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realcube · 5 months ago

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WRATH & LUST . t.kei / y.tadashi

synopsis ✧ you hate tsukishima kei. you do everything in your power to make his life miserable but nothing works. now you have no choice but to fuck his best friend

cws/tags ✧ college au , enemies to enemies who screw, cursing, fob, smut, vaginal, oral (recieving) & praise — minors dni

parts ✧ i. ii. iii. iv.

maybe you were overexaggerating a bit when you said that yamaguchi is always with tsukishima, because there are a couple times a week when you know they'll be apart.

your friend is a part of the college's newspaper club, and she mentioned that yamaguchi is a member too, but tsukishima isn't. this gave you the perfect opportunity to the catch him alone and prey on his weakest form.

you saunter up to the news room, and catch yamaguchi waiting outside. they don't usually enter until your friend, the chief editor, arrives. "excuse me?"

your voice is soft and inviting, hence yamaguchi is stunned when he turns to see you. his guard is up, but unlike tsukishima, he doesn't immediately resort to aggression, "yes?" he replies quietly.

"is this the newspaper society?" you ask innocently, tilting your head with a smile.

yamaguchi is unsure as to why you are being so mellow towards him, considering your history, but as he chokes back a gulp, he figures that maybe your negative sentiments are purely towards tsukishima and up until now he has just been caught in the crossfire.

"yes, this is. i'm waiting for the editor to get here."

"oh, hana?" your lips are parts slightly, as he nods, "she is my friend. i'm sure she won't mind if we just go in."

"are you sure?" his questions is basically answered as he watches you enter the news room. he hesitantly follows behind, thinking he can shift the blame onto you if the chief editor is upset.

"so, are you a member? i've never seen you here before." he asks while fidgeting with his hands, taking a seat in his usual spot.

"no, not yet. i want to join though which is why i'm here." you sit near yamaguchi, on the table, "but i hear you're full. could you put in a good word for me, tadashi?"

you giggle. bafflement and wary burn at his face, dusting his cheeks a slight pink, "if you're friends with hana then i'm sure you don't need me to talk you up to her."

"well, yeah, but she's reluctant to let me join because, in her words, i can be 'volatile and confrontational'." you muse, legs swinging lightly as you turn to look at yamaguchi with a knowing smirk, "i'm so not, though. you can vouch for me, right?"

yamaguchi blinks, then responds, "yeah. you're the most docile person i know."

you find it cute that he plays along with your jokes. plus, now that you're actually taking a good look at him, you realise he has such a sweet, squishable face. how does the sweetest boy ever end up in the company of lucifer incarnate?

"i wouldn't say docile. that's too far-fetched." you tease.

"mild?"

"eh."

"poise?"

"i like that one but still no."

"composed?"

"that could work!" you cheer, displaying the palm of your hand he insantly reciprocates with a high-five. just as your shared laughter begins to die down, hana and a couple other members of the newspaper society enter the room.

you spend the rest of the hour in the back of the room, working on an article with yamaguchi. your friend knew about your plan, and she didn't mind you utilising her society to achieve your end goal, but you'd hate to impede on her work flow for too long so you pulled out all the stops to ensure you gain tadashi's favour as quickly as possible.

and it worked like a charm. despite never having communicated directly with each other before, you chatted throughout the whole hour like you were lifelong best friends. there was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you — the sweet and sour.

plus, you both have a lot more in common than you may have initially thought. your music tastes are very similar, surprisingly, and you like the same movies/shows. he shows you a couple of his playlists and you do the same, discussing the concerts you've been to and what merchandise you have.

you learned that he is studying to be an electronic engineer while tsukishima is studying history, but he chose maths electives just so they could be in a couple of classes together. they also used to do volleyball together in highschool and are both apart of the volleyball society in college.

so corny and so cheesy but coming from the mouth of yamaguchi, it was the sweetest, most moving story of friendship you've ever heard.

even when meeting ended, you both still walked together out of the building, blathering away about anything and everything, it comes to an abrupt holt when you reach the building's exit.

perplexed, yamaguchi asks, "which way are you going? if you want, i could walk you to your bus stop?"

you smile awkwardly, pretending to be sheepish about the proposition despite it being exactly what you anticipated, "i would love that. but i don't think tsukishima would be too delighted to see us together."

yamaguchi frowns at the reminder but nods.

"but," you continue, pulling a pen and scrap piece of paper from your bag and hurriedly jotting something down, "you can ring me if you ever want to talk. or anything else." you hand it to him with a wink and yamaguchi's throat dies up at your suggestion, he is barely able to croak out an 'okay'.

"see you later!" you skip off and yamaguchi is left speechless behind.

ೃ⁀➷

you had warmed up to each other very quickly. texting each other videos, emojis and pictures every other minute. didn't even take two days before you both had a shared playlist. you were up until ungodly hours of the night facetiming each other.

it was so frequent, yamaguchi had to change your contact information to a fake name because he was getting tired of constantly having to hide his phone from tsukishima, since there was bound to be a notification from you on his screen.

"are you gonna buy tickets tonight???" "noooo don't remind me tadashi" "what's the matter ???😧" "wi-fi sucks at my houseee. i never get concert tickets on time. always end up paying resale prices 😤" "you can come to mine if you want! my wifi is good"

you took him up on his offer. you went over to his dorm at 10PM, since tickets when on sale at 11PM in your time zone. (darn international artists!)

it was a blood-bath but by the grace of god you both successfully secured two tickets to see your favourite artist performing live, with seats very close to the stage!

so of course you had to celebrate somehow.

shaky breathes escaped his lips, soft moans intertwined. his shirt had come off, exposing his tan skin to the hot atmosphere of his bedroom. hypnotised by the way your tight cunt sucked needily on his cock, dripping cum all over his bare shaft.

his gaze was only freed from your sex when he was nearing his climax and a sudden bolt of ecstasy wracked through him, causing his eyes to roll back, "so tight, (y/n)." he grunted, grabbing your ass and squeezing it.

he had you sprawled out over his bed face down, while he stood by the edge and fucked you from behind. he gave you a pillow to rest your cute head on so your neck wouldn't hurt, and he held your legs by his sides while he ploughed into you. four years of volleyball practise has its uses.

his pace is relentless but rhythmic; at first he fucked you leisurely, allowing you to appreciate every inch of him as he'd pull out of you excruciatingly slowly, then ease himself back in until his achy tip prodded your cervix. he wasn't doing it to torment you though, just to give you some time to grow accustomed to his length.

it was better that way; your desperate pussy welcomed him instead of trying to force him out. in fact, it clung to him so tightly it was challenging for him to pull out of you, somehow he managed.

as he approached his orgasm, his thrusts became hurried and sloppy, raring to spill inside your sopping pussy. but ever the altruist, he slips his fingers between your legs to press and rub at your clit fervently, "close, baby?"

his cock splits in you half, and your pussy throbs around him. the power with which he rams into you has made you hazy, drooling mess, only able to weakly buck your hips in reciprocation to his thrusts. you try to whine a meek 'yes' but your face is buried in the pillow, thus yamaguchi only hears an unclear, muffled noise.

he furrows his brows and moves his hands up to your waist, "'m gonna flip you over, yeah?" he pants, still fucking you as he talks, "wanna see that pretty face." in a surge of strength and energy, he pulls you off the bed and flips you onto your back, offering you a gentle smile when you lock eyes.

you weakly smile back, about the only autonomy you could exhibit while his cock continued to pound into you, moulding your walls around him. you were losing control of yourself with each thrust; clinging to the sheets and allow a string of lewd moans and profanities spill from your mouth. somewhere in the mix there was his name.

"tadashi.."

your eyes were closed, and your melodious voice called out for him to save you, like he wasn't tucked inside you. hearing you say his name like that — so filthy and obscene — delighted him in ways he didn't know were possible and only urged him closer to his climax. "(y/n), say that again, please."

the wet slapping noises he made against your cunt grew louder; it was a miracle you could still hear his pastel voice. being railed into the plush sheets of his bed, your mind and body were in two different realms, so when you tried to utter his name once more, all that came out was a series of moans and gasps.

"c'mon, (y/n)." he pled, gripping onto your hips like you are his life force, "i need you. be a good girl for me, please."

he punctuated each word with a harsh thrust, brushing your cervix each time and it didn't take much else for you to come crash down around him. spasming and twitching on his dick, your scream echoing through the room while he fucked you through it. your throbbing pussy still being used for his pleasure.

even when you were nearing completion, your pussy still fluttered around him and you squealed, "tadashi!" as the world became hazy and blurred around you.

which was enough to send him hurdling over the edge too. his teeth are gritted together and his hands tense on your waist when he cums inside you. his thrusts waver for only a moment before he temporarily resumes, this time with less vigour and with the sole purpose of milking himself dry inside you.

once he could feel his hot cum packed safely within your walls, he was finally able to gasp for air. he doesn't want to pull out, he's comfortable as he is, but the curious part of him wants to see how his load looks inside you.

he pulls out, only to kneel and examine your glistening hole. too fucked out and sore, you lay on the bed and try to catch your breath, allowing him to push your legs wide open without protest.

"so pretty." he mused, watch as a bit of his cum dribbles out of your pussy and onto your ass. not to worry though, as he uses his two fingers to guide it back inside you. idly, he pushes his fingers inside you and revels at how tight you still are.

"you're perfect." without thinking about it, he curls his fingers inside, then delicately drags them in and out, wrenching a feeble whine from your throat. "do you know how perfect you are?"

he pressed a loving kiss against your clit before poking his head up from between your legs to look at you. "mm" is all you respond with. he chuckles, "that's not a yes or no, baby."

he doesn't dwell on it too long. he'll stop bothering you now by trying to get you to respond to him; you're probably still recovering from your intense orgasm. yamaguchi goes back to admiring your hole, captivated by how his cum has filled you up, and whenever it tries to escape but it is prevented from doing so by his fingers.

"you look so beautiful like this. i wanna burn this image into my brain so i can keep it forever." he kisses your pussy again, french this time. his lips move graciously against your folds and his tongue plunges inside you. you taste so good, so intoxicating, he moans into your skin, the vibrations causing you to gasp. he continues to suck and lick inside your puckered hole, until he gets a taste of himself on his tongue, which causes him to falter and slowly pull away.

"i've never had sex with a girl on the pill before. but this was just.." he can't seem to find the word he's looking for. perhaps it doesn't exist. "amazing. well, that doesn't even cover half of it." he grins foolishly, caressing the inside of your thigh and still gazing at your hole.

"yeah." after lying motionless for a while, you seem to have finally come back down to earth and can form full sentences again. "amitriptyline is great, isn't it?"

"uhuh.." he muses, thinking about how gorgeous you look until what you said finally registers in head and he springs to his feet, "what!?"

#haikyuu x reader #yamaguchi smut #haikyuu smut #yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi x y/n #kei tsukishima x reader #👾nsfw

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heevanly · 6 months ago

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LATE NIGHT TALKS : LEE HEESEUNG (이희승)

𝐬yn. : being the host of a college late night radio talk show was a passion project since freshman year of college, but now as a senior, y/n hadn't expected the fame it brought to herself on campus... but maybe it was the recent string of murders that caused more tuning in than ever seen before.

𝐰arnings. / 𝐭ags. : (18+!). small series. gore. horror. college au. similar to a murder mystery au. swearing. mentions of wanting to vomit (no vomiting occurs). humor. mildly suggestive. no smut. main character death. side character death. heeseung and jay are manipulators. jay and heeseung have a small argument. enha members as main / side characters. lsf members as side characters. ive members as side characters. pet names used mockingly (baby, sweetheart, honey). more to be added as parts come out.

𝐧ote. : warnings are just overall, not everything mentioned is in this part in particular (like 98% is tho). also welcome to my first fully published work, i hope you guys like it. everything is also in lowercase, not sure why but that's just how things ended up happening haha.

𝐭aglist. : @livsateez @velvethana @ilyjxdz

WC : 6.7k

Part Two. (TBD)

walking towards the music building on your campus was always the worst trek for you. it was the furthest building from your on-campus apartment and it was a combination of uphill walking, stairs, and loose gravel sidewalk that for some reason the school had yet to get fixed. you kick a loose rock and grumble incoherently, watching the rock hit the bottom stair leading up to the building. letting out a sigh you begin walking up the last of the stairs that leads towards the building.

the night was serene at least, a bit chilly but it was still early spring, you’re just glad the hoodie you’re currently wearing is enough to block out the wind blowing past every so often. with the last bit of sunlight fading behind the horizon, you scan your fob into the building’s sensor, unlocking the doors.

a small noise crunches somewhere from behind you and your head immediately turns in the direction of the sound yet nothing is there. eyebrows furrowing, you rescan the fob and head inside the building shaking your head, “i hate walking at night, curse heeseung and his off-campus apartment, if only he’d pick me up.”

you head into the hallway that holds the elevators that lead into the basement. it’s never been the most ideal location to record, but it offered a few rooms that had equipment and space you needed to borrow.

after the trip down from the elevator you walk into the room the four of you have continuously used for the radio show. setting your bag down you start cleaning up the space, trashing old papers left behind, wiping the tables, doing simple tests on the mics to just make sure they work, overall just getting the place ready. you leave jay and jake's stuff mainly untouched, as they have their own way of setting up the lights, mic sensitivities, and what all else.

the door opens up behind you as you continue to do tasks around the rooms, not bothering to look at the door, you glance at the clock instead, “hey guys, you’re a bit earlier than when you normally get here.. we still got an hour.. but since you’re here could you,” your voice quiets down as you turn to address whoever was behind you directly, however no one is in the room.

“what the hell,” you mutter out scratching your head, “i swear i heard the door open.”

you quickly scan the room you’re in, checking under the table to see if one of the four decided to fool around a bit. seeing no one under there you move to the other room where jay and jake usually stay in, but no one is seen there either. a sense of unease begins to grow in your stomach but you decide to keep yourself busy by finishing up tasks in the room. printing out the schedule and loose script for the recording, you skim through, making sure you didn’t leave anything out and once satisfied you set the schedules and script in heeseung’s and your spot.

the clock reads 9:27 pm and you sit down on the couch, getting comfortable, getting ready for the other three to walk in at any moment. your phone rings and seeing jake’s contact pop up, you answer.

“hey jake, what’s up, did something happen?”

jake clears his throat on the other side, “y/n! glad you answered, couldn’t get a hold of heeseung, but i told jay already- wait is he there yet?”

“er, no.. well at least i don’t think so.” you scan the room once before playing with the charms on your nails.

“what..?” jake asks, confusion in his tone, “you don’t think so? y/nnie i hate to break it to ya but i think you’d know if someone was in the room with you.”

you let out a puff of air out through your noise in fake annoyance, “yes i’m well aware of that jake sim. but i heard the door open up behind me a little bit ago and i figured it was one of you guys stopping in a little early but no one was there so..”

“well.. i’m sure it’s just your pretty little mind playin tricks then, anyways jay should be there soon though, he left the flat a bit ago- oh right! since he isn’t there i guess i should tell you. i can’t make it tonight, forgot i overscheduled myself with my plans so i have somewhere else i need to be tonight.”

“what? jake why didn’t you say anything earlier today? i mean it’s fine, i got the room mainly all ready anyway but a warning other than being like five minutes before you get here would’ve been nice.” you click your tongue in annoyance to further drive the point in. frankly, you didn’t mind that much but teasing jake a little bit was something you couldn’t pass up.

you hear jake give a dejected sigh and stifle a laugh, “ok listen i know i know, i’ll make it up to you i promise but just this night i can’t make it alright?”

“yeah yeah, you have fun with your plans or whatever.”

jake chuckles, “oh i will, see ya y/n.”

the call ends just as jay walks in, he gives you a little wave and sets his stuff by yours, “here like always, before everyone else is.”

you drum your nails along the couch’s arm rest as you watch jay get situated in the room, “someone has to get everything ready, and it sure ain’t gonna be jake with the way he bailed on us tonight. and we’re lucky if heeseung shows up 10 minutes before we go on air.”

jay lets put a small laugh, “he told you he’d be gone? thought i was gonna have to be the one to tell you.”

“nah he told me, think he’s trying to get a hold of hee right now too.”

“eugh, good luck to him then.”

you raise your eyebrows in understanding, “yeah.. anyhow i printed out the schedules and cleaned everything up so..”

jay sits in his seat and turns to you, “you emailed me my schedule right?”

“yup, did it before i left my apartment.”

