#gender neutral reader

[noodle-is-unstable]

Hai! Can you please do a group chat smau where the reader thinks the jjk characters forgot their birthday, but they are actually planning a surprise party for them?

Thank you so much!

Can do 🫡

The JJK Group Chat "Forgets" your birthday (Established Throuple)

Ft ~ Gojo x Reader x Geto, Toji x Reader x Shiu, Sukuna x Reader x Uraume, Nanami x Reader x Ino, Choso x Reader x Mahito, Shoko x Reader x Utahime

Synopsis ~ The JJK Group Chat "forgets" your birthday, but really they're just planning to surprise you

Content Warning ~ 18+, Crack as HELL, Suggestive, Language, no real Angst, lil bit of Fluff. I'm autistic IDK

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH3

8111 words, 45803 characters, 534 sentences, 197 paragraphs, 38 pages. Previous chapter -> First Chapter

The boy’s footsteps echoed between the empty buildings, their rhythmic pattern navigating the uneven bricks on the sidewalk’s edge with practised ease, each step a silent, steady dance against the rough textured concrete. A pang of disappointment tugging at his heart as he turned his head, meeting your gaze. His voice breaking the silence. "You're... seriously leaving?" The older boy muttered bitterly, a tinge of disbelief on his tongue.

Your throat constricted, your eyes unable to meet his pained, searching gaze. You halted in your tracks, your fingers instinctively reaching out to grasp the fabric of the back of his shirt weakly, hesitating for just a moment. Your chest tightened with mixed emotions as you felt the rough material in your palm.

"It's not... my decision to make. You know that, Jay." You rest your head against his back, a choked breath escaping your lungs. "She's... She's back."

The boy’s shoulders tensed under your touch, his breath hitching as your head rested against his back, the fabric of his shirt dampening slightly from the tears forming in your eyes. "...I know." He whispered hoarsely, his voice catching in his throat. "But it's not fair."

Frustration and helplessness rose in Jason’s chest, his hands clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to release the tangled emotions swirling within. "It's not fair. Why does she get to decide everything? What about... what about what I want?"

“Jay..”

“No.” He snapped suddenly, the raw frustration in his voice catching you off guard. "You always take her side." The anger in his words stung you as he shrugged off your touch on his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

The sharp edge in his voice cut through the air, making you recoil as if you'd been struck. You clutched your hand against your chest, your body going rigid as a wave of hurt washed over you. "She's my mother." Your jaw tightened, the words escaping through clenched teeth as pain stung your eyes.

The silence that settled over them was a heavy, uncomfortable one, filled with unsaid words and emotions too complicated to articulate. You met his gaze again, the hurt in your eyes betraying the turmoil within. "She's all I have left, Jay." You whispered, your voice softer now, laced with a hint of vulnerability.

The sound of your whispered words broke what little composure he had left, a pang of guilt shooting through him at the sight of the hurt in your eyes. He could feel his anger dissipating, replaced by a mix of regret and shame. "I know," he muttered, his voice softer now, lacking the edge it held earlier.

Jason’s tone shifted, losing the defensiveness of before as a hint of pleading entered his voice. "God- Of course I know." He muttered, his tone a mixture of frustration and resignation. "But... what about me?" His jaw clenched as he spoke, his eyes flickering up to your form before darting away again. He chewed at the inside of his cheek.

Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as you grit your teeth, your hand dropping from his shirt back down to your side. You focused your gaze on the ominous-looking sky above, the clouds dark and threatening in the distance. "I can't lose her again," the words slipped out, quiet and pained. “I.. I can’t let her leave me again..”

You swallowed hard, forcing your gaze back to his figure. Taking a hesitant step forward, your hand reaching out as if to touch him, but stopping as your knuckles brushed against the fabric of his shirt. A mixture of pain and helplessness etched your face, your voice breaking as you spoke. "You understand that, right? Even if it hurts, you get why this has to happen.."

His eyes flickered to your hand, his heart clenching at the aborted gesture. He could feel the tension in your body, the pain in your voice. The pain of his own anger faded as he met your gaze, seeing the hurt mirrored in your eyes. He let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. "... Yeah. I get it."

You woke up with a startled start, your ears laid back against your head as your gaze darted around the lavish space. A staggered breath leaving your lips. What happened?

The young Wayne’s eyes were piercing, watching your every move as you darted towards the door, making a break for it. You could feel his gaze burning into you, the mixture of anger and tension still present in his expression, not at all focused on the older man's words.

