a mistake/blunder.

Lovey Dovey Ladybug: Now that she thinks that Chat Noir is out of her life for good, Lovey Dovey sees no reason to be hostile towards Faux Paws. In fact… she doesn’t understand why he’s so distant! That, and the notion that this new holder reminds her of her crush Adrien Agresté, leads to a Marinette under the impression that she can be the one who ‘fixes’ Faux Paws’s cold bad boy exterior with her kindness and love.

As a result, she stands out not just as a very “Cupid-y” Loveybug variant, but as a literal (yet fake) angel, halo headband and all.

Her name simply replaces “Lucky Lucky” with “Lovey Dovey”, giving off the impression that, although she has made changes to herself as a person, there is little actual difference at heart since she doesn’t see anything wrong with her previous actions. (This is also seen in the fact that her buns are still hearts, just upright as opposed to upside down). Her costume is also heavily based off of Lucky Lucky’s “idol” costume as well, as opposed to the “battle” one.

#loveybug au #ml faux paws #ml lovey dovey ladybug #lucky lucky ladybug #cat walker #loveywalker #miraculous fanart #miraculous fandom

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thatanimewriter · 1 year ago

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RETROUVAILLES.

➳ synopsis: v. to meet again, especially after a long time apart

➳ character/s: hayama akira, tsukasa eishi, riku dola, morinozuka takashi, lie ren, winter schnee, qrow branwen, midoriya izuku, todoroki shouto, jirou kyoka, shinsou hitoshi, togata mirio, dedue molinaro, felix fraldarius, shamir nevrand, vi, ekko, dan heng, blade, gepard landau, fushiguro megumi, zen'in maki, nanami kento + any of your faves

➳ warnings: fantasy!au (character is a knight, you are the royal they serve), medieval shit, major character death, descriptions of blood, descriptions of injury, childhood friends to almost lovers, accidental murder lol, intentional murder, reader described as beautiful, hurt/no comfort, angst, gn!reader (as always)

➳ word count: 2k

➳ notes: the thing got graded finally, so you can now have it. sorry for any hurt feelings (not really, that was the whole point of the story-). character list is just some characters i DO write for that i think work for this story. also this won't be tagged properly, but it's fine

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

to them, the weight of their golden armour is equal to that of guilt and grief. the castle they swore to protect is a permanent reminder of their shortcomings, though they never expected to return so soon. their metal-clad figure decorates the deteriorating structure in flecks of fragmented sunshine along the sandstone hallways. the kaleidoscope of light is no longer disrupted by the servants’ shadows. instead, the faux sun lurks on the walls as they drag their feet along the floor. the scraping of metal along stone replaces the low murmurs of maids and the light footsteps of staff as they flitted around the castle. the echo is deafening, and they realise they despise silence. it isn’t true silence with the clanking of their armour, but it makes them painfully aware that they are a survivor. the rattling of metal causes them to be uncomfortably conscious of their isolated existence. glancing through ajar doors that line the walls, they longs for a semblance of home, yet they are met by blood-stained tile and mangled corpses littering the floor in unappealing heaps of sunken cheeks and open wounds.

anita yasmine rosie luka penny william-

they step around them, gaze flickering to each of the faces paralysed by a still heart and wishes to lay with them, to feel the sticky black blood seep through their clothes and be held by the icy arms of death. they steel themselves against the pungent scent of rotting flesh, waving off the flies lingering around their head but failing to break through the helmet that conceals their shame and anguish.

the squeal of rusty hinges makes them close his eyes as they shakily exhale. their eyes flutter open at the quiet groan of the floorboards, and their breath hitches in their throat. it is as if colour returns to their vision, and they are several years younger, free of the faint crow’s feet stemming from the corners of their eyes and the dull ache in their chest.

it’s… the same. but you're not here.

silk sheets lay neatly atop the mattress, and the pillows remain meticulously arranged. they think if they sleep under the covers, they might smell your floral perfume on the pillowcases. they don’t entertain that idea. the sunlight filters through the translucent curtains, highlighting the blanket of dust that settles on the furniture and floor. the room hasn’t changed much since childhood; though it was sporadic, they were permitted inside. nonetheless, it was timeless. throughout all the phases of your life, it still felt like you.

they eye the vanity, clear of clutter but filled with nostalgia. the hairbrush is likely unusable – at least not without lacing dust and bugs through one’s hair – but it looked the same as when they originally gifted it. strands of hair weave between the bristles, and they wonder if their own locks are hidden away in the forest of DNA.

the maids would have cleaned the hairbrush since I was a child.

they don’t touch anything; they knows what is tucked away in the drawers and boxes. there is one thing they allows themselves to taint with their touch. they pry a brick from the wall, reaching into the pocket of secrecy they’d made with you. a matted velvet box graces their armoured fingertips. they don’t feel the texture, but the box size is familiar. they carefully pluck it from the treasure trove of memories and broken promises, sliding the brick back into place. gently unclasping the box, they smile softly at the two rings that lay side by side.