“perfect, alright you go get set up and i’ll test your mic and make sure feedback is clear.” upon hearing jay’s words you get up from the couch and move to sit down in your chair, jay gives you a thumbs up and you test your microphone, “test test test.”

jay fiddles around with a few notches and motions with his hand to try once again, “test test test.” you repeat into the microphone, which you receive a thumbs up and lean in your seat. all thats left was to wait for heeseung.

a few minutes later and he walks in, dragging his bag behind him, “woah dude you look like shit.” jay says, looking heeseung up and down.

“this assignment for prof kim is killing me,” heeseung groans out, exasperated, “i swear she wants me dead.”

your jaw drops slightly at the look of heeseung, “have you slept recently?”

heeseung drops his bag with everyone else’s, “just did, i was supposed to work on the assignment, fell asleep, woke up and sprinted over here.”

his hair was all tousled up and his shirt was slightly stained but his jacket managed to cover most of it up and his pants looked as if in some places dust or dirt got smeared onto it.

jay does one more look at heeseung before turning around in his seat, “alright well man, go get situated next, we’ll test your mic.”

heeseung simply nods before walking to his seat next, once jay gives him the go ahead he speaks up in the microphone, “test test.” jay gives the thumbs up to heeseung and you look up at the clock, 9:58 pm, almost time to go live.

you turn to heeseung, “you sure you’re alright? if you’re that tired i can handle doing a night alone.”

hee gives you a small smile, “promise im all good, that nap was like.. one of those ones where you wake up not knowing who you are or where you are kind, so i’m like.. oddly rejuvenated right now. think i could even fight off a werewolf and win.”

blinking once and then twice you look at him and slowly nod your head, “oohhhhhh kay mister tough guy.. whatever you say..”

“you not believing me is not very kind you know.” heeseung frowns, his lips forming a pout.

“i know, oh-! we’re going live.. 3.. 2..”

"welcome welcome welcome toooo SCU 101.85, you’re currently tuning in to the 10 o’clock pm talk show. i’m your host y/n and i’m here with my co-host..” you turn away from the microphone and glance at your co-host, lee heeseung.

“heeseung.” he speaks up into his microphone, shuffling a few of the papers around.

“and it’s currently a friday night, it’s 67 degrees out with a small breeze too so make sure you wear that jacket!” you chirp.

heeseung snorts and you pass him a look which he returns with a shrug, “you just sound chipper.. s’all.”

“ah.. well our ratings have been going up again.. it’s better than we’ve been seeing these past four months.. so.”

the past four months have been rather difficult for you and heeseung and the radio show. when you started this project sophomore year, it had just been you and your roommate kim chaewon, your ratings were steady in the beginning but had started declining after two months, which made your at the time co-host and roommate, quit. you don’t blame her, you nearly stopped too, which was before heeseung hit you up asking if you still needed another co-host.

accepting his help was the best thing you had done, his roommates jake and jay were all about the technical jargon behind running a radio show, which the reasoning was apparently the three had thoughts about starting a podcast but couldn’t get the timing right to actually get it started, so here they were willing to help you out.

production took off and the four of you found yourselves seeing steady viewers and got to even open a talk line, which was a segment that both you and heeseung took seriously, finding fun in chatting with anonymous students with various complaints they had of others, professors, relationships, or whatever else going on in their lives.

then, out of nowhere four months ago, the viewers started thinning out, causing your small team of four’s good feelings to falter. having been used to success it was shocking to be randomly met with a hard wall and seemingly, no way of getting out.

heeseung and your’s efforts were all in vain as you tried advertising the radio talk show, you had chaewon talk to her friends about spreading the show, heeseung talked to about it to his other friends and also had them spread the word. jake would mention it at his part time job, and jay even mentioned it at a small on-campus event, which he texted that he was never doing again out of sheer embarrassment.

heeseung hums, “well.. i could imagine people have been feeling a bit safer because of us, due to…” he trails off.

right, there's been a few recent deaths that have plagued not only your campus, but the town. you claim they’re very obviously murders while heeseung’s been claiming it’s been various unfortunate accidents. so far the death toll has hit only four, two on campus, one at a campus nearby, and one on the outskirts of town.

“the murders.” you finish his sentence off, gravelly.

heeseung rolls his eyes, but remembers that the listeners can’t actually see that, “you’re so obsessed with these being murders,” he teases.

“well.. it’s quite obvious, no?” you ask, tilting your head a little bit.

“ehh, i wouldn’t really say so, besides the two on campus cause they were ruled as a murder-suicide. regardless that was two months ago and the one at KTU was concluded to be an unfortunate accident.. shit what did they say about how she died again?” heeseung racks his brain, trying to remember how the girl from KTU died two weeks ago.

you scatter your papers around, “wasn’t it something about a lab issue..? their school got to close down because of it, that’s.. uh.. kind of all i remember about that.”

“oh you’re going to hell, haven’t you been following this whole thing since the murder-suicide on campus..?” heeseung laughs loudly and you slump in your chair, embarrassment flooding your system.

you sit back up and clear your throat, “in my defense..”

heeseung accusing points at you, “you! don’t have one.”

“pause, yes i do! rude…. my defense is that the fourth one’s been throwing me off with this whole thing, that i focused a little less on the third girl.” you huff out.

the fourth death was the weirdest in the whole thing so far, it happened a few days ago and it’s been the only one where the person involved wasn’t in the same age range and died supposedly.. well.. naturalistically. it had been a middle aged man, who was on his way home from work. apparently the report and the news claimed his tire gotten flat and when he had gotten out to check on it, he had been mauled by a pack of wolves wandering through.

the police and how they concluded it just didn’t make sense to you, you stayed up for two days trying to determine it all. first, wolves hadn’t been sighted in that area for several months so a random pack coming through didn’t make sense. second, the blood inside the car, how did it even manage to get in there if the man was supposedly outside? the third rea-

heeseung snaps his fingers to try and get your attention back to the talk show, “hey, y/n, quit thinking about it, you’re just gonna make yourself paranoid.. or worse.. really obsessive over this.”

you sigh, biting at your lip as you mull over his words, “my bad, i just need to stay up on all this, our viewers need the information, they deserve the best after all.”

“and the best of the best is from two college seniors..?” heeseung raises an eyebrow.

“absolutely!” you respond, “we’re the only ones giving multiple sides to these events and ways to stay safe.”

“i’m sure the news have been doin all that too though.”

“pff, news schmooze,” you wave your hand at heeseung, “college students don’t care about tuning into the morning news before classes or turning the evening news on, we’re a source of entertainment AND murder mystery, and that’s what eats up.”

“you’re greedy, y/n, soo greedy.” heeseung shoots a grin your way, a way to let you know he doesn’t mean it.

trying to stop a grin from making its way on your face, you roll your eyes, “oh suck my dick lee heeseung.”

“gladlyyy..” he sings out, wiggling his eyebrows and chuckles into his microphone.

“you’re a freak..” you gather your papers back up and glance up at the clock, 10:26 pm, time to open up the first talk line segment of the night.

you give a small nod towards heeseung and he nods back and clears his throat, “well well well SCU you are listening on 101.85 and it’s rolling up to 10:30 pm, we got a two minute sponsor for y’all and when we come back live, our callers will be up discussin’ random whatever with us. give us a call at +82 70-5208-6001 and see if you’re lucky enough. again that is +82 70-5208-6001. see you soon.”

both you and heeseung give a thumbs up to the room in front of you and jay switches your sets off, rolling the sponsor. a few seconds pass and before you’re able to turn to heeseung to just casually chat, the switchboard for the phone calls light up, more so than you’ve ever seen before.

turning to heeseung you give him a look of wonder, his eyebrows are furrowed as if hes wondering the same thing you are, why are there so many callers tonight? jay clicks off the sponsor and puts on a jazzy song before stepping into the room, “what’s up with the callers tonight?”

heeseung looks up at jay, “not sure bro, we’re just as confused as you are. we haven’t seen anything like this before.”

the calls keep coming through, lighting up the board until nearly all have popped up, indicating that people are on the line waiting to chat.

jay takes a glance at his set up and back at the two of you and the board, “well you guys got about a minute before we go on air, can’t keep them waiting for too long so just…” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “just… i suppose keep their talking segments shorter..? man i wish jake was here right now he could help weed through the callers with me on my end.”

heeseung raises an eyebrow at jay, “he’s not here today at all? i thought he was just late?”

“nah, up and bailed last second, said somethin’ about a date but i think he’s lying.” jay rolls his eyes, “30 seconds, you’re both up soon.”

jay closes the door and you look over at heeseung, frowning “why the hell did he schedule a date during the same time he’s supposed to be here? he told me it was important, not that a date isn’t but i was thinking something with his parents or.. i don’t know..”

heeseung mulls it over for a few seconds, “i mean unless he was planning on bringin her home..”

“dude.”

“it’s jake we’re talking about, y/n.”

“okay, yeah you’re right, well you wanna go first with the calls then..?”

heeseung nods, the on air button lights up and he clicks on a random caller, “hey lucky number one, congratulations you’re on air with us on STU 101.85, what’s your name?”

“hey guys it’s yunjin!” yunjin’s voice is heard through the speaker.

you sit up in your seat a little bit, “oh my god, hey girl! thanks for calling, how you been tonight?”

“same old same old, prof jeon is an asshole still and said my submitted designs lacks the ‘creative theme’ of what he asked for. the problem is, is that he gave us no theme, aside from it being wearable. so i based it off of 1960’s greek spring chic wear and now he’s denied my third design.”

heeseung nods his head, “we’ve heard from other fashion design majors that prof jeon is the worst, i guess this goes to show to any sophomores and juniors to not finish your semesters as a senior with prof jeon.”

yunjin scoffs, “you could say that again, i wish i took prof song’s class, apparently shes at least nicer with going about denying designs.”

“isn’t she tough to impress though..? i hear her students always come back with lower scores than those who take prof jeon?” you ask, “wouldn’t that be.. worse?”

“oh you’re right.. ugh just don’t be a fashion design major, worst choice ever.”

heeseung lets out a laugh, “alright well we’re gonna let you go and head to the next caller, good luck on the rest of your assignment.”

a hum is heard through the speaker, “yeah i should really get to finish on working with the fourth design, you guys have fun, i’ll still be tuned in too.”

the line clicks and heeseung switches to another caller, “and listeners that was miss yunjin, another senior here at STU, you may have seen her around workin tirelessly at the sewing machines in the fashion department, so send some luck her way for dealing with prof jeon. now we got our next caller with us, you’re on air!”

silence fills the studio and jay looks at you two through the window, mouthing a “the fuck?” and you two shrug, confusion on the both of your faces.

“uh.. dude? you there?” heeseung looks annoyed as he shuffles around in his seat.

more silence fills the room and now you can also feel annoyance creep into your body, “hey, listen if you’re not gonna talk we’ll move on. not sure if you stepped away from your phone at all or what kind of prank you’re trying to pull but you can cut it out, it’s not funny and it just holds us and everyone else up.”

“..01101000,” a gravelly, raw voice crackles through.

heeseung sits up, “okay i’m changing the caller, you’re a weirdo and can get off our line.”

the voice continues, “..01100101.. 01101100–”

heeseung cuts the line, cutting the voice off too.

“freak.” you mutter, “what the hell was that?”

heeseung shrugs, “sounded like binary code, probably someone from comp sci deciding to pull a prank on us.”

“well they’re not funny, that was weird and kind of scary.” a shiver runs down your spine as you think about the voice that crackled through, whoever it was managed to perfectly replicate fear in their voice.

“oh don’t worry, i can protect you.” heeseung winks at you.

“i think my chances of survival lay better with jay, hee.” you look down to choose the next caller as heeseung makes a noise of offense, taking your words to heart.

“he would not-”

you connect to the caller, “and you’re the third caller of the night, thank you for spending your night here with us at STU 101.85, may we get your name?”

“uh, yeah hi it’s yang jungwon.. i’m a sports medicine major.”

your eyes lit up in recognition at the name and voice, “oh yeah! you’re on the journalism club right? i’ve seen you there frequently.”

“yeah, thanks for helping us out, y/n. uhm, you know i wasn’t positive that i’d get picked so i guess i’m unsure of how to say this.”

heeseung leans closer to his mic, “what do you mean, jungwon?”

“uh, well it’s just, that last caller and then the mysterious figure on campus is what i wanted to talk to you about."

that made you sit up straighter in your seat and from your glance at heeseung, his interest piqued as well.

“go ahead jungwon, we’re interested and i’m sure all the other listeners are too.” you give the green light for jungwon to essentially take over the whole talking segment.

jungwon takes a deep breath and you can hear some shuffling in the background as he gets ready to speak,“okay well, i’ve been staying late on campus for the last week because i work on the sports section of the campus news website right? and i’m not sure what’s been going on but i’ve noticed this shrouded figure walking late at night. they seem to be following any student late at night leaving the stem building.”

you look up at jay and then over to heeseung, the both of them listening to jungwon’s words intently you look back down at the board as jungwon continues, “i think it’s cause they often stay behind the latest right? i’m not sure, i felt it was better to be here and say it as a warning, in case the man was dangerous.”

heeseung speaks up, “you’re saying something now? didn’t you say it’s been the past week?”

jungwon is silent for a few seconds before breathing out, “okay yeah i figured someone would ask that, honestly i thought it was a prank at first, especially because it was a costume the person was wearing.”

“costume?” you ask, “what sort’ve costume?”

“it was that ghostface costume, you know like the scream movies one?”

“ghostface?” heeseung asks, skepticism in his tone, “you saw a dude in a ghostface costume? in spring?”

jungwon clicks his tongue, “that’s why i didn’t say anything, because it just sounds stupid. i really thought it was just a prank someone was pullin on a friend.”

you nervously pick at your nails as you think about jungwon’s words, “you’re saying something now though aren’t you? what made you change your mind?”

jungwon hesitates before saying anything, “the call.”

you raise an eyebrow, “what’s the call got anything to do with the ghostface random?”

“i.. got a weird call yesterday night, it was the same voice that just called you guys. honestly if i wasn’t seeing the costume dude on campus i wouldn’t have thought much of it or if i wasn’t tuned into the radio show tonight.”

“why don’t you go to the police or campus security? dude like campus security should and would kick the guy off campus, even if what he’s doing is harmless, he’s being creepy.” heeseung sighs out and rubs his forehead a little.

“i did, they think i’m sleep deprived and seein shit, apparently they can’t find ‘any evidence’ that supports that someone's walking around being weird so they think i just need more sleep.”

“what about that phone call? isn’t it logged?” you’re honestly a bit worried for jungwon, something weird is happening, the murders, the calls, and the shrouded costume ghostface guy.

jungwon speaks a bit faster, trying to get all the information he can into the hands of however many people are listening, “thought it was, i re-called the number two days ago and it just immediately disconnects, then the number was gone from my phone yesterday. poof up and deleted from my call log.”

“oh what the hell..” you breathe out, heeseung looks pale as he listens to jungwon’s words.

“dude.. does that not remind you of the damn scream movies? like at least in some way?” heeseung shakingly asks, “it literally sounds like you’re being hunted jungwon.”

a clang is heard and a quiet “fuck” before some shuffling, “sorry dropped my phone, you kinda freaked me there with that heeseung.” jungwon lets out a sardonic laugh.

you turn to heeseung and lightly smack his arm, “no for real, why would you say some shit like that.”

heeseung splutters, “well.. like does it not? i don’t want to sound grave or mean about this right now but genuinely this shit sounds like jungwon is in danger.”

“not helping, dude.” jungwon speaks into his phone, voice low.

“no he’s got a point jungwon. with what hee’s talking about, you could really be in some serious danger. i mean a famous point of scream was the calls to the victims and if you’re really seeing someone run around in the ghostface costume..” you trail off unable to voice the rest of your concerns aloud.

“well thanks for helping me out you two,” the sarcasm in jungwon’s voice is clear and you flinch out of guilt. you didn’t mean to freak jungwon out a bit more, he really wanted to just warn people on campus who were out late. “regardless thanks for warning everyone on this, listeners tell your friends or if you know of any late night students, tell them they should be careful on campus now if they’re out late, just in case. jungwon this goes for you too you know?”

“yeah i know, i’m already off campus now so i should be fine.”

heeseung picks at his jacket’s sleeves, “still man, sounds like you gotta keep yourself safe anywhere.”