The billionaire speaks up again in an attempt to intervene, his voice smooth and calm, "Damian, that's not necessary." But his words fall on deaf ears, his son not acknowledging his attempt to diffuse the situation.

The boy's focus was fixated solely on you, as if Bruce's words had no effect. Watching you intensely. You could sense the tenseness in his body, coiled up like a spring ready to snap at any moment.

He takes a single stride forward, his hand held out in front of him. Your breath hitches involuntarily, anticipating some sort of attack. But instead, you watch as he drops the object in his hands onto the floor. It falls with a loud thud on the ground, a weapon of some sort. You eye it warily, suspicious of his intentions.

Your body tenses as he steps towards you, your heart beating fast in your chest. His actions are slow and controlled, but there's something dangerous about his movements. He continues on, keeping his hand extended, his palm facing upwards. He's still staring at you intently, assessing the situation. From the way you avoid stepping on one of your front paws, to the way you’re swaying. Still clearly affected by the sedatives they’d had to use on you.

He moves forward, closing the space between the two of you. Standing only a few feet away now, his height making him loom over you. Your claws dig into the ground beneath you, ready to run away at the first sign of danger, but he stays in your line of sight. His hand remains extended, palm open and empty.

You find yourself hesitating, nose twitching as you take in his scent. You stand your ground for a moment longer, your tails movements slowing down to a moderate sway as you lean forward to sniff at his outstretched arm. Watching as he slowly lowers himself onto one knee in front of you.

His expression is hard to decipher, waiting patiently for you to approach on your own terms. His body language is careful and non-threatening, despite the obvious anger and tension that still simmers just beneath the surface. You cautiously inhale, taking in the Robin’s scent. It's a mix of fresh linen and some sort of woodsy aroma, with hints of something warm and familiar, likely belonging to the billionaire standing behind him. You catch a whiff of something else there too, something sharp and dangerous, like steel. As your nose moves, you could see him watching you intently, his expression still intense but somewhat more patient now. He doesn't move, simply kneeling down in front of you calmly.

You take a small step, tilting your head upwards to present your fluffy little chin to him. Your tail swaying languidly behind you. His expression softens slightly as he sees your action, the small step forward and the way you present your neck. His eyes widened a miniscule amount, his expression shifting from intense to something more vulnerable, more open. He lifts up his arm a bit, as if to move forward to grab at you, his hand pausing just a few inches away from your scruff. For a moment, he appears conflicted, torn even. His eyes darting to his father unsurely for a moment before moving back to you.

You brush up against his arm, moving forward to his extended hand. Nudging against his arm, silently coaxing him to move his fingers along your spine. It's instinctual, an unconscious action used to convince him to pet you. Your thoughts beginning to blur as the lines between your human brain trying to run and block out the pain clashes with your cat side that just wants comfort and rest.

His calm demeanour wavers for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek to keep from letting a soft smile form on his lips. It's a strange reaction, one he can't quite explain, but something about your actions make him feel all warm inside. Seeing you brush up against him willingly, moving closer and nudging your head along his skin, silently coaxing him to just touch you.

And then, his thumb slips beneath your collar, causing a brief pinch before you go limp, sinking into his awaiting arms. Your vision starts to blur, the world around you fading into a hazy blur of colours. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you closely to his chest as you start to feel the sedation taking hold of you again, the world around you fading into nothingness.

You let out a deep, guttural hiss, your muscles feeling tense and worn out from all the shifting and stretching. Your joints ache with every little pop and squeal that escapes. Your ears flex back against your head, and your tail sways in lazy circles behind you. This shit is getting repetitive.

Your mind briefly drifts back to the dream you had, before quickly pushing those memories away. The last thing you needed to be doing was get all sappy and nostalgic over your past when you’re stuck in some deranged psycho families manor.

You transform back, feeling your limbs stretch out as you shift from cat to human. A deep, disgusted sneer passes your lips as you take note of the tacky clothes you're now wearing, an obviously well worn, tacky sweater that's a bit too big hanging off your shoulders and a pair of tight-fitted shorts. It's a clear display of vulnerability to be seen so exposed and in a state where they'd strip away your autonomy. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth just thinking about it. You're pissed, the anger bubbling up inside of you like a hot flame. Your teeth gritting in frustration.

You slowly climb off of the bed, feeling like a newborn foal trying to walk for the first time. Your legs heavy and unbalanced as you take tentative steps towards the door. The large wooden framing stands wide open, completely unguarded. They hadn't bothered locking it.