“one day, i’ll marry you!” they proclaim as you sit on the floor of your balcony. you giggle at their proposal and inquire about the rings you would wear if you married. “rings?” “you have to give me a ring to tell everyone that we’re getting married.” their little shoulders slump, and a pout forms on their lips. they sheepishly scuff their foot along the ground and tries to ignore the tears in their eyes. “...i don’t have one.” you sigh but give them a hopeful look. “but eventually you will?” they quickly brighten and grin through their tears as they lift their head to look at you. “yes! it’s gonna be like no other ring in the whole kingdom!”

they pocket the box and glance at the balcony. they kneel and bow their head, resting their right hand on their heart. when they rise, they look at the room before gently closing the door behind them as if you has retired for the night, and they don’t want to wake you. a practised method that hasn’t entirely left their bones.

as they descend the stairs to the ballroom, they nearly smile at the memory of the ball before the tragedy that befell the castle. they don't let it break through the perfectly crafted mask of neutrality. not when the ballroom floor is occupied by more lifeless bodies and darkened blood smears. they look to their side, wishing they could relive the memory of the ball and hoping they can look into your eyes as they escort you down the stairs, hoping you can share one last dance.

but you're not here…

they raise their arms, supporting the memory of everything they long to return to, and waltz. there is no music, yet their timing is precise, and despite having no dance partner, their form persists. they ponder the events of the tragedy as they glide along the bloody floor and skirt around the dozens of corpses, each bearing a face they'd seen a million times and maybe even a little more.

they can almost feel the weight of the spear they carried that day as they dance. they could hear your deafening scream as you were pulled into the crossfire. the sound follows them into their unconscious, a horrifying alarm. they never forgot the ache in their heart as their spear pierced through you. a human shield is a cowardly move in their mind, but the culprit had succeeded if the goal was to leave them with insurmountable guilt.

they come to a halt, bowing to the ghost of you. recalling your morning together beneath the gazebo, they gravitate to the imaginary scent of tea and pastries. the winter sun doesn’t fully reach them through the armour, and they attempt to resist the welcoming rays of warmth that beckon them to stay longer. they sit on the concrete bench they had called dibs on when they were twelve, ignoring the dull pain in their chest. slowly, they remove their armour. the metal feels warm despite the thin layer of ice along the lake the gazebo resided by.

the metal plates rest neatly on the bench, and they shiver at the fresh, cool air that tickles their skin. they sigh and roll their shoulders free of lingering tension, allowing themselves a moment of tranquility. their eyes – drops of sunshine that had fallen from the heavens according to you – scanned the garden that built their childhood and adolescence. the twitch of their fingers goes unnoticed as they reminisce about their training to become a knight. the tightness in their throat is unacknowledged when they see the statue of you standing tall, proud and beautiful atop a marble pedestal. they wonder if the sculptor had taken a cast of you rather than building beauty with a reference. they clench their fist, imagining your fingers laced between theirs. they've memorised the sensation, embedding it into their brain each time your hands embraced over the years. flicking the box open, they let the rings fall into the palm of their hand.

“like no other in the kingdom”. heh… what an understatement.

they chuckle at their craftsmanship. it is what is expected when an eight-year-old finds wire to make a ring. they observe the jagged circle – if you could even call it that – and the haphazardly hidden wire ends that made them feel like an ant had bitten them. it was irritating beneath their little armoured hand, often coated in a thin layer of sweat, but now they crave the sharp sting that fades to a dull ache. perhaps the discomfort has travelled from their calloused and scarred skin to their weary bones and heavy heart.

they mindlessly hum a tune from their childhood as they unwind the wires, straightening them as best they can. their nimble fingers falter as their vision blurs, but they intertwine the wire into a band of love as the soft melody cracks and fades away. in their tunic, they shed responsibility and don youth while they recraft the rings as if they could rewrite history. the art of creating jewellery didn’t embed itself in their flesh and bones like combat did, despite their parents teaching them before they left the village.

a cold wind kisses their skin, and they wet their lips, gazing at their workshopped rings with a smile you claimed could warm even the most hostile souls. they rise with a newfound energy, standing before the ethereal marble effigy. their breath crystallises as they stare into the stony eyes of the statue, slipping a halo onto their ring finger. they don’t dare to tear their gaze away and finds their vision joining the misty gardens again. a short apology escapes them as they climb onto the plinth, slide the accompanying token onto your marble finger, and lay a chaste kiss on your icy forehead. they dismount the pedestal at the sound of shouting and is struck with a familiar paralysing experience. they can hear their pulse in their eardrums over the voices, and their limbs itch with the desire to escape.

no. i stay.

the faces that emerge from the tall grass aren’t familiar, but the old, blood-stained uniform brings ease. they don’t hear what the intruders declare over their heartbeat, but they focus on the sword shared between the looters. a sudden movement breaks their concentration, followed by a new ache in their abdomen, and they are acutely aware of the sword skewering their organs and poking through their tunic. the sturdy marble pedestal makes an ugly screech against the metal before meeting their back. they hiss when it’s pulled from its temporary sheath, dripping with red and shreds of tissue. the blood that coats the blade slides down the statue’s base, gathering in their hair and absorbing into their shirt. as they slump against the surface, they let their eyes flutter shut, and they faintly hear the footsteps of the intruders grow distant.

they frown as they lay on the lawn, ripping dry skin from their lips with their teeth. “can i ask you a question?” “you just did,” you respond with an ounce of playfulness. “what if i fail?” you turn to face them with narrow eyes as if you dared them to elaborate. “what if i can’t protect you?” you stare for a moment as you debate your answer. they gaze into your eyes and look for a hint of uncertainty but is met with their insecurities as they reflect their image. you flash a gentle smile and pick a blade of grass from their messy mop of hair. “i’ll see you soon, won’t i?”

a final smile tugs at their lips, and they exhale, weakly lifting their hand to look at the ring that failed to shine in the sliver of sunset light. the warmth disappears beneath the horizon, permitting the stars to adorn the navy skies, and their hand falls to the ground.

see you soon. i missed you. in our next life, maybe…

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