“i will, thanks for letting me stay for a while longer than you normally let your callers on.” from the background noise going on in jungwon’s call it sounds like someone coming in through his door, “i’ll go ahead and get going now, my roommate brought food and we’re gonna eat, thanks for having me guys!”

jungwon ends the call and you glance up at the clock which reads 11:07 pm, “alright we have time for one more caller, normally we’d have ended this by 11:00pm and done another segment at 11:30pm as you are all aware but i guess we’ll just have one long talk segment today. heeseung you wanna do the honors for the last lucky caller.”

heeseung nods and clicks on the next caller, “lucky number four, you are live with us at STU 101.85, you get to be the last call of the night with us, anything on your mind that you’d like to chat with us about?” heeseung and you are met with heavy breathing into the phone’s microphone.

“hello..?” you call out tentatively and heeseung groans out beside you, “alright i’m really getting sick of the people who decide to prank us.”

the breathing stops abruptly at heeseung’s words and your breath hitches in the back of the throat. you’re unsure as to why the caller made you nervous, heeseung is right, prank calls have been weirdly often tonight, this was the second one of the night after all. heeseung’s hands reach to change the caller and that’s when a weird low static sounding voice filters through, “don’t hang me up, lee heeseung.”

heeseung stops his movement’s mid way and your head whips into his direction quickly, the voice continues, “why don’t you put your hand back down. we’re going to chat.” heeseung quickly obliges and fear has overtaken everyone in the room, jay from where he is, is even frozen from the voice.

“much better. thank you for having me on your lovely radio show. you know, i’m not exactly the happiest at having been the last caller, but i suppose only the best are chosen as the final right?” the voice takes a shaky breath before continuing, “y/n,” you freeze as your name comes out, “don’t you think being the final one is best too..?”

you don’t answer, unsure if that’s the best course of action, you just can’t bring yourself to say any words at this moment, but the mysterious caller decides he’ll make you answer, “answer me y/n. you get to choose the fate of someone very important tonight after all.”

your blood runs cold at his words, eyes shaking and tears even start to brim, you stutter out, “what.. what do you mean?”

“i’m so glad you asked honey, let’s bring out my special guest out.” the sounds of a muffled cry and cloth are heard before jake’s voice faint and hoarse comes out of the phone, “let us go man, just please let us go.”

you gasp loudly, heeseung slams his fist down at the table, and jay upon hearing jake’s voice runs into the room, a look you’ve never seen before on his face, either of their faces. jay looks like he may faint yet angry while heeseung looks as if he’s never experienced anger in the way he’s had before.

“i’m sure you know now who is with me.” the voice chuckles and you can hear some crying from a girl as well in the background, “i managed to get a two for one deal tonight for you all.”

“the fuck do you want with us?” heeseung grits out and the caller laughs.

“it’s not so what i want with your group, it’s what i want done with you, lee heeseung.”

heeseung’s bravado falters slightly, “what are you talking about? what could i offer you?”

“i wanna know why.. scratch that i think.. everyone here tonight deserves to know why actually, about the things you’ve done for your beloved radio show.”

you slowly turn your head to heeseung and he’s pale, hands slightly shaking, “hee? what is this guy talking about?”

heeseung looks up at you, pupils blown wide in fear and you feel your heart break at how scared he is, you know you’re not much better either, “i.. i don’t know, this doesn’t make any sense, i.. there’s.. i don’t know.” he’s panicking and you reach over to grab his hand to calm him down some. his hands are clammy but given the situation you understand, you squeeze and he squeezes back.

the voice scoffs, “oh please, get that fake shit out of my face. heeseung knows what he did sweetheart and if i were you i would think twice about holding his hands when all they know are acts of violence.”

jay speaks up before you have the choice to ask what they meant, “i’m calling the police, sick freak.”

“ah ah ah..” the caller tuts out, “if any of you three call the police, your beloved pal jake is getting gutted. i’ll even string out his body parts so prettily for you. send some lovely pictures, y/n you’d appreciate my art for you? right?”

you frankly feel like throwing up and you shake your head frantically, “no.. no..”

the caller lets out a cackle and speaks in a mocking tone, “aww… poor thing is so scared, heeseung why don’t you comfort your poor girl, after all you’ve done sooooo much for her.”

“fuck. off.” heeseung snarls out, hand not holding yours gripping the table and the strength behind it shocks you.

“no fun, either of you, jay’s always been a bit boring anyways, wanting the police involved in our fun so early. however i’m aware we are live.. so i guess we should speed things up. besides jake here i have someone important to jay here. say hello to jay.”

the sobbing girl is heard more clearly and the pit in your stomach is ever growing, the feeling of vomiting coming back tenfold, “why.. why are you doing this.. please i never did anything to you, please please please, let me go i won’t say anything. please j-”

a loud bang and a shriek is heard and jakes voice is screaming, “stop! stop just let her go, man. what is wrong with you?!”

some more shuffling and the caller is heard better, “what’s wrong with me? me..? you were the one who brought your dear friend’s ex out on a date.”

jay slams his hands on the table, leaning forward, “my EX? you were out with fucking yujin?”

more sobs from yujin, you suppose, comes through the phone, “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i wanted to make you jealous. i wanted you back, that was it i’m sorry i’m so sorry.”

rubbing his jaw, jay paces around the room, shouting out a “fuck” and slamming his fist against the wall, “jay! this isn’t the time! this asshole WANTS us to act like this, you’re playing into his hands!” heeseung calls out, standing up quickly, “he WANTS you to get angry, he’s enjoying this.”

“yeah?” jay spins around and lets out a shaky laugh, “really? and how do you know that heeseung? you know this guy or something? i wouldn’t be surprised considering you’ve got some fucking secrets of your own now.” jay jabs at heeseung’s chest and he stumbles back in surprise.

you put your head in your hands and yell, “stop! just stop you two! a sadistic killer has jake and yujin and you’re fighting?! what the fuck. just what the fuck?!”

“yeahh.. you two, what the fuck..?” the voice giggles, “you should be more like y/n and focus on the two that’s with me. maybe you can make y/n’s job easier and help her with her choice.”

your whip your head up, tears streaming down your face, “what the hell do you mean help you, you sick fuck?!”

“that’s not very kind now baby… and i mean helping me choose who i kill for everyone tonight of course.”

oh. oh no. no no no no no. absolutely not, you would not choose that, there’s no way you could bring yourself to do that. you shakingly look at the board and whimper out a “no” which the caller barks out a laugh in return, “i’m afraid it’s non negotiable. if you don’t.. i choose at random then and the other person lives with the information that they were saved because of me! or… i just kill both.”

the two men in the room with you freeze at the information they’re hearing, heeseung slowly walks to you, pushes your mic away and crouches down to your level, putting his hands around your body to help the tremors going through your body, he rubs your back soothingly and jay’s jaw clenches as he angrily blows air out of his nose.

heeseung lowly whispers into your ear, “it’s okay y/n.. you.. you gotta do it.. you can do this.. make the choice.. it’s easy right..? you don’t know yujin.. jake needs to be saved y/nnie. jay will understand.. yujin cheated on him anyways.”

you’re not sure why heeseung is calmly telling you this information, you’re not sure why jay won’t look at you directly, you’re not sure why it has to be you that makes this choice, but as heeseung whispers more into your ear about how you can do it and he believes you’d make the right choice you start thinking that doesn’t matter and heeseung’s right. jake needs to be saved. jake is your friend. you don’t know yujin. yujin was a bad girlfriend to jay. you don’t question heeseung’s whispers, you don’t question heeseung at all.

“jake..” you quietly mutter out.

“what was that? i couldn’t hear you..?” the killer sings out and you almost throw up for what feels like the thirteenth time that night.

“jake..!” you speak up a little louder and heeseung squeezes your body comfortingly, “i choose to save jake.”

yujin screams in anguish and you flinch in guilt. “excellent choice, y/n. saving your friends.. how heroic.” the killer praises and you put your head in the crook of heeseung’s neck, wishing this nightmare would just end, he just rubs your back, but you miss the grin he sends jay’s way.

the phone is set down and you can hear yujin plead for her life with the killer, “i just did what you wanted! you said.. you said j- no no stop don’t come any closer i swear i swear no one will know. let me go please. please. i’m sorry,” she cries louder and starts pleading to you all, “jay please.. convince her to save me. jay please we can be happy again. no. no. no! NO! JA–”

the wet sounds of a knife meeting flesh is loud, yujin’s cries become louder and you breakingly sob into heeseung’s shoulder, he grips your body stronger and continues to rub your back. the squelch noise of multiple stabs into yujins poor body ring in your ears. her choked back sobs and cries as her throat fills with her blood causes your sobs to bellow out even louder, heeseung whispers that everything’ll be alright, his constant whispering so soothing you try to focus on them instead of yujin’s dying noises.

it feels like an eternity later but the noises quiet down and all that’s left is silence in the room and the killer’s heavy breathing. “thank you, for allowing me the opportunity to give you and your listeners a show.”

more silence fills the room and you can hear jay’s footsteps in the background pacing once more but you don’t dare look up, an irrational fear that the killer is in the room with you playing in your mind.

heeseung’s eyes darken as he looks down at your shaking body, the small whimpers you let out ignites a fire in his body that he’s only ever gotten killing others and he has stop the smile from forming on his face as he thinks how quick you were to just trust him. his eyes flicker towards jay as he turns off the equipment in the radio show, jay nods once everything is off and they’re no longer live.

the voice speaks up once more and your body stills, having believed the killer dropped the call, “you’re always so sweet y/nnie. so so so kind. the best player for our games. sweet dreams.”

you slowly lift your head in confusion but a small pinch to your neck makes your head drop back down, your eyes blearing together as the only thing you can make out is heeseung’s necklace and white shirt, the feeling of his steady breathing and whatever just stung you luring you into the dark and away from the sick and twisted situation.

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peachhcs · 4 months ago

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the lucky ice cream

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

there’s nothing a trip out and ice cream can’t help samy and will as they slowly rekindle their friendship.

1.8k words

hi guys!! i’ve come out of hibernation. so sorry for my absence, i’ve had writers block and have been super busy, so in hopes of (hopefully) being out of my writer’s block, i wrote this :) it’s a small in between moment of samy and will before they got back together at the lake house. i wrote this in about an hour just trying to get something out and this is what i came up with :)) (thank u for being so patient u guys all rock!!)

au masterlist

will slumped into the couch watching some random basketball game when he heard quick feet shuffling by. he stuck his gaze in that direction and caught sight of samy rummaging through the kitchen for something. he didn't mean to stare, but his eyes couldn't really leave her figure as she continued digging through numerous drawers for something.

the boy almost opened his mouth, but he thought better considering the two just got back onto speaking terms not even 24 hours ago. things were still fresh and will wasn't sure how much he could push in fear of her taking back everything about them being friends again, so he tried ignoring her and returned his attention to the game unfolding on the tv. all he heard was her mumbling things and the sounds of certain objects being thrown around as each drawer opened and closed.

whatever it was, samy sounded annoyed. will knew her little mumbles better than anyone and he knew when she started talking to herself she was definitely annoyed at something or someone.

"fuck. do you know where jack put my car keys?" samy's sudden voice startled the boy, jumping when he realized she'd walked around to the side of the couch where he was.

will slowly shifted his gaze to her, "uh, no. i don't. sorry."

an exasperated sigh escaped the girl's lips as she stomped back over to the kitchen. this time will completely forgot the game happening and directed all of his attention to the scene.

"he said he fucking hid them as a prank the other day and then completely forgot where they were," the brunette furthered her explanation as if she knew will would still be listening.

"oh. i didn't know. i can help look?" the blonde offered while already standing up before samy even agreed.

she didn't say anything as will started looking in the dish right by the side door. someone always became the victim to lost keys every summer. with so many people always in and out, things scattered quickly and out of sight. their silence engulfed them besides the occasional jingle of some weird metal object stuck in each of the drawers and cabinets.

"i'm gonna fucking kill him," will heard samy mumble behind him.

"what was the prank about?" the boy grew curious and he was surprised he wasn't included in it considering jack was always pulling him for some weird shit

"god if i know. i had somewhere to be the other day and he thought it'd be brilliant if he hid my keys. he's lucky i have my bike still," samy briefly explained but she was definitely being vague for a reason. will grew curious, but he didn't pry. he didn't know if he could or if it was place still, so he didn't.

will pulled open another drawer when he finally came across a key fob stuck behind some cords. the blonde pulled it out, quickly recognizing the yellow M and eagle keychain as samy's keys.

"found them," he spun around, watching the brunette's eyes light up.

"you're amazing. thank you, thank you," samy rushed out, grabbing the keys from will's hands.

a small coat of pink tinted the boy's cheeks, "no problem. glad we could find them."

"the whole reason i came looking for them is because jack is being an ass and won't drive to the store to get food and wanted me to do it. wanna come with me? i'll get you whatever you want for finding them," will watched as samy disappeared probably to find shoes.

her invitation was so simple, but it had will blushing from ear to ear. they hadn't talked in months and just sort of made up yesterday and now she was inviting him to the store like none of it even happened. will wasn't complaining though.

"sure," was his response as he shoved his sneakers on and was out the door a moment later.

at least the silence wasn't awkward anymore as they drove down the road onto the main drag. samy began fumbling around with her phone to most likely fill their silence with music. will didn't dare to speak in fear of disrupting whatever balance they were creating between them, so he just fiddled with his hands in his lap like some nervous kid.

"are you gonna miss boston?" surprisingly, samy broke the silence first, still trying to plug her phone in.

"yeah, definitely. i mean, it's home and i won't be there anymore," will shrugged a little.

"i mean you moved to michigan for two years, though?"

"that's different. michigan is my home too. california is a completely different ballpark," they found each other's gazes for a second. samy seemed to read between the lines while will studied her expression as well.

michigan is my home because you're here and you're part of my home is what will really meant, but didn't say. he didn't really need to say it though because samy understood.

"are you nervous?" she shifted the subject after finally getting her phone plugged in and apple car play up.

"i sometimes try and tell myself i'm not, but i think i'll always be nervous to move and start a new life somewhere. it should be fun though. the people are good," will nodded.

"i hope it's good for you. i think san jose is good for you," the small smile made will's heart flutter.

"what about you? are you nervous for the new season?" he quickly changed the subject to samy.

"yeah, but i'm also excited to keep proving myself. people will really be looking at us this year."

"you're definitely winning the national title this year," will grinned which earned him another smile from the brunette.

"don't jinx us, but thanks. i think we are too," the little smiles felt like old times, but not the time when they were dating. the old times like when they were kids growing up together and sharing playful banter back and forth.

if anything, that was what will missed the most. he missed his best friend.

samy did too.

"isn't that place we get ice cream around here?" will wondered when his eyes returned to the scenery outside the window.

"i think so?"

"can we stop? on me?" the blonde offered with a somewhat cheeky smile.

he saw samy fighting the urge to say yes, but he knew she'd give in. he could see it in her eyes.

"if you're offering to pay," the girl giggled, making a quick right as soon as the street came up. they rolled down the road a bit before pulling into the dead end ice cream shop.

they were regulars when they were kids. it was their favorite because of the dead end road and how genius it was to build an ice cream place.

"this brings me back," samy giggled as she climbed out of the car with will right behind her.

"tell me about it. feels like we're 8 again," they shared another smile which was quickly becoming more and more frequent since the vacation started.

they scanned the menu despite them already knowing what they were getting because they were both creatures of habit. will met samy's gaze, "you know what you want?"

"duh, do you?" and they stepped up to the counter.

"hi, what can i get you guys?" the girl asked who clearly didn't want to be there because of her worn expression and flat tone.

samy and will exchanged a quick glance, "mint rocky road," they said together.

"that all?"

will nodded, pulling out a $5 from his pocket. "you can keep the change," he figured the poor girl could use some extra cash considering her sour mood.

"thanks. it'll be right out," she disappeared.

"if i was stuck here all day, i'd be bored too," samy whispered as they went to find some napkins.

"i mean i'm sure they have a lot of business?" will wondered.

"i guess, but i get her. she's probably 16 and wants to be out with friends and not working on some dead end road for five hours," samy giggled.

the girl returned with their dish and the two decided to sit for a bit, immediately digging their spoons into opposite sides. it reminded will of last night, except this time held a lighter feeling and possibly less hatred on samy's end.

"when ry and gabe were up the other week they said they're gonna annoyingly call you every single day," the brunette grinned.

"oh really?" will raised his eyebrow, ignoring the pang in his chest hearing that ryan and gabe were already at the lake house once this summer. it was always the three of them there together and it almost hurt that none of that happened this summer.

"mhm. i told them you'd probably get annoyed," samy laughed.

"maybe, but maybe i'll actually enjoy their calls. it sucks we're not playing on the same team again ever," will frowned a bit.

"i remember watching you guys play together for the first time. pretty incredible stuff," the blonde's poor blush got worse and he hoped samy didn't notice.