You poke your head out cautiously, your eyes darting around the hall for any signs of life. Seeing nothing but empty halls and closed doors, you slowly creep out of the room, moving towards the exit at the end of the hallway. Your gaze flickering between every door you pass, on high alert for any movement.

The large foyer of Wayne manor stretches out in front of you, the dim lights casting long shadows across the floor. At the far end, the grand staircase leading up to the second floor loomed in the distance. It's eerily silent here, the only sound being the gentle tapping of your feet against the floor. You take a few steps towards the staircase, feeling the weight of the silence that fills the grand foyer. There's a sense of dread surrounding the entire area.

The heavy wood of the staircase groans under your feet as you begin to ascend. It creaks and wobbles slightly, but doesn't break or give way. It's been there for years, the weight of centuries of people passing through. The top of the staircase leads into the second floor hallway, a long stretch of wood and plaster that you can't see all the way down. Your ears strain, listening closely for any sound.

Your heart beats loudly against your chest. The thump of it pounding in your ears, like it was trying to escape the confinements of your unrelenting ribcage. Loud enough that you were sure the entire mansion must've been able to hear it.

Yet everything else was dead quiet. The hallway, the floors, the air. The silence was almost deafening. Your ears strained to hear even the smallest movement, your eyes darting across every corner and every shadow.

You straighten up, a relieved smile stretching across your face when you notice a familiar figure. Red Robin. He's here, investigating the Waynes. He must be. Without thinking, you sprint over to his hunched over form, your bare feet tapping against the wooden floor as you cover the distance between you two in moments.

Finally. Someone here in the manor who might, hopefully, not be involved in all this insanity. You speak up, your voice a strained whisper as you approach him, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. "Red Robin." The name rings out in the stillness as you finally reach him.

He turns towards you, his brow raising under the mask as a dark grin spreads out across his face. His hand shot out, steadying you by the hips, his grip firm but not painful. He was being careful.

“You have–” Your voice croaks, rough from disuse. You reach out, your fingers grabbing at the edge of his cape, your hands trembling. “You have to help me.” You plead, your eyes darting around, watching for any sign of someone lurking in the halls.

“Help you…?” He echoed, his voice low and controlled. Head tilting to the side as he fully turned to face you. There was something about his expression that you couldn’t place - a hint of something amused, perhaps.

“Help you with what, exactly?”

You swallow, your tongue suddenly feeling like sandpaper in your mouth. You grip his cape tighter, using it as support as you try to speak. Your eyes are locked firmly on his cowl-covered face, searching for any hint of emotion.

“The Waynes…” you whisper, your voice hoarse and broken. “I need your help. Please. They– they kidnapped me!”

The vigilante is silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he speaks, his voice still controlled but different somehow. There’s a faint edge to it now, his eyes fixated on you like nothing else in the world mattered.

“The Waynes?” He pauses, his voice deceptively casual. There’s a strange note in his tone, almost like he was humoring a distressed child. “Why do you think they kidnapped you?”

You grit your teeth, frustration sparking in your chest. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, his words like a slap in the face. Did he not believe you?

“What do you think?!” You whisper back harshly, your grip on the thick material of his cape so tight your knuckles begin to turn white. The tone of his voice was riling you up, like he was making a joke of your situation. As if this was all some sick game.

His head tilts to the side again, like he’s observing you closely. Studying you, almost. There’s an edge to his expression, a spark of something unreadable in his eyes.

You shift under his gaze, your heart beating loudly in your chest. His sudden intense studying of you was making you uncomfortable, his eyes scanning up and down your body from head to toe. Like you were being dissected, broken down like a specimen under a lens.

“Where did they keep you?” The vigilante continues, his eyes lingering on your bare feet. Clicking his tongue disapprovingly. There was something about the way he spoke that felt… off. Like he already knew some of the answers to his own questions.

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, your mind racing for a response. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything around you, flinching as your eyes follow his gaze down to your own bare feet. The cold hardwood floor against the tender skin of your soles suddenly feels icy and unpleasant. You can’t help the slight involuntary shiver that wracks your body as he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“In… in some room,” you finally respond, your voice a whisper. Your eyes glued to his face, trying to decipher the strange look in his eyes. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up. “A nice room, sure, but a prison all the same.”

“They-“ you start, your voice shaking. Your hands trembling as you release the grip you had on his cape. You have to force the words from your mouth like poison, your voice wavering as you try and keep it together. “They drugged me.. they put.. they put these things,” you pause, blinking rapidly to clear the tears gathering in your eyes. You were starting to feel phantom pains where they’d incisioned the trackers under your skin. “In my body. Fuck— they undressed me, they—“ your voice falters, your throat suddenly tight with emotion. “They have me in a bloody collar!”