"no need to flatter me," he joked earning a small punch in the arm.

"i'm not, i'm just saying. you guys were really great and i am also sad you won't be playing together anymore, but they are really proud of you. i mean we all are," they stuck their spoons into the ice cream at the same time, clashing together before will pulled his back.

"thanks. i appreciate it," will found samy's eyes. he studied her face, drinking it in since it had been awhile when they were this close that they could study each other's features.

"okay, wanna take this to the car? we still have to get to the store," samy broke the contact first. she pulled back, already swinging her legs over the bench to get up.

"right, yeah. i'll carry it," will shrugged the feeling in his chest off as he also stood, grabbing the dish in one swoop.

once they were back in the car, will's gaze lingered in the ice cream shop while samy backed out. there was something so nostalgic about it and the 16 year old working the counter. it was like will could almost see their younger selves running up to order with their parents laughing in the distance. it was a memory forever frozen in time that him and samy just happened to invade on, but will was hoping for good things because this specific ice cream shop always seemed to bring good luck.

it was the first place him and samy went last year when they got to the lake house for the summer. they called it their first date at the lake house, so maybe this time it would help further rekindle their mending relationship.

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belabellissima · 1 month ago

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Hello everyone!!! I really wasn't expecting to create anything for @officialfeysandweek this year but I am so happy I just managed to fit something in! Behold my Day 7 - AU submission, lovingly called the GetFlocked!AU in my heart.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: none at the moment but subject to change

Summary: Rhys finally looked at the door, coming face to face with a paper flyer taped to the glass. There was a hot pink cartoon flamingo wearing black sunglasses on it, with the words “GET FLOCKED” curled over the top in rainbow block lettering. Beneath the flamingo, it read “Contact Feyre at the number below for information. All proceeds to help the Starry Night Children’s Art Center.” Below even that, the bottom of the paper was divided into a row of tear-away tabs with a phone number printed on each.

Or: Rhys finds a new way to mess with Tamlin and flirt with Feyre at the same time

Read on AO3 or below:

The sun was hot on his head when Rhys stepped out of his car, immediately chasing away the comforting chill his air conditioner had kept him in for his drive. The brightness would have been blinding if not for his sunglasses, but Rhys still held up a hand to block it as he jogged around to the curb and stepped up, clicking the lock button on his fob even though the car automatically locked when he stepped more than a foot away.

Mor was already inside the coffee shop. Rhys could see her through the floor to ceiling window, perched on her stool and flirting with the girl wiping down tables. He was so focused on watching her for anything he could tease her with later that he didn’t expect to walk into the right side of the double doors, not realizing the employees had kept one side of them locked.

Startled, Rhys finally looked at the door, coming face to face with a paper flyer taped to the glass. There was a hot pink cartoon flamingo wearing black sunglasses on it, with the words “GET FLOCKED” curled over the top in rainbow block lettering. Beneath the flamingo, it read “Contact Feyre at the number below for information. All proceeds to help the Starry Night Children’s Art Center.” Below even that, the bottom of the paper was divided into a row of tear-away tabs with a phone number printed on each.

Rhys had never heard of the center, which coming from him, meant he was slipping. His family had been funding the arts for decades in their city, their name well known from how often it was stamped across galleries and performance halls and rec centers. His father had always wanted more of the name recognition of high class arts, but his mother hadn’t come from money. She’d grown up having nearly no access to the arts other than in community centers and whatever her school could provide, which had helped her apply for and receive a scholarship to a fashion institute. She’d instilled in Rhys and his sister an appreciation for such small community centers, who both knew what it meant to her to give back to the very thing that had given so much to her.

Even now, years after the accident that had taken them all from Rhys, he kept up with his knowledge, carrying out her legacy in the only way he knew would matter to her should she have been there to see it.

Rhys searched the name of the center on his phone with one hand, the other still clinging to the door handle for several seconds until he realized his stall out. The result pulled up an address, and when Rhys clicked on it, the map showed it to be a mere minutes walk away, in the same exact shopping center he stood in. Rhys spun, his plans with Mor forgotten, as he scanned the strip plaza. He spotted it almost immediately, not 300 feet away, charming and cozy between a beauty supply store and an optometrist office. He could even see the bright paint on the walls inside, a cheery assortment of bright yellow and vivid blues compared to the more bland eggshell interior of its neighbors.

Rhys tore the little slip with the phone number off the flyer and walked over with only a quick glance at Mor, who was still all too happily flirting and hadn’t even noticed his arrival yet.

As he approached the art center, he could see a balloon arch as well, with a cheap banner reading “Grand Opening” secured to the wall. On another, a TV was playing advertisements. Inside, a woman in jeans, a tie-dye purple and blue t-shirt, and black half-apron was crouched next to a child, facing away from the door so that only her golden brown hair - put up in a bun and secured with an apparently used paintbrush - was visible to him.

Rhys slipped inside, breathing in deep the chemical smell of wall paint mixed with acrylic, the two just different enough he could distinguish between them. There was a stack of flyers on the front desk, and Rhys spotted the same flamingo with sunglasses. As he meandered closer to see if it was the same, the woman stood and turned to Rhys. When he met her stunningly blue eyes, it was like time itself stopped, holding him hostage until she released him.

She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. Her clothes were splattered with dry paint, and bits of it clung to the underside of her nails. A few wisps of hair freed from her bun framed her face perfectly in combo with her bangs. Freckles dotted her face like constellations, and Rhys had to crush the urge to reach out and trace the designs.

Feyre, read the little name tag pinned to her shirt.

“There you are,” he said, the words slipping from his tongue before he could pull them back. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Feyre faltered, puzzlement furrowing her brows. Rhys handed her the little slip with her phone number he’d pulled from the flyer on the coffee shop and passed it over, hoping it would cover his slip up. Feyre’s face cleared and she smiled at him.

“You saw the flyer.”

Rhys blinked a few times and bit the inside of his lip. Even her voice was beautiful. “Yeah, but I’m not sure I know what getting ‘flocked’ means.”

“It’s pretty simple. I’ll show you.” Feyre led him further into the center, slipping around to the other side of the front desk and bending down out of sight for a moment to retrieve something. When she appeared again, she held a plastic lawn flamingo in her hands. “Getting ‘flocked’ means that someone paid us to drive to your house before dawn and stick a bunch of these things into your front lawn. Or, if you live in an apartment or walkup, three to five of them at your door. We leave them there for a week, then come pick them up to reuse on the next ‘flocking.’”

Rhys couldn’t stop the smile that overtook his face. He could already see his friends’ reactions to getting their places flocked. Mor and Cassian would be shocked at first, but find it hilarious and delightful quickly. Azriel wouldn’t give any physical reaction, but he would absolutely be loving the chaos of it. And Amren… Amren was just fun to mess with. She was old money like Rhys and Mor, but where Rhys and Mor at least had each other and their respective siblings growing up, Amren had been the only child and heir to a fortune that had passed to her early enough she never had the chance for even pretending at a normal life. She would look out at a flock covering her yard and immediately contemplate homicide, most likely.

It would absolutely be worth it.

“Do you tell them who paid for it to happen?”

Feyre shook her head. “You can write a message to the recipient if you want, but if not, it’s anonymous.”

Rhys thought next of people other than his family and friends. Could he Flock the other art centers he supported? The auditoriums and performance halls? Probably not. Security was good at those and he wasn’t willing to risk Feyre or whoever did placements getting in trouble over a practical joke.

Behind Feyre, the television finally stopped its run of ads, melting back into a formatted-for-tv movie. It took him a second to recognize the actor on the screen, but once he did, he couldn’t let the idea go.

There Tamlin was, his blond hair slicked back, fake leather jacket stained, and garish tattoos showing through a strategic rip in his shirt. He was fighting with glowing daggers, trying to protect some redhead girl behind him.

Rhys had forgotten about his old friend. Mostly on purpose after their fallout, in the wake of his family’s deaths when Tamlin had been more concerned with what Rhys’ name could get him than that Rhys was grieving his life upending. Rhys had gotten him the audition that led to him being cast in the movie, and when it ended up bombing at the box office several months after the accident, it cemented Tamlin as a mediocre and bland B-grade actor. Tamlin had accused Rhys of sabotaging his career, and then that was it. A decade long friendship gone.

He imagined how Tamlin might react to getting flocked and the grin on his face grew.

“How much is it?”

“We set it at a dollar per bird.”

“Wonderful. Is there a limit?”

Feyre’s mouth parted like she didn’t know how to answer that. “Um, well. We only have about fifty of these in stock, so I guess fifty. They’re not exactly cheap so even buying in bulk we had to limit.”

“If I buy you a larger stock, will you place around two hundred of them?”

Her eyes widened. “I suppose? But we wouldn’t be able to do it immediately. They would need time to arrive at our store first.”

“That’s absolutely fine,” Rhys assured her. “In the meantime, can I flock some other people a more reasonable amount?”

“Of course.” Her voice was faint as she spoke, and it didn’t get any stronger as he filled out the forms and paid for his purchase.

“If that last one catches you, don’t be afraid to tell her it was me that paid you. The others will probably guess. Can you also text me some photos of it when it’s done?”

“I would need your number,” she said numbly.

“If you insist,” Rhys purred, handing her his phone and enjoying the way the tips of her ears went a little pink as she took it from him and sent herself a text. He saved her number to his contacts, putting the ring emoji into the company line on a whim. He didn’t want to think too closely about that, not when she was still watching him like she couldn’t believe he was real.

“Thank you for your support, sir.”

“Rhys, please. It’s only fair given I knew your name before I even walked in here.”

“Rhys, then. I- look I wasn’t really expecting anyone to do this, and it honestly means so much to me. Thank you, truly.”

“No thanks are necessary,” he said. “I think what this place could become is worth supporting.”

This time, her cheeks turned pink.

Rhys rapped his knuckles on the counter once. “Well, I better get going. My cousin is probably wondering why im late to coffee by now. Don’t forget to send me those pictures, yeah?”

Feyre nodded once, lifting her hand in a slight wave as Rhys backed away. He left with a spring in his step, turning back only once to see Feyre had moved back to the child and was once again helping them with their painting.

He was grinning when he made it back to the coffee shop, and when he slipped into the open seat across the table from Mor, she raised an intrigued eyebrow.

“You look happy,” she commented, contented to see it after so long seeing him still caught in the worst of his grief. “What’s got you smiling?”

“I think,” he started to say, mulling over the words, tasting them on his tongue before setting them free, “that I just met the woman I’m going to marry one day.”

#feysandweek2024 #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand #feysand fic #bela writes

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themushroomprince03 · 3 months ago

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I finally drew Time Lord Prof X and Magneto from that dream I had

(Tbh I kinda hate how I drew Erik. His design is fine I just messed up the pose or anatomy or something. Also his fob watch says “Magnetar” in Gallifreyan. I used an English-to-Gallifreyan translator that I believe uses Sherman’s Gallifreyan)

(Also hey debut of my Prof X and Magneto designs kinda. This is roughly what they look like in my own xmen au but with different clothes and some other things)

#charlie talks #art #xmen fanart #x men fanart #xmen au #x men au #xmen #x men #cherik #magneto #erik lehnsherr #max eisenhardt #professor x #charles xavier #doctor who #doctor who au #my art

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 2 months ago

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Payneland Doctor Who AU (Chameleon Arch)

Charles nods, and he prays to the TARDIS and the Time Lord that have saved his life so many times to please keep Edwin safe, please, I will do anything, go anywhere, heaven or hell, to keep him safe as he pulls the fob watch from the pocket of his own suit. "You need to open this watch," he says, "You're not- you're not human, Edwin. You don't have your memories back, but you need them, if we're all going to survive. If you're going to survive."

Edwin looks at Charles with the same searching evaluation as he always does. Charles can see the gears turning in his head, whirling faster than the speed of light, faster than any human ever should be able to think. "You care about this person. This...other version of me."

"More than anything," Charles says, and it's the truth. It's nothing but the goddamn truth. Fuck it, it's a creed, a prayer, a profession of faith made before the altar.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, leads you here despite your destination (under the milky way tonight)

Stars fading but I linger on dear

Still craving your kiss

I'm longing to linger till dawn dear

Just saying this

In your dreams whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me

-Ella Fitzgerald, Dream A Little Dream of Me

@gendrsoup @vyther15 @anything-thats-rock-and-roll

@tititilani @flowerbritts @silverysnake @ohfallingdisco

@regina-cordium @nix-nihili @wordsinhaled @bitterdesert

@lesbicosmos @spacegirlsgang @1kazul

@flaggersribs @depressedandoverdressed @sasakisniko

@guardianspirits13 @unearth-real-aired @here-i-reblog

#payneland doctor who au #chameleon arch #fanfic #my fics #aletterinthenameofsanity #dead boy detectives #ao3 #doctor who #edwin payne #charles rowland #edwin x charles #payneland #moodboard #my edits

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totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus · 3 months ago

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Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 4/?

Read on AO3

Pairing: Buck/Tommy, Vampire/Witch!AU

I was not expecting to have to delve this much into political structures, but I can't lie--it's kind of fun.

“Do we get to know why we’re kidnapping one of Gerrard’s party favors, or is this another situation where I sleep better if I don’t know?” Sal asked conversationally as they made their way to the big SUV Lucy preferred to drive.

“You don’t sleep,” Tommy retorted testily.

Sal sighed, and Tommy didn’t have to look to know he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “He got car keys? Gerrard’s got a few on his cleanup crew that’ll notice if there’s more cars than bodies.”

Damn it. That was a good point. “Fuck, I don’t know. He was talking to a friend or a roommate earlier; they might have come together, but I don’t know. Lucy, can you…?” He shifted Evan in his arms, holding him so that Lucy could rifle through his pockets. After a moment, she came up with a peeling leather keychain, on which dangled a couple of keys, one with the Jeep logo emblazoned on it. Sal snatched the keys and shot Tommy a look.

“I’ll go check where the staff was parking. If I don’t find anything, I’ll make my own way home. We are talking about this later, Tommy boy.”

“Expected nothing less,” Tommy sighed, and then frowned. “I’m taking him to the apartments, though, not the main house.” Sal looked surprised, but just nodded and loped off towards the end of the estate opposite the gardens, where presumably all of Gerrard’s victims had been told to park for the night. “You drive, Luce. I’m gonna have to handle him if he wakes up before we get home.”

Lucy’s eyebrows climbed towards her hairline, but she didn’t question him further, just hurrying along to the SUV and unlocking it with a quick chirp from the key fob. He clambered into the backseat with Evan and spent an awkward few moments trying to sort of lean him comfortably against the window in the seat before giving up with a groan and just pulling the kid back against his chest.

“I’m biting my tongue so hard I’m tasting blood, Kinard. I just want you to know that,” Lucy said from the driver’s seat, staring at him in the rearview mirror. “Also, just how much handling does one half-drained frat boy need? Not that I’m judging you. Much.”

Tommy glared at her half-heartedly, before turning his attention out the window, restlessly scanning their surroundings for any of Gerrard’s people. The SUV’s tinted windows—darkest UV blocking glass they were legally allowed to have in California, of course—should keep them safe from any prying eyes, but he didn’t fully relax until Lucy had pulled them out of Gerrard’s compound and they were out on the highway.

Evan showed no signs of waking, and Tommy took the opportunity to finally take a (metaphorical) breath and really consider just what the fuck he had done. He’d gotten the witch out of Gerrard’s territory…but now what? The kid had already proven he was dangerous. If it had been anyone else in that parlor apart from Tommy or Gerrard himself, he had no doubt Evan would have been able to escape.

He also had no doubt that Evan would not have been able to get off the estate. Against maybe a handful of younger vampires? Probably he’d have been fine. Against dozens and dozens of representatives of every coven in the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area? He might have taken a lot of them out with him, but eventually he would have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers. But the fact remained that bringing him home was dangerous. It was stupid. He'd accomplished what he’d set out to do—which was get the witch away from Gerrard. The smart thing to do would be to have Lucy drive to the nearest hospital, use the thrall to blur Evan’s memories enough that he wouldn’t be able to identify Tommy, and leave him on a bench near the ER doors.

What was he thinking?

He wasn’t, that was the problem. He’d been riding on instinct from the moment he’d watched Evan burn Gerrard’s turn to ash…and his instincts were insisting he not let the witch out of his sight.

Tommy had not survived for eight hundred fucking years by ignoring his instincts.

A faint tremor ran through Evan’s body, a small grimace twisting his face. The delicate skin of his eyelids twitched and trembled, his eyes moving restlessly back and forth as though he was dreaming. With a soft sigh, he turned further into Tommy’s chest, his forehead brushing the skin of Tommy’s neck. The kid was ice cold—especially compared to the warmth that had been radiating off him before. Well shit, of course he was. He was a few pints of blood lighter and he’d been fighting for his life with his magic. He was probably going into shock. Fuck…he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had to worry about a human’s welfare. The only one he spent any real amount of time with was Lucy’s girlfriend—and not only did Lena decidedly not need Tommy fussing over her, she would be one of them soon enough (Lucy had already asked, and Alonzo had consented…but Lena’s mother was in the final stages of a long battle with cancer and she didn’t want to abandon her human life before her mother passed).

He twisted in his seat, searching through the multitude of things that had been tossed into the third row until he found a jacket he vaguely remembered seeing Ravi wear a few times crumpled up under some random books and an umbrella. He snatched it up and turned back to drape it over Evan, drawing another long look from Lucy in the rearview mirror. He sighed heavily.

“He’s a witch, Lucy,” he said without preamble.

Lucy did not slam on the brakes in shock. But the SUV did swerve a little. An angry horn blared behind them, and Lucy rolled her window down to stick her hand out and flip them the bird.

“Tommy, what the fuck? Are you sure?”

“He burned one of Gerrard’s turns to ash with a spell. Tried to flatten me like a pancake. And I could barely hold him in the thrall. So yeah, pretty sure.”

“What the hell is a witch doing at a vampire coven gathering?”

Tommy shrugged one shoulder, massaging his temple lightly. Sal insisted that they couldn’t get headaches anymore, but Tommy called bullshit. “Tending bar,” he said. “I don’t think he realized what kind of party he was working until it was too late.”

“His familiar let him walk into a den of vampires?” Lucy asked in disbelief. “Wait…where is the familiar?”

Another shrug. “I don’t think he has one. Like you said, no way it would have let him walk into Gerrard’s place. And there was nothing helping him when he was attacked. Even if his familiar was a damn fly, it would have tried to do something.”

“Is that—I mean, the only witch I know is Chimney, but—isn’t that…kind of weird for a witch his age?”

It was fucking bizarre is what it was. A bond with a familiar was considered part of becoming an adult among witches. Most were bonded with a familiar by fifteen or sixteen, sometimes earlier. But hardly ever later. Familiars helped witches regulate and control their power as they became fully functioning members of their covens. Granted, Tommy wasn’t exactly sure how a familiar was chosen for a witch. He would cautiously say that he and Howie were friends, but it wasn’t like they regularly traded coven secrets, and Howie had never offered up the story of how he’d come to be bonded with the wrinkly-faced bat that clung to his clothes and fluttered around his head constantly.

“It’s not normal, no,” he allowed eventually.

“Okay…okay, so I see why you took him out of Gerrard’s. No way in hell you could leave him there. But what are you planning to do with him?” she asked carefully. Too carefully.

“Lucy,” he said warningly.

“Kinard,” she replied in exactly the same tone. Then she sighed heavily. “You know we have to consider how much of an advantage this could be. You already drank from him!”

He shifted, unconsciously tightening the arm he had around Evan’s shoulders. To keep him from tipping all over the place, of course. The power of the witch’s blood still coursed through him, and would for several days…maybe even a few weeks. Tommy was already stronger and faster than anyone else in the coven, was stronger and faster than almost any other vampire in this part of California, but right now? He was fucking untouchable. Lucy was right…having access to Evan’s blood regularly would be an incredible advantage for the coven. Even if they limited who drank from him and let the younger members of the coven drink from those people regularly, the strength of the coven would increase tenfold. He knew why Lucy had to put the thought out there.

Alonzo’s coven was well-respected and well-liked. But they did not have the sheer power that was required to be politically important in their world. Tommy’s presence in the coven was the source of a lot of what political clout they did have. Even with their relatively small numbers, there weren’t many covens who were willing to anger a vampire who was close to measuring his age in millennia rather than centuries. Alonzo and Sal were decently powerful in their own right—both of them having been turned sometime during the early Renaissance—but apart from them the rest of the coven were all under two hundred years old. Most of them had been turned in the last century.

But no witch would willingly let themselves be used like that by a vampire coven.

Witch and vampire covens had an uneasy truce. In places like LA, with large populations of both, interaction was necessary to preserve the secret of their existence from the even larger human populations. That was how he’d come to know Howard Han. He and Howie had known each other for going on ten years, had spoken often in both official and unofficial capacities. He considered Howie a friend, and knew Howie felt the same. But they had never been to each other’s territory. Never been alone together. Every meeting he’d ever had with Howie had been conducted in a public place, or on carefully agreed upon and regulated neutral territory.

If the coven were to utilize Evan’s blood, they would have to force him.

Keep him locked up somewhere. Neutralize his ability to cast spells. Keep him a secret from every other witch and vampire in the city. And the worst part was, he knew Alonzo would consider it. Gerrard had been expanding his powerbase in LA for decades, and the very real possibility he would enter into a formal alliance with Ortiz had every coven not formally aligned with him on edge. The situation was becoming precarious enough that he knew Alonzo was considering if it was even worth it to stay in California anymore.

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Evan what Gerrard would do to him back at the mansion. Gerrard’s solution would be to slice out Evan’s tongue and keep him chained in the basement of his most heavily fortified property and he would do it in a heartbeat.

Tommy had done unsavory things in the name of survival before. He no longer had to kill when he hunted, but there were hundreds, if not thousands of deaths under his belt in that pursuit. And that was just the hunting. Tommy had done many cruel, vicious things—in the name of survival or revenge or protecting something he valued or just because. The idea that he could be as old as he was with clean hands and a clean conscience was laughable. He certainly didn’t care that the other members of his coven still killed when they hunted, and far more frequently than he needed to. Tommy was no stranger to cruelty. It was true, though, that in general, Alonzo’s coven refrained from the worst excesses of their kind. That was what he liked about them, what had spurred him to join, and why he stayed.

The thought of doing anything the way Gerrard would turned Tommy’s stomach.

But it was one person—one stranger—held up against safety and protection for his entire coven.

“Tommy?” Lucy said again, and he shook his head.

“I don’t have a plan, Luce,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking beyond making sure Gerrard didn’t get ahold of him.”

“Well, you need to figure that the fuck out!”

“I know! Okay? I know. Look, just…just get us to the apartments. I’ll call Alonzo as soon as you’re gone and, I dunno, I’ll just see what he has to say.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…who said I was leaving?” She turned fully in her seat to glare at him, and he smacked the back of her headrest.

“Eyes on the road!” he snapped. “Fuck. And I said you’re leaving. Did you miss the part where I said this kid burned one of Gerrard’s turns to ash? Why do you think we’re not going back to the compound?”

“He’s thralled, it’s fine!”

“Lucy,” he said firmly. “No. I’ve never actually had someone fight me like that, I don’t know how long I can hold him.”

“So gag him,” she shrugged.

“Right, because waking up like that’s gonna inspire him to listen to me calmly and objectively.”

Another glare in the rearview mirror, this one suspicious. “Why do you need him to listen to you calmly and objectively?” she asked warily. “Tommy—we can’t let him go, you understand that right? Doesn’t matter what reason you had…and let me guess, someone caught you trying to sneak him out? It still doesn’t matter. You drank from a witch, completely unsanctioned. His coven could demand your fucking head. Even if by some miracle they accepted that you were trying to save him, the SoCal high coven has been trying to find a way to drive you and Gerrard out of LA for years. They hate having vampires as powerful as you in their territory.”

“I. Know,” he gritted out, although in truth he hadn’t been thinking anywhere near that far ahead. He’d just known he had to get Evan out of that mansion. Besides…if what he’d seen when he drank from Evan was accurate (and he still wasn’t sure it was…experiencing flashes and fragments of memories and emotions wasn’t unusual when drinking from a thralled victim, but he’d never seen anything that complete, that solid), the witch covens in the area might not respond for Evan the way Lucy thought they would.

“Okay, well, then what the fuck is the plan? Cause if you can’t answer that, we’re going to have to kill him. Tonight. Fuck, right now!”

“We’re not killing him.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was going to say them. Lucy turned to look at him again, shock plain on her face. The SUV drifted in its lane and another horn blared at them. Tommy rubbed a hand down his face, taking a deep, unneeded breath. “I am very aware of just how precarious the situation is, okay? But I don’t want to kill him unless we have to.”

It was strange, actually, how very much he didn’t want to kill the witch. If his position was reversed with Lucy or Sal, he’d be questioning if Evan had somehow cast a spell on them. But his instincts were screaming at him. Screaming. He had to listen.

“Tommy,” Lucy said softly, and when he looked at her face in the mirror, she was biting her lip, a worried frown wrinkling her forehead.

Without a word, he reached forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. Blindly, she grabbed it, rubbing her cheek against his knuckles. Lucy was not his turn. He hadn’t made her. But the one who had had completely abandoned her to her new life, cutting her loose only days after she’d risen. Tommy had been the one who found her, half-feral and on the verge of being declared for extermination by the local covens. He’d been the one who helped her regain her control, herself. He hadn’t made her, but neither of them really made that distinction anymore.

“Luce, do you trust me?” he asked softly.

“You know I do. More than anyone.”

“Then trust me. I’ll figure this out.”

Lucy swallowed convulsively but gave a sharp nod. She squeezed his hand one more time, and then let it go to concentrate on driving. They spent the rest of the drive in silence, until Lucy eventually guided the SUV into the underground parking garage of the apartment building Alonzo had acquired as a coven safehouse a few years ago. They’d gone to great pains to bury its ownership under multiple shell companies and shadow investors, and even occasionally rented out units in it to preserve the fiction. At the moment, it was completely empty.

The perfect place to bring what was essentially a ticking timebomb. It wasn’t like Tommy didn’t have the funds to buy the coven a hundred more apartment buildings if this went badly and Evan ended up burning the place to the ground. The witch was still deeply unconscious, but a little bit of color had come back to his face as Tommy gathered him up again and slid out of the backseat. His breathing and heartbeat were steady enough that Tommy wasn’t worried.

Lucy insisted on following him up to one of the loft apartments they kept furnished with the basics, dithering by the door while Tommy carried Evan up to the second floor and laid him down on the bed far more gently than was strictly necessary. He hesitated briefly, then mentally threw up his hands and made quick work of removing the witch’s shoes and belt. He searched briefly through his pockets, just to remove anything that might be uncomfortable to lie on, and came up with only his wallet and a pack of gum. He debated only a few seconds before flipping the wallet open, his eyebrow climbing when the driver’s license in the first plastic sleeve read EVAN DANIELS. That was weird…the kid had said his last name was Buckley when Tommy questioned him back at the mansion.

“Hey, Sal just texted! The keys matched an old Jeep in the staff parking area…what do you want him to do with it?” Lucy called up the stairs, breaking him out of his thoughts. He looked down at Evan again and closed the wallet, setting it down on the nightstand in easy reach.

“Have him bring it here,” he called back.

“Oh, so Sal gets to stay?” Lucy grumbled but didn’t try to argue further. Tommy rested his hands on his hips, drumming his fingers on his belt as he tried to think ahead for perhaps the first time tonight.

“Hey, Josh still does a lot of hacking doesn’t he?” he asked, going to the top of the stairs and looking down at Lucy. She looked up from her phone, a distinctly unimpressed look on her face.

“His literal job for Alonzo is erasing the coven’s digital footprint and keeping our finances straight, so, uh, yeah.”

“Think he could find out some coven information discreetly?”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing we’re talking witch covens, not vampire. Ugh. I can ask…but if he thinks we’d trigger something, he’s not doing it.”

“No, yeah, no, that’s fair. Just…see if he can find out anything about an Evan Buckley.”

“That’s not a very unique name—do you have any other details, or are we just looking for what we can dig up in LA?”

Tommy thought back to the strange…vision or dream or whatever. “No, no he can’t be from California.”

Lucy’s glare turned disbelieving. “You want Josh to go fishing through coven records for a name like Buckley and the only geographical distinction is ‘not California’?”

Okay, when she said it like that…

“I think…I think he was banished,” Tommy admitted after a moment. “Probably a few years ago.”

“Banished,” Lucy repeated slowly. “A few years ago? But you said he was casting spells?”

“I know. I—I might be wrong. But there’s something weird going on here.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Lucy muttered darkly. “Fine. Evan Buckley, banished from anywhere in the United States except California…you do think he’s American, right?”

“I mean, if he’s not he does a really decent accent,” Tommy said with a shrug.

“You’re giving me ulcers, Kinard!”

He smirked at her, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. “They’ll heal. Now get out of here. See what Josh can find, if anything, and text me later.”

At that, the irritation melted off Lucy’s face, and she stabbed a finger towards him, her expression deadly serious. “Stay safe, okay?”

“You know me Luce. I’m hard to kill.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded, and turned to leave. Tommy watched the door close and the deadbolt engage with a solid thunk, and then he was alone. With a witch. Who he had bitten without permission and kidnapped, and who had already demonstrated a complete willingness to try and kill him. And who he absolutely was not going to be able to let go when he woke up, regardless of whether or not he particularly wanted to.

Right. What could possibly go wrong?

#911 abc #911 tv show #evan buckley #mywriting #evan buck buckley #buck x tommy #tommy kinard #shameless self promotion #911 fic #911 on abc #kinley #tevan #firepilot #bucktommy fanfic

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seravphs · 1 year ago

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — NAGI SEISHIRO x FEM READER

There’s nothing as annoying as a genius, especially one that’s better than you. When you break your ankle, being forced to train the newest member of the team brings out the worst side of you - but also possibly the best?

wc — 4.5k

tags — figure skating au, tutor au, hardworking star athlete reader x lazy genius Nagi, sports injury, self doubt, “I’m always the challenger, never the champion” quote is from Yuzuru Hanyu, title from FOB song

One more.

You’re so close to victory you can almost snap your jaws around it. The smell of it is familiar. It’s the tang of bloody split knees and the old penny copper of chewing through your lip.

Cold sweeps over your body, not from the icy air, but the proximity to greatness. This is the moment. You can feel the gold medal in your grasp already.

It’s the cleanest program you’ve ever skated by far. The cheers and gasps of the audience in response to each perfect rotation has your blood singing. You make a sharp turn on the very tip of your skate to prepare for the final jump, drawing your arms in close to your chest like a hug.

The music swells to a crescendo as you tip your head back, letting the blood rush to your brain. There’s a certain zone you hit when the moment is just right, a little like runner’s high. Like an elixir of liquid gold sparking through your veins, it’s addictive. It dances through you, making you feel light enough to attempt this last jump.

“Don’t go for it if you don’t feel ready,” you remember Coach Prince telling you.

You wouldn’t if you thought you couldn’t make it, but everything about this program has felt so right. This is the culmination of everything you’ve trained so hard for this entire year. Each breath crystallizes in your lungs, a beautiful ache in your rib cage as you feel yourself succumb to the lure of the ice.

You want it.

You’ve never desired anything this badly in your entire life, and you’re going to take it. You deserve it. There’s a violence to your thoughts, a sort of desperation. This is a moment you’ve dreamed of over and over, the seconds before you hit the peak, just like all of the skaters you’ve looked up to before.

You hear it before you feel it, a crunching noise. There was a hole on the ice just two centimeters in front of your foot. The jagged edge caught onto your skate when you lept, throwing off the angle of your entry point into the air. With that one mistake, your entire jump is wrong. Your momentum falters too fast, too much, and you’re falling, falling.

The sound of your body slamming into the ice is sickening. For a second, you’re dazed, left wondering what went wrong. There’s no more screams of joy or applause.

Your coach is on the ice, murmuring something into your ear that you can’t hear, but you try to push him away. If he’s here, that means something is seriously wrong. You try to pull yourself up, because even a failed jump doesn’t completely destroy your program. If you can at least finish-

You can’t get up.

Frozen, you look over your shoulder to where your legs are sprawled behind you. Your ankle is twisted in an ugly direction, your foot pointing the wrong way.

“Don’t look,” Coach Prince is saying, but it’s too late. You resist the urge to throw up.

It’s over.

Your dream of being the greatest has died, right here with your broken bones on the ice.

You were never a masochist before the accident. Something must’ve happened when you slammed into the ground to rewire your brain. Why else would you be here, putting yourself through the sweet torture of watching everyone else accomplish what you couldn’t?

“Man, there is something wrong with you.”

“Hi to you too, coach.”

“I hope you’re not here to skate.”

“I’m not that dumb,” you say. He doesn’t know that you’ve already decided to hang up your skates. This is the last tournament you’ll ever compete in.

“How’s the ankle? You should be resting at home, not here. Doesn’t it irritate you to watch people skate when you can’t?”

“Real sensitive of you,” you say sarcastically. Predictably, he ignores you.

“Listen, I got this kid-“

“No.”

“Come on! He’s new, he’s got to learn the ropes somehow. He’s a prospective! You were one, once.”

You wouldn’t be a good role model, anyway.

“Ask Barou.”

“They don’t like each other.”

“Ask Reo.”

His sudden silence reminds you what you already know. Reo’s too busy skating to introduce a newbie to the ice. Everyone is - the start of the season is always crammed full of training. You’re the only one who’s free, because you’re the only one who can’t train.

“Where is he?”

Coach Prince ignores the bitterness in your tone. He’s good at ignoring you - must be lots of practice.

Looking at Nagi Seishiro, you wonder why you even bothered. This boy is not going to be a skater. You’re surprised someone even got him to the rink - someone, because it clearly wasn’t him.

How is this boy even alive?

He stirs, dispelling your fears that perhaps a sloth had been mistaken for a human boy and deposited at the rink.

“Hello? Nagi?”

All you get is a groan in response. You’re starting to get annoyed.

“I’m here to show you the ropes.”

“Five minutes,” he whines.

You’re going to kill coach. Just who did he dump on you?

It’s with great effort that you get Nagi onto the ice, but at least he takes to it like a bird to water. Someone must’ve at least taught him the basics.

“Aren’t you going to get on the ice?”

“With this ankle?” You laugh. “This isn’t a class and I’m not your coach. I’m just here to walk you through some of the easy moves.”

Sometimes you help out with the beginner class. Coach likes to walk you or Reo out for demonstrations. Reo’s popular because he’s beautiful and well-known, so the students worship every move he makes.

As for you, your love for skating is infectious. It bleeds through in every lutz and axel, unbearably exposed. Every class with an appearance from you ends with students burning with the desire to extend their training into the next hour, and the next, and the next.

It makes it easy to get Nagi used to some easy jumps. To your surprise, no matter what variation you add, he nails all of them.

It’s just a little strange when he has no experience. Still, Nagi doesn’t seem like one of Prince’s pranks, if only because it looks like he’d have no energy to be involved in something like that. You decide to give him something a little harder.

“It’s okay if you can’t get it on the first try,” you tell him. “It took me a while and coach says I’m still one of the fastest students who ever got it.”

“Uh-huh,” Nagi says, and takes off across the ice.

He does a few laps to warm up. It’s a good call - most new skaters try to launch into a jump immediately, fearing they’ll lose their nerve if they don’t do it now. It’s a rookie mistake.

Nagi jumped like gravity was nothing more than a lightly amusing joke. He made it look effortless, even as you watched the muscles in his leg contract and release in an all too familiar way. You know that move. You’ve made it yours with hours of effort put into perfecting it.

Without trying, Nagi takes it for his own. The arc his skates carve through the ice and into the air steals your breath from your lungs. You’ve never seen anything like it. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes away from the beauty of it, frost following him through the air.

He lands, his face impassive even as you replay that moment over and over in your mind. Your blood sings with the reminder of how good skating can feel. Nagi’s leap mesmerized you. Even when you blink, he’s there, silhouetted against the black of your eyelids.

He hangs in the air, a snapshot at the height of the perfect jump that caught you unaware. Beauty that hunted and trapped you when you hadn’t even realized you were being stalked.

There’s a longing in your heart that can’t be quelled. When Nagi skates back over, you turn away. You don’t want him to see the look on your face. It’s too vulnerable.

Letting him see the miserable awe for his jump, the love that still remains despite how badly this sport has hurt you, would be like opening up your chest so he can make a display of your heart and lungs. You can’t.

“Was that good?”

“Fine.”

He shrugs. “I’m taking a break then.”

You shoot back around. “What? No! Get back on the ice.”

He stops, hovering in the doorway, halfway between the ice and the outer world.

“Huh? Why? I did it.”

“But you can do it better. You have real talent, but talent is nothing without skill. You have to train.”

“I don’t wanna.”

Throwing up your hands in disgust, you walk away. You won’t train someone who’s not willing.

Even if you see his skating in your dreams that night.

It really isn’t healthy for you to be at the rink every day when there’s nothing for you to do, but you still attend religiously after your physical therapy sessions. Reo, kind soul that he is, holds the door open for you.

“My friend is here, by the way,” he says conversationally as he walks you to your usual room. He offered to carry your bags. “He’s on your usual rink because - you know. I hope you don’t mind.”

It’s a broken ankle, not cancer. You wish everyone would stop skating around it. Even if it’s ruined your dreams, you can recognize that you’re the problem. It wouldn’t be so serious if you weren’t so diehard about skating.

But then again, doesn’t it say something that everyone else is just as dedicated? They can share your feelings, if not your methods of dealing with it. You’re more no nonsense than they are, but these are still the people that trained with you for years. That culture has leaked into you as it has into them.

A love.

A fever.

A sickness.

The walk to your side of the facility is just long enough that you have time to wonder who Reo let tag along. Maybe it’s the German genius, Michael Kaiser, though you hadn’t heard they were close. Or his model friend, Yukimiya, who sometimes skated recreationally.

It’s neither.

On your ice, you find the sloth, skating in slow figure eights.

You’re stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“I signed up,” Nagi said, casual as anything.

“You? The same person who gave up on skating immediately?”

“I see you met your new teammate!”

“Coach?” You splutter in shock, trying to understand the situation.

“Nagi’s decided to join us! I have an open spot, so he’s on Team Prince now.”

Nagi tilts his head. “So I’ll be skating with her?”

“Nope! You’re in singles, I’m just coaching both of you. When she gets better, your training times might overlap. You could learn a thing or two from her, you know!”

“I might not skate again,” you say, but you know he won’t take you seriously.

“She’s just kidding,” he laughs predictably. “Come on, let me show you this combo I taught her. Let’s see if you can beat her time.”

Neither of them get it. Your training center is full of men - you’re technically not even supposed to be there. Anri’s supposed to be your coach, but she took a pregnancy leave. She texted you the day the news broke. You still haven’t responded. You don’t know what to say.

For you, it’s not like it is for them.

You know the story. Male athletes can come back from something like this, but all women do is fall further and further down a slippery slope. Every woman who’s made it the top of the podium crashes soon enough. Two years is counted as a long run.

They push your bodies to the limit and marvel as they break down. The first fracture is only the beginning of a long and drawn out medical history.

The crowd begins to wane. They hear that you’re skating on glass. Another bad break hospitalized you for the second time. People are losing faith. Sponsors stop pouring money into you. Coach Prince has to stop training you because they won’t pay him. You go to someone else, someone worse.

They push you too hard. An almost-Olympic champion falling in their lap! They think this is their lucky break. They try to wring you dry, and in the process, your body collapses for the third time. A ligament or a tendon, it doesn’t matter. Something gives.

You keep trying, and trying, and trying, but all it does is make people pity you. Eventually, the pity turns to disgust. It’s never good to look desperate.

Your career fades out like a shooting star, the tail end a sad, messy streak that mars what could’ve been a sterling career.

You’d rather die than let that happen. It’s better to quit here, on your own terms. Better to let people remember you as the champion you were, rather than the has-been who didn’t know when to give up.

Even if it stings to know how close you could’ve gotten.

Recovery passes more quickly that you would’ve expected. It helps that you refuse to look at calendars. Counting the days would only make you strain against the chains of your cast. You don’t want to know until it’s here - it would be too painful.

“Hey, hey,” Coach says as soon as you walk through the doors. Nagi sets off a party popper. Confetti rains on you. They’re both wearing party hats. “It’s the returning champion!”

“What’s all this?” You set your gear on the ground, mindless to their little show. You’re still thinking about how you’re going to broach the topic of your retirement.

“I got the good news from the team doctor. Looks like you’re all ready to go, huh?”

This is a bad time, but will there ever really be a good one?

“Coach, I have something to tell you.”

“Come on,” he laughs, “no need to be dramatic. I don’t need the big speech - I know you’re going to work hard. We’ll get you back to number one in no time.”

“I’m quitting.”

“Huh?” Surprisingly, it’s Nagi that’s loudest, not Coach Prince.

“This is going to be my last championship.”

“Come on,” Coach Prince says, stunned. “You’re joking, right? After one injury?”

“I’m getting too old for this-“

“You’ve barely started!”

“I’ve hit my peak. You know how it is in this sport.”

He does know. The ice is fickle with her lovers. There’s always someone better and younger.

“But you’re good,” Nagi interrupts.

“You’ve never seen me,” you laugh. You’re a little pleased despite yourself that he cares.

“I’ve watched your videos. It’s why I came.”

That gives you pause.

“You make it look fun. You’re always smiling on the ice. I thought you liked it.”

“You hear that?” Coach says, his tone colored by desperation. “You can’t give up when you have a fan right here!”

“I’m not a fan,” Nagi argued. “I just thought, looking at her, that it might be fun too.”

“So basically you’re a fan.” At least coach ignores Nagi as much as he ignores you. He turns to you. “Isn’t that cute? He joined for you!”

“I didn’t say that,” Nagi says.

“You’re the reason he’s going to be in the competition next week. Give him something to look up to.”

Your blood runs cold. All of your warm feelings for Nagi disappear immediately. “What? He just got here.”

“This kind of talent is a once in a century thing,” coach continues, oblivious to your growing dismay. “We have to strike while the iron’s hot.”

You make your excuses and slip away. They taught you meditation in preparation for easing you off your pain meds. You didn’t think you’d be using it to calm yourself down enough to avoid a completely unreasonable tantrum.

It’s not Nagi’s fault he’s good.

It still sends you home from the rink until the next day.

It hurts.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re giving your skating the bare minimum. Training just enough to keep you in the race. It’s not like you’ll win, anyway. You lace up your skates in the changing room, trying to convince yourself of that fact.

It’ll sting less if you kill the hope now, but you can’t help it. You’re still dreaming of gold. You can’t rid yourself of the want, even when you know it’s impossible.

Your phone buzzes.

Nagi won. Congratulate him. - P.

You stare at the text. Not only are you reminded that your coach is actually old, enough so that he actually signs off on his texts, you get to have Nagi’s talent shoved in your face.

It makes you mean. You’re itching to pick a fight.

Skating usually helps you burn off the excess energy, but you have to take it easy on your ankle. The few laps you allow yourself do nothing before Nagi, the person you wanted to see least, opens the door to the rink.

You can’t help yourself.

“Coach Prince tells me you won the competition,” you call.

Nagi skates closer. “Yeah.”

“Must be nice,” you sneer at him. “When have you ever tried for something you wanted? You’ll never know what it’s like.”

You’re always the challenger, never the champion. Even though you love skating, you can’t remember a time when you felt comfortable on the ice. There’s only ever been the desire to jump higher, land better combinations.

You can’t remember a time when you felt secure as the best. It’s a vicious competition. You only win if you stay hungry.

Nagi seems willing to starve. It irks you - all this talent going to waste. If anyone was going to have so much natural aptitude, it should’ve been you or Reo or even Kunigami - someone who would’ve used it.

Nagi shrugs. “At least I don’t give up when it gets hard.”

You bristle. “I never give up.”

“I dunno,” Nagi says, eyes closed like arguing with you is too much work for him. You want to wrench his hair for the disrespect. He could at least look at you if he’s going to talk back - you’re sure you never treated your coaches like this. Never mind that you’re not actually his coach. “This seems a lot like giving up to me.”

“What do you know?” You scoff.

“Nothing. Wanna show me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like the first time. Show me the jump again.”

You know you’re rising to his provocation, but you can’t help yourself.

Even warming up doesn’t feel right anymore. The ice that once cradled you comes to you as an enemy. You were friends once, you remember. You knew the right place to touch so it would welcome you in, like a shared secret.

That knowledge is lost now, ruined with your mangled bone. It was fought for back then. You earned it with your blood, sweat, and tears.

It’ll have to be won back now.

You travel in slow rotations across the ice. Thankfully, Nagi adds no pressure. He just watches silently as you start to build speed and momentum, feeling out the right method. You can’t rely on muscle memory today. It’s too dangerous when you’ve just healed.

Even the slightest hint of wrongness in your ankle cracks your fragile psyche, but you keep moving. It’s been a long time since you had to pretend to be confident on the ice. You took the real thing for granted.

Finally, when you kick the speed just one notch higher, you feel it call. This is the tempo, and just two feet ahead is the perfect launch point.

The muscles in your legs tense as you pour all of your focus into the takeoff. You release like a spring, launching yourself off the ice with all the energy you’ve pushed against it. The air feels cold and crisp against your face, stinging your lungs as you gulp it down, but this is the pain you missed.

You land just a second too soon, but you avoid any real damage. The landing vibrates through your body, a fall too heavy to be professional. Once or twice doesn’t matter, but over and over will wear down your joints.

It’s a problem that you only had at the start of your career, but at least Nagi can’t tell. He’s looking at you with a spark in his usually disinterested eyes.

“Well?” You challenge.

“Looks like fun,” he says, and then he’s going for it.

You hate that Nagi’s jumps are a thing of beauty.

Every line of his body moves into the right place without his even having to think about it. You know it’s instinctual because there’s no way he learned all of the correct forms in days, but the tips of his fingers line up with his wrists and elbows to create the perfect arc.

Suspended in the air, he’s Michelangelo’s David, the peak of the human form.

It reminds you of the first time you saw him skate.

You’re breathless, watching, wanting. Hungry for that talent. The ease of it. The joy.

Nagi touches icy fingers to your cheek. You flinch away, but not before you catch the wetness on them. You feel impossibly brittle, like glass. If someone looked at you wrong, you’d shatter. Even your bones feel too fragile.

“Are you okay?”

“Get back to it,” you snap, then apologize. You roughly scrub your tears away and try to give him a shaky smile.

You don’t know why you’re being like this. It’s just a sport.

But it’s never been just a sport to you.

“Was it that bad?”

“Shut up,” you laugh. “You know you’re incredible. I heard Prince tried to teach you one of my signature moves. Show me.”

“Yes, coach.”

You smile despite yourself. “Prince is your coach. I’m just-“

You shut your mouth rather than think about it harder. You’re not willing to commit yourself to helping him, not when you know you won’t stay. “Give it a try,” you say instead.

Even hours after the session, you can’t stop thinking about Nagi’s jump. It was yours once, that effortless grace. All of that beauty in the palm of your hand.

You’re trying to be mature about it, but there’s a feeling that you can’t suppress. It’s normal to be replaced. That’s what this sport is about - seconds of glory.

It’s supposed to be enough, your fleeting fame. You knew it when you came into your career. You’ve had years to come to terms with it, and still, it’s hard.

You didn’t think it would be so soon.

And it’s not just Nagi, who’s only in a competition with you in your head. Soon, the next wave of girls will be nailing quads at younger and younger ages, doing things you would never be able to do even if you were their age. That’s just the way it is.

Nagi’s the only one who doesn’t seem to understand that.

“Are you really going to quit after this season? You’re too good to stop now. You should stay.”

“It’s not happening, Nagi. I told you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” You expected him to fight.

“Okay,” he says, snatching your beanie off your head and running.

You’re left standing in a moment of shell-shocked silence before you give chase. What a fucking brat. You’re just catching up when Nagi pushes himself through that doorway and launches onto the ice, leaving a crystal spray on his wake.

You freeze with your hand on the swinging plastic half-door. He’s gone where you can’t follow. Your ankle aches. You weren’t prepared to get on the ice today. It had taken you every hour of your entire commute yesterday to convince yourself to approach it.

“Come on,” Nagi goads, still in that lazy way of his. It irritates you like nothing else to see him so nonchalant when he can rile you up so easily. “Come and get it if you want it.”

The ice still scares you. Your ankle hurts a little, and you’re not sure if it’s a phantom pain or the cold leaching into your bones. You’re getting too old for this, after all. Figure skaters had early expiry dates.

Still, something ignites under your breast bone as you watch the little red flag of your beanie float further and further away from you. Nagi isn’t even really trying, making soft loops around the ice.

Come and get it if you want it.

You want it. There’s a fire burning in your gut. Even the old memory of ambition sears at your insides, kindling scraps of gold medal dreams into a roaring flame. Desire runs a steady drip through you, bleeding through every artery.

The first step onto the ice happens with brute force. You grit your teeth as you physically make yourself do it, breaking each step of the movement down.

Shift your weight to your left foot.

Lift your right leg.

Put it down on the ice.

Dig your skate in.

Lift your left leg.

Put it down on the ice.

One by one, each movement pulled out of you. You breathe through it, shaking with nerves. One after another, trying to think about it without thinking about it too hard until Nagi breaks your concentration.

“Too slow,” he says, zipping past you - still aggressively showing off how easy it is for him. How it takes no effort, while you’re straining to remember how to make this feel right.

It breaks something loose in your brain. All cognitive functions shut down. You go after him, not thinking, just acting.

Your fingers snag on the red fabric just as you remember to brake. Your body doesn’t. It’s going at a speed that would’ve been child’s play for you before you broke your ankle, but now you can’t control your skates. You slam into Nagi, knocking both of you down.

Terror flashes across your face at the memory of falling until you land not on hard ice, but an only incrementally softer chest. Nagi lies beneath you, cushioning your fall. You lift yourself up on your hands and knees, panting above him.

“You can still skate,” Nagi says, looking up at you with those quiet eyes. “You kept up with me.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself yet,” you scoff, hauling yourself off him. “I’ve got years of experience on you.”

“Then why stop now?”

Because it’s inevitable he’ll catch up. It took him days to learn what took you years.

He takes your hand when you offer it. “If you quit, I will to.”

“And?”

He blinks. “Shouldn’t I not quit? Coach said I was good.”

You stare at him in disbelief. It’s only more annoying that he’s being genuine about this.

“I don’t care whether you skate or not,” you say. “This is an individual sport.”

“But coach signed us up for doubles.”

“Excuse me?”

“He said it’s perfect. I’m new and you’re recovering.”

You’re going to be famous again. But this time, it’s going to be for a double homicide.

#sera writes #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader

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sarahowritesostucky · 2 months ago

Text

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 6420

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con ... that morphs into rape play? bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror,

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

13. Hunger Pangs

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

youtube

Steve:

The new room is much nicer than the last one, there’s no denying it.

Bucky comes down and eats breakfast with Steve, and he’s obviously excited about something because he shovels his eggs in at an alarming pace. He gives Steve a kiss on the lips before he unchains him and announces that today’s the day: Steve is moving into his new room. “Come on,” Bucky beams, leading him out of the cell and down the hallway.

Erica is sitting in the far back corner of her cell when they pass. She locks eyes with Steve briefly through the slats of the door, but makes no move to do or say anything. The last cell in the spiral is where the construction work was going on, and that’s where Bucky stops outside of a door that is very much not slatted. It’s solid, and it unlocks with the press of Bucky’s key fob on the pad outside. Bucky slides it into the wall and urges Steve in first, then closes the door behind them and stands at the entryway while allowing Steve to look around first. “I hope you like it,” he says, sounding almost shy. “Tried to make it really nice for you.”

Steve can’t help it that his gut reaction is to be excited about the upgrade. The room isn’t creepily perfect and sterile like his last room. There are warm hardwood floors covered by soft rugs, velvet couch cushions, and a chevron patterned bedspread. The walls are painted a mellow green color that Steve instinctively likes. There’s a succulent plant in the corner—fake, Steve thinks, but can’t be sure without touching it. It looks nice, anyways. The room is cozy and stylish and almost feels like it could be a regular micro apartment. Hell, it’s almost three quarters the size of Steve’s place back in Brooklyn anyways (which is pathetic and really says more about the cost of New York rent than anything else.)

He steps further in, looking around. There’s a full-size mattress tucked into a wall nook to the right, drywall separating it from another room that’s got a pocket door halfway open. Steve peeks inside to see a small shower, sink, toilet and storage cabinet. It’s compact but functional. Steve doesn’t fail to note that the mirror above the bathroom sink is made from some sort of safety plastic, rather than glass. Oh well. How accurate of a reflection does he really need of himself when he's living as Bucky's basement wife? He quickly checks in the cabinet, finding towels and different toiletry items. He closes it and backs out of the little bathroom, grateful just to see that he'll be able to shower on his own now.

Bucky’s still watching cautiously from the doorway when Steve comes out of the bathroom. As promised, the room has a solid door this time. But there’s a plastic window in it. Steve is reminded that however nice this may be, it’s still a cell. Unless Steve hides in the bathroom, Bucky will always be able to peek inside and see what he’s doing. Even the bed niche in the wall isn’t completely hidden from sight of the door. And Steve sighs when he spots the metal mount on the wall just to the side of the pillows: There’s no cord attached to it right now, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be. It's all set up to tether him in place, if needed. The exact same way as before.

“Well? What do you think?” Bucky asks anxiously.

The left side of the room has just enough space to accommodate a small couch in front of a tv. The tv is inside of the wall and behind a layer of plexiglass. There’s a tiny little desk and a slim bookshelf next to the tv. Steve walks over and looks at all the different drawing utensils. He runs his fingers over a sheet of unblemished paper on top of a stack. “What’s this?” he says, and Bucky walks up behind him and pulls him back gently, encouraging him to lean against his body.

“I know you’re an artist,” he murmurs, bending to kiss Steve’s neck. “You must miss it.”

Steve swallows thickly, feeling inordinately emotional that Bucky remembered this about him. “Yeah,” he says, conflicted. “Yeah I do.” He eyeballs the cups of pens and pencils and thinks that Bucky isn’t totally on the ball—those could be used for self harm. Not that Steve has any plans of doing that. And he’d honestly prefer not to stab Bucky in the neck with a drawing utensil. That's just ... gruesome.

“I know it’s not a lot of space, but you can create here at least. And you can watch tv and have a real bathroom now.”

Steve nods, turning around in Bucky’s arms. He looks up at him and smiles. “It’s nice,” he says. “Thank you.”

Bucky beams. He seems genuinely proud to have provided Steve with his comfy new prison. “Here,” he says, tugging on Steve’s arm to get him following over to the bed. Bucky plops himself down on it, grinning. “It’s a memory foam mattress, and these cabinets up here,” he points to several overhead cabinets on the wall at the foot of the bed. “You can keep your clothes and your books in there.”

Steve nods, eyes flicking from Bucky reclining on the bed, to the empty mount on the wall over by the pillows. “... Are you going to keep me chained up in here?” he asks delicately.

Bucky stares at him for a long moment, looking sad. “C’mere,” he murmurs, beckoning Steve closer. Hesitantly, Steve crawls over to him on the bed. Bucky pulls him close, maneuvering him to lie on top of him. Steve sits up and straddles him to avoid being that close, and Bucky stares up at him with a tender look. “You know I don’t want to do that,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking under the hem of Steve’s tee shirt and brushing skin. “I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here.”

Steve averts his eyes. “That’s a tall order, Buck,” he says. “The door still locks. I’m still not upstairs with you.” He takes a moment to pointedly look around the room with an appreciative look. It is a nice room. He can tell that Bucky’s made an effort to furnish it in the same style Steve had, back at his old apartment. Something about that really gets to Steve—more than he should let it. “They’re nice digs, but it’s still not where I want to be.”

Bucky sighs and pulls Steve back down over top of him, close enough to kiss, though he doesn’t right away. “One day,” he promises, eyes flicking all over Steve’s face like he’s trying to suss out how he really feels. “I want you with me too, Sweetheart. It’ll happen. We'll get there."

Steve gulps and says nothing, feeling unsure. This is all supposed to be an act, to get close to Bucky and gain his trust so that he can escape, but the memories from before all get muddled in, and Bucky still looks and acts like the guy Steve knew as James, the guy he was so excited to have as his new boyfriend. As much as he tells himself he's only pretending ... Steve’s feelings never feel as fake as he wants them too. It’s fucked.

His mind flashes to the other night, to how Bucky had undressed him and made love to him. It’d felt so good, such a relief after so long without pleasure. For just a little while, Steve had forgotten to feel worried or scared. Now he feels guilty for genuinely enjoying it the way he had. They’d showered together after the sex, too, bodies close and intimate in a way that Steve really regrets having enjoyed. Bucky had brought him back down to the basement for bed, despite Steve’s pleas to be allowed to stay upstairs. He'd kissed him goodnight, and left.

And then, just after the sounds of the upstairs locks beeping:

“Steeve?! Jesus you’ve been gone all day! What did he do to you?! What did he take?! Are you okay?!”

Never before had Steve wanted Erica to disappear so badly. Again, he thinks that it’s nice to have a solid door and a soundproofed room. He won’t ever have to talk to Erica or any of Bucky’s other "product" ever again. He feels gross as soon as he has the thought. Christ, he laments. What is he becoming?

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky whispers, lips skimming over Steve’s chin on the way up to his mouth. He kisses him in a soft, slow press, hands slipping underneath his shirt and up his back. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” Steve murmurs, kissing back. "Nothing."

Bucky's arms wrap securely around his waist, and he flips them over. Steve gasps at the sudden movement and his legs part on instinct. Bucky growls into his mouth, pleased.

“Wait,” Steve breathes, but Bucky’s already getting handsy, rolling his hips down and kissing at his neck as he gropes along Steve's waist and rucks his shirt up. Steve groans as their hips align just so, sending a jolt of pleasure to his cock. “Buck, oh, w-wait.” He’s ignored. Bucky’s open-mouthed kisses on his skin are like a firebrand, searing hot and just as filthy as the drag of his hips. Steve whimpers and tosses his head as he starts to get hard. "Nnnh, nuh ..."

Bucky notices, of course. “Honey,” he coos, one hand sliding down between them and cupping him through the soft material of his sweatpants. Steve’s not wearing underwear, and Bucky’s fingers easily curl over the shape of his erection. “Oh, there it is. You want me to make you feel good?”

“Fuck,” Steve chokes out, because he doesn’t, but he does, his body going pathetically pliant under Bucky once again as soon as he starts talking to him in that low, private voice; starts touching him over his clothes and covering him with his body, murmuring those intimate things into his skin. “Bucky,” he sighs, losing his train of thought when Bucky licks along the shell of his ear. Fuck, he can’t. He can’t think when Bucky does that thing with his tongue … Precum blurts out of his dick and is making a wet patch against his sweats, and Bucky hums and rubs his thumb right over the spot. Steve groans, hips jerking up in sensitivity. “Oh god ..."

“Mmhm.” Bucky starts to push his shirt up. “Come on, Stevie. Let me see this gorgeous body.”

Steve blinks, stupid as his shirt is suddenly being drawn over his head and then discarded. The word "no" runs through his mind over and over again, but it never makes it past his vocal cords. He gasps when Bucky dips down to suck on his nipples—likely to distract him from how he’s edging a hand down his pants at the same time. “Wait,” he breathes, though it comes out sounding weak and useless even to his own ears. He puts his hands up, intending to push him away, but his fingers wind up curling harshly into Bucky's strong shoulder muscles instead, grasping onto him when he drags his teeth across a nipple and wraps a hand around his cock. "Ohfuck," Steve whimpers.

Bucky’s eyes flash upwards, dark and focused and locked on Steve’s face while he sucks his chest. The hand around Steve’s cock tightens, stroking up and down at an excruciatingly tight, slow pace, not quite enough as he purposefully avoids the head.

Steve's guts clench and his balls throb at Bucky’s heated stare. Later, when he looks back on it, he'll pinpoint this as the exact second when he completely abandons the idea of pushing Bucky away, of trying to stop this from happening. “Buck,” he pleads, rolling his hips into Bucky’s hand and trying to pull him back up his body. At least if he's kissing him, he can't look at him like that. “Come on, come on.”

Bucky’s lips are swollen and pinked when he pulls away from Steve's chest. He licks them with that trademark flick of his tongue that has Steve’s cock giving a mighty pulse at how debauched and beautiful he looks. “You want more?” he asks, grinning. He’s gripping Steve’s dick hard at the base, denying him while he waits for an answer. “Tell me,” he orders, mouth sliding sideways in a smile. “Tell me you want it.”

Steve digs his skull back into the pillow and bares his teeth in frustration. “Fuck! Just ..." He's about to beg, he really is, but he grunts and slams his eyes shut, upset at himself. No! he thinks desperately. No no no, he can’t do this! It’s wrong, it's wrong, it's so wrong! He shouldn’t want this, he shouldn't, he shouldn't ...

"Steve?" Bucky stills, and then softens. “Oh, Steve," he chides sadly, his breath hitting against Steve's lips where he's come back up to his face, close and coaxing. “Hey, open your eyes, Sweetheart, c’mon. Look at me. Please?”

Slowly, Steve does. Bucky’s lost that fierceness, and instead is regarding him tenderly. One of his hands comes up and combs into Steve’s hair, holding his head still so that he can’t move away from where Bucky’s kissing him softly. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “Please, Baby. I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me.” On Steve's cock, he starts stroking gently again, and Steve releases a pathetic little moan despite his efforts not to. Bucky keeps murmuring sweet, reassuring things against his lips as he jerks him off. “Always want you to be happy, Stevie. Love you. Gonna take such good care of you, I promise. You don't ever have to be afraid again. Not ever. You're safe with me. So safe. So safe ...”

Steve’s not sure when the crying starts, but before he knows it, his eyes are wet and he can feel the hot slide of tears escaping. He whimpers in shame when Bucky notices and starts cooing even more at him, kissing the tears from his skin. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes, and god but Steve really, really wishes that it was.

“Bucky!” he eventually gasps, when he feels close to coming but really doesn’t want to face the music yet. “Sstop, please. H-hang on. I-I want—”

On his cock, Bucky’s hand stills. “Yeah?” he asks searchingly, brushing a thumb along Steve’s temple where the tears have slid back into his hairline. “What do you want, Honey? You can tell me.”

He's looking at him so tenderly, and it just hurts. Steve whines and hides his face in Bucky's neck as he grabs at the back of his tee shirt, giving the fabric ineffective little yanks and whining angrily when it doesn't accomplish anything. He wants to feel him, goddammit! He just wants to feel his skin, and his body, and never have to acknowledge it, not ever, because he's weak, God, he's so weak ...

Bucky pets him and chuckles at his little huffs and grunts of frustration, but he doesn't let Steve hide against his neck with his eyes closed for long. He tuts softly and tells him to look at him, a quiet but firm order, and Steve reluctantly does. He's met with the sight of Bucky's handsome, pinched face, smiling sadly down at him. “Tell me,” he insists. “Tell me what you want, and then you can have it.”

Steve whines and shakes his head, starts struggling to get away rather than be forced to ask for it. But Bucky is easily able to trap his wrists against the pillow, and his hips pin Steve’s down. “Shhh sh sh,” he hushes, holding him still. “Don’t do that Stevie, come on.”

Steve struggles and twists against him furiously, but then the fight leaches out of him and he’s just left panting, dick hard and face red as he glares tearfully up at Bucky. “What do you care?! he cries, mad that Bucky’s trying to make this be his choice. He's a prisoner here. It’s not his choice. “We're already here, so just fuck me already!” He sobs, smacking angrily at him. "Come on, come on!”

"Hey, hey, stop. Steve—stop it." Bucky catches his wrists again easily and gives a harsh shake to settle him. “Don’t be that way,” he scolds, releasing his wrists and pulling away from him. He get back on his knees and starts shedding his clothes quickly, never fully climbing off of him the whole time as he strips naked. He curls his fingers over Steve's waistband and pulls his sweatpants off in one swift motion, too.

"Hey!"

He chucks them aside, then completely surprises Steve by grabbing him under the knees and yanking his lower half up high, right up off the mattress. Steve yelps as he’s practically inverted, and Bucky wraps both arms around his hips to hold him in the ludicrous position. Steve stammers and blusters, "What—what are you doing?"

Bucky glares down the length of his contorted body at him, then promptly shoves his face between his asscheeks and seals his mouth right over his hole.

“Fuck!” Steve cries out—both at the aggressive position and the tongue that's suddenly fluttering over his asshole. “Oh, fuck, Bucky!”

Bucky grunts stubbornly against him, burrowing in further and jabbing his tongue in filthy, pointed thrusts, trying to force his way past the muscle. Steve wails and twists in place, but Bucky is strong enough to hold him up in the position, arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him close and refusing to stop.

All the blood is rushing to Steve’s head and he can only gasp when one of Bucky’s hands fumbles to start squeezing and stroking his cock again while he eats him out. Steve looses a humiliating squeal of pleasure at that. "Ahnngh!"

Bucky’s lips leave his hole with a lewd ‘smack’ and he drops Steve back down to the mattress. “You need fucked?” he growls darkly, covering him with his body again. “Hm? That’s what you can’t ask me for?" Steve whines and squirms and shakes his head no, but Bucky peers at him knowingly. "You want it so bad, don't you? But you wish you didn't. So you want ... what? Want me to take it?" He narrows his eyes at Steve's desperate whimper and denial, then grabs his hair and pulls slowly, watching his reactions. "Oh," he says. "I see."

"Bucky ..."

"That's it, isn't it?" He scoffs when Steve says his name again pleadingly. He dips down and drags his lips across Steve's cheek and down to his ear, where he murmurs, "I see you, Baby. It's okay. Is that what you need?"

"Nnngh ..."

"Need me to make you? Need it to not be your choice?"

Steve whimpers and cringes, hating that Bucky can read him so easily. He whines and shakes his head in denial, but Bucky has him all figured out, and it's awful how calm and smug and knowing he is, as he hushes him and purrs in his ear,

"That's okay, Stevie. I can do that for you."

"Lemme go," Steve says miserably, tossing his head against the pillow. But he isn't really fighting. He tries to believe that it's because he knows he can't win, but that's not it. Deep down he knows that the truth is much, much worse.

"Just need to get dicked down into the sheets," Bucky gloats, not waiting for him to respond before reaching into one of the overhead cabinets, from which he retrieves a bottle of lube.

He'd had it stored right there, ready to go, Steve realizes, and he gulps at the implications of that. "Wait," he croaks, pushing ineffectively at Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky snickers at the weak protest, wetting up his hand and his dick. “S'okay, Sweetheart. We can play that game if it makes you feel better. You know how bad I want to put it in you?” He reaches down between Steve's legs to trail slick fingers over his taint and between his cheeks. He presses in with one finger, slow, humming in approval when Steve tips his head back into the pillow and groans.

“Oh god. Unh ... fuck.”

“Thaat’s right,” Bucky rumbles, encouraging him, curling his finger and dragging it out, only to push back in with two. "You might as well relax, ain't that right? This is happening whether you like it or not." There's an element of teasing to his words, as he purposefully plays the role he's figured out that Steve wants him to. His coy tone would be enough to ruin the illusion, except for that he holds Steve down with his full strength whenever he struggles, letting him feel helpless beneath his larger body. "There you go, Sweetheart, yeah. Just relax. Just accept it."

He takes his time, opening Steve up slowly, letting his body adapt. He starts up an easy, gentle pace and makes sure to drag against his walls just so to have liquid hot pleasure spilling up his spine. “Just let me make you feel good, now Honey. It’s gonna feel so nice.”

They kiss—or rather, Bucky kisses him—steadily finger fucking him while he slips him his tongue. Steve clings to him and moans as his prostate is stroked over and over again. He curls his hips to try and get more friction on his cock, humping up against Bucky’s abs shamelessly.

Bucky groans in approval and pushes down into it, giving him pressure to rut against. He keeps fingering him, keeps adding more and more lube until he’s sloppy from it, rim gone soft and yielding to the third finger that he pushes inside, and then the fourth. Steve cries out indignantly at the stretch, but Bucky just hums and keeps doing it. “Should work my whole fucking hand up in there,” he says. Steve tries to turn his face away, but Bucky grips his hair and pulls him back, forcing Steve to look at him. “Should fist all that fight right out of you, shouldn't I? Make you cry and beg. Fucking edge you until you admit how bad you need my cock.”

Steve absolutely sobs, terrified of the threat, of being made to admit anything; heat pooling so heavy and molten in his belly at all of Bucky’s filthy promises that he starts to get close again. “Buck,” he chokes out, desperate. “Unh—"

Bucky growls and surges down to kiss him. It's aggressive and demanding, and Steve can’t do anything but whimper and let it happen. Bucky bites his lower lip when he pulls away, panting into his face. “It makes it hard for you, doesn't it? That what we had was so real. That it's still there."

Steve whines and shakes his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, but that only lasts until Bucky growls and slaps his cheek. Steve's eyes fly back open with a gasp that's half due to the slap, half due to the cruel hook of Bucky's fingers inside of him.

"Admit it: You can't stand that it's still there, that you still feel something for me."

"Nngh." He moans at the rough drag of Bucky's fingers inside, and Bucky's eyes gleam with satisfaction. "No," Steve grits. "I don't." But Bucky's expression tells him that he doesn't believe it, not for a second, and the next pass over his prostate is brutally efficient. "Fuck!"

"You do want this. You want me. Despite everything. You still feel it. Admit it.” His fingers still inside Steve and pulse maddeningly over that exact spot. "Say it!"

"Yes!" Steve cries out, the dam inside finally breaking and leaving him gasping out, "Yes! Okay? I still feel it!"

His ears ring from the weight of such a horrible admission, pushed out by shame and every last bit of breath in his lungs. His eyes well up with tears, the horrible words leaving him like a poison flushed from his system. He feels wrung out once they're said, and he gasps when Bucky’s hand slips free of his body, leaving him totally empty. "Bucky, wha—"

Bucky pushes his cock in, not stopping until he's fully buried and his hips are kissing Steve’s ass. He holds still once he's there, eyes shining down at Steve's face with love. Steve gulps and trembles at that look. Fuck. What has he done?

Bucky moves gently against him, rolling his hips in a languid thrust. “Feel okay?” he checks. “Not sore?”

It takes Steve a full five seconds to realize that Bucky's asking because they'd made love less than twenty-four hours ago. Or at least, Bucky had made love to him. The memory of it hits Steve hard, piling up on top of the wreckage of what he's just admitted out loud. His eyes water and his lip trembles. "Fuck," he says, warbly, throat tightening at the tender concern that he can see in Bucky’s eyes. God, he wishes Bucky would stop. It's not supposed to be this way!

"Sweetheart," Bucky gushes. "It's gonna be okay."

Steve whimpers. No, it's not. Nothing about this is okay. It's fucked. The entire thing: Bucky, Steve, all of it. It's fucked. Steve hiccups, distressed, and Bucky kisses him gently, kindly. Which feels like the worst fucking thing he could be, right now. Steve is still teetering on the edge of tears. He kisses Bucky back almost desperately, moaning and whining needily.

"Baby," Bucky rasps against his mouth. "Stevie, can I move?"

Steve snivels and nods. It's a relief at least, when Bucky sets into fucking him. It’s deep and relentless, Bucky holds him close and rocks into him, their skin slapping quietly, second only to their panting breaths and Steve's helpless moans from how fucking good it feels as Bucky fills him, over and over again.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” Bucky pants against his neck, rolling his hips softer and deeper, making it more like it'd been last night, more like making love. Steve starts to whimper and whine from how sweet it is, hurt little keening sounds leaving him without his permission.

Bucky groans and strokes a tender hand up his side, over his ribcage, kissing and sucking at his neck, at that spot just below his ear that always makes him fall apart. “No, no,” Steve gasps, feeling himself getting closer. He doesn’t want to come like this. Threading one hand up into Bucky’s hair, he yanks—hard enough to get Bucky gasping and pulling back to look at him. Steve grits his teeth and shoves at Bucky’s shoulder. “Fuck me,” he growls. “Hard.”

It works, in that Bucky's eyes darken with lust instead of love. He gets back on his knees and starts fucking him harder. Relief unspools in Steve’s chest and his eyes slip closed as he takes what Bucky gives him. In what feels like no time at all, he’s crying out, “Buck-ee!” the words jarred apart by harsh thrusts. “I’m c-lose!”

That drives Bucky on, his face contorting and his fingers digging in harder at Steve's waist as he fucks him more desperately, losing some of his rhythm—he's getting close too. “Come on, Honey," he grunts, knocking Steve’s hand away when he reaches down to touch himself. His mouth slides sideways at the outraged little sound Steve makes. “Nuh uh," he pants, grinning. "I want to see it. Wanna see you cum on nothin’ but my cock.”

Steve groans, tilting his hips more and working for that exact angle he needs, crying out sharply when he finds it and straining harder, arousal pooling tighter in his gut, more and more and more, until it’s threatening to spill over and destroy him. "Close!" he gasps, whining from how close he is, how badly he wants it. "Oh god, Bucky, oh god. Please please please ..."

Bucky growls, hooks his forearms under Steve's knees, and uses that to hoist him up into his thrusts at an even harsher angle. And there, right fucking there! Steve wails and starts to come, shooting hard up his stomach, his dick pulsing near painfully at the lack of stimulation where he’s throbbing and coming all over himself. And Fuck, the pleasure is so deep inside him, coming in fucking waves and seemingly never ending. It’s so sharp and good and overwhelming, makes him sob and break into hysterical tears as Bucky fucks him so good through it all.

Bucky blankets him with his hard, heavy body, “Hey ... s’okay, s'okay,” he says, trying to soothe Steve even as he's about to come, himself. "Shh-sh-sh, Stevie. God, oh baby." He threads his arms under Steve’s back and hugs him tightly to his body. He starts grinding deep and dirty, grunting and then moaning like he’s been sucker punched as he finally grinds out his own climax. Steve’s still sobbing when he feels the cum start to leak out, pushed out by Bucky’s slowing thrusts. “Shh sh sh,” Bucky hushes, still panting as he comes down from his orgasm. He kisses the side of Steve’s head and over his temple, his ear, nuzzling him and not pulling out. He keeps moving his hips against Steve’s ass, even as he softens inside. “Shh, Stevie, shh. You’re okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

The crying is embarrassing. It takes a minute, but eventually Bucky’s soft words and his gentle caresses help to calm Steve down. He stops gasping and blubbering, feeling sheepish for such a pitiful reaction. When he tries to bury his face in Bucky’s neck and hide there, this time Bucky lets him.

Bucky’s fingers pet through his sweaty hair. “You okay?”

Steve nods, scrubbing his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t know why I did that,” he mumbles, embarrassed. He’s never cried through an orgasm like a freaking girl before. “Sorry.”

Bucky tuts and hushes him, rolling them onto their sides. He slips out of Steve’s body with the motion, but he makes up for it by tangling their legs together. “Don’t apologize,” he says softly. His hands are petting over the skin of Steve’s back now, up and down, soothing him. “Sometimes you just have to let it out.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just lets Steve hide against his body and avoid the conversation about what the fuck it is they’re doing. Steve can’t think about that right now. He just has to give his poor fucking brain a rest. It deserves that much, goddammit. Sniffling, he nuzzles into Bucky’s chest and inhales the scent of sweat and testosterone, taking comfort in the strong man holding him in his arms. The man who loves him, and treats him so nice, and fucks him so good, who wants to keep him and who … also happens to be a cannibal serial killer.

Just for right now, Steve lets himself ignore that last bit.

Bucky:

Bucky wakes with a gasped “Becca!” his eyes shooting open. He’s panting from fear and his heart is racing in a way that feels awful, but he quickly realizes where he is. Steve is in his arms. They’re in Steve’s room.

Bucky exhales hugely and closes his eyes and calms himself down. It’s okay. It was just a dream. He’s here. He's safe.

Steve doesn’t stir when he finagles himself off the bed and gets dressed. Bucky considers waking him to say goodbye, but Steve looks so peaceful lying there, and Bucky isn’t sure he’ll improve his mood by waking him just to announce that he’s leaving him alone in the room. Bucky knows Steve still sees it as a jail cell.

So instead he covers Steve up to the shoulders with the blanket and leaves the room as quietly as he can. He’ll be back down in an hour or two with late lunches for Steve and for Erica. Bucky takes good care of his girls. Pain meds and comfortable rooms aside, he’s always liked cooking them nice food. He’s not a sadist, despite what Steve seems to think. But if he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s definitely been putting more effort into Steve’s meals than he ever has for the girls before. Steve is better, and he deserves better.

Bucky has to pass by all the other rooms on his way out from the spiral and towards the stairs that lead upstairs.

“Hey!”

He stops and backtracks two steps, surprised. Erica is at the door to her cell, somehow hobbled over there and standing upright. She’s holding onto the wooden slats to keep her balance on her remaining leg. Bucky raises an eyebrow at her and steps closer, not missing how she flinches at the proximity. Normally she just trembles and stays completely silent whenever Bucky’s in the basement, so this is novel behavior. He peeks through the door at her. “Yes?”

She blinks at him, looking nervous but steadfast. “What’d you do to him?”

Bucky smirks. “Do?”

“You had him up there all day yesterday. I know you did something.”

Bucky almost laughs at her confrontational attitude. “Aw, did you and Steve make friends?”

She doesn’t say anything, just tightens her lips into a thin line. Bucky eyes up her body. She’s wearing one of the hospital gowns he gives all the girls once they’ve begun their surgeries. He wonders what cut will be next for her. Carlo’s already asked to meet her, but Bucky’s answer to that was and is a firm no. He’s not into psychologically torturing his girls any more than necessary, even though Carlo clearly is. The knowledge that you’re being slowly eaten and are going to die on an operating table is more than enough punishment, even for sins as bad as theirs.

“Lunch'll be ready in about an hour,” Bucky tells her sweetly, when she just scowls at him.

Upstairs, his phone is in the living room, screen lit up with a text message notification from Carlo. Speak of the devil, he thinks, swiping open the screen.

📱Carlo [Today 12:03 pm]: What do tits taste like?

Bucky makes a face at his phone and texts back.

📱Chef J. [Today 12:57 pm]: Lean cuts first, fatty cuts last, remember?

Erica’s definitely still too stressed to start hacking off the fatty parts. Two seconds later, Bucky’s phone buzzes with another text.

📱Carlo [Today 12:57 pm]: Well what’s lean?

Bucky sighs. Sometimes he forgets how damn ignorant people who didn’t go to medical school are. He sends a text with a short list of lean cuts he can provide while still keeping Erica alive. Carlo quickly responds that: fine, he’ll take the other leg.

📱Carlo [Today 12:59 pm]: And can I have a piece of her hair?

“Ugh.” Bucky’s least favorite part of his entire operation is how his customers want the freaky shit, too. Hair and lingerie are the most commonly requested items. Bucky thinks it’s gross, doesn’t like the reminder that he’s technically got something in common with these freaks. It’s about the food for Bucky, the intimacy of the experience, not the sick and twisted fantasies his fucked-up clients have.

📱Chef J. [Today 12:59 pm]: Sure

He flops down onto the couch with a sigh, feeling tired and bored. After spending the whole day with Steve yesterday, being alone in the house suddenly feels incredibly lonely. He turns on the television to try and distract himself, but it’s no use, he just winds up sitting there and ruminating on Steve and how to best win him over to seeing Bucky’s way of things.

He supposes he could talk to him more about it, just open up and be honest. Talk about his past, or dig around in his records and show Steve the variety of human scum that he actually sources for his business. Bucky doesn’t have confidence that any of those methods would improve the situation. They might just make Steve turn further away, and that’s the last thing Bucky wants. Grunting, he flicks the tv off and shoves up to go over and root through the kitchen to figure out what he’s making for lunch.

He needs to go shopping, he thinks. There’s hardly anything in the pantry to play around with. He grabs a box of bucatini noodles and puts them on the counter, then finds the cream and parmesan in the fridge. He idly wonders if the piddly local grocery store might have Chanterelle mushrooms. He’s got plenty of garlic and white cooking wine, is pretty sure there's a bag of peas in the freezer. If he were making it for himself, Bucky might go the carbonara route, but he’s got a strict policy of not serving any of the girls meat. It’s not worth the inevitable suspicion and stress. And Bucky knows that it’ll be hard for Steve to eat bacon with any sort of comfortability this soon, since he witnessed Bucky eating ‘other bacon’ just yesterday morning.

Bucky sighs and leans against the kitchen island, wondering if he’s hoping for too much to expect Steve to ever come around. Even if Steve never wants to try it himself, if he could just accept it as part of Bucky, that would be so wonderful. It’d be so freeing.

As for the ultimate intimacy of having Steve willingly offer some part of himself up for—

Bucky quickly shakes his head and pushes the thought away. That’s never going to happen. He definitely won’t win Steve over if he ever reveals that fantasy. Steve wouldn’t understand. Bucky would lose him. Sighing, he looks around the living room, feeling morose at his expensive house that he has nobody to share with, the gourmet kitchen he cooks in alone, all the architecture and art that nobody but him ever appreciates.

His eyes land on one of the pieces he’s got hanging in the foyer. It’s an unusual style that’s reminiscent of the medieval period. And unusual subject matter too, with a hand dangling a bit of parsley over the heads of two fish. Bucky has an affinity for oddball, slightly dark artwork. And it’s kind of hilarious to him that this one was painted by one of Natasha’s boys—who is now deceased and probably sitting on a shelf in some walk-in fridge right about n—

Bucky’s lips part as a novel idea occurs to him. Oh.

Maybe explaining all of his own opinions and reasons for doing what he does isn’t the way to convince Steve to stay. Maybe he needs to provide Steve with some outside perspective.

Maybe ... he should host a dinner party.

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