The vigilante’s face remains impassive as you tell him your story, the strange look in his eyes never wavering. He nods along, his expression showing little to no emotion besides the occasional tightening of his jaw. Despite his calm demeanor, there’s something dark in his expression, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

He listens intently, his gaze never leaving your face. His eyes are fixated on you, intense. Like he’s searching for something in your expression, something missing.

He bites the tip of his glove, tugging the material loose before pulling it off completely. He gently moves his hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing delicately against your skin. His eyes are intense, deep like a frozen lake. You can see the mixture of emotions swirling in their depths - anger, something resembling possessiveness, and a strange sort of affection, almost.

His voice is low when he speaks, quiet and steady. “All of that is for you, darling.”

“To keep you safe, protected,” he continued, running his thumb across the flesh of your cheek. The motion is gentle, almost soothing. “To make sure you finally feel loved.”

His soft, almost soothing actions suddenly feel like they’re suffocating you, his words sending a cold shiver down your spine. You stumble back, trying to get away from his touch. Your eyes widen as the realization of what he’s saying sinks in.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is to you, how close he’s been standing the entire time. You can feel the cold sweat building on the nape of your neck, your heart hammering against your chest. It’s hard to breathe, for some reason, and your vision momentarily swims as you continue to stumble backwards. He was supposed to be a vigilante. A hero to the people of Gotham.

You stumble back, your feet moving before your brain does. Without thinking, you turn around, spinning on your heel and breaking into a run. Your bare soles slap loudly against the hardwood floors, the sound reverberating throughout the entire mansion. Your heart is in your throat as you try to put as much distance between you and the vigilante as you can.

You managed to take a good few steps before you suddenly buckled, falling to your knees with a hard thud. A strangled gasp leaving your lips as your hands shot up to claw at the collar around your throat, your heart racing even faster. It felt like you were running out of oxygen, the collar suddenly constricting your airways. You feel like you’re choking, like you can’t breathe, the sudden pain making tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

Despite your efforts to attempt to breathe calmly and slowly, you just couldn’t manage it. Every gasp, every breath, was painful, like your airway had been forcibly closed up by a cruel fist. Your vision began to swim from the lack of air, fuzzy and unfocused. Your fingers clawing desperately at the hooks of the soft collars edges, gasping desperately as it doesn’t budge.

You were on the verge of hyperventilating, the sound of your own panicked gasps filling your ears. It’s all consuming - your panic, your utter fear.

He approached you slowly, each measured step he took echoing throughout the empty hall. He kneels down next to you, his movements deliberate and smooth. Tim coos softly, gently shushing your trembling form as you curled up into a tight ball on the cold floor, shaking.

He threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sickenly tender as he caressed you. “Shhh… It’s okay..” he murmured, his voice deceptively low and soft. “You’re alright. It’s okay, kitten.”

You’re suddenly able to breathe, air rushing into your lungs like a tidal wave. Even though the collar still firmly encircles around your neck, the pressure around your airways loosened up. Your body greedily sucking in mouthfuls of air, your mind swimming and dizzy with both lack of oxygen and a hazy relief.

You can feel Tim staring down at you, his gaze intense. A smile on his lips as he watches you gasp for air. His thumb hovering over the release button on the remote in his palm.

“There you go..” he whispers, his voice a low hum of satisfaction as he watches you take in shuddering gasps of air. He continues to pet your hair, his fingers carding through your locks softly. “That’s it. Nice and easy, sweetheart.”

“Do you understand now?” His tone is sickly sweet. It felt like your skin was crawling every time he touched you, your body cringing and flinching away almost involuntarily.

His hand continues stroking, the motion gentle but somehow threatening. Like every soft caress was an attempt to coax you into submission, his touch a strange sort of warning.

“Hm?” he prompts, his head tilting to the side. He looks expectant, like he’s waiting for a certain answer.

Your eyes glare up at him, your lips fluttering desperately as you try to speak. Every word you try to say is cut short by another deep gasp of air, your throat raw and sore from the crushing pressure applied earlier.

You want to scream at him, to yell and thrash in his grip. But your body feels weak and shaky, the adrenaline coursing through your veins still thrumming with panic and fear.

This wasn’t the same boy you’d rubbed your body up against on that apartment’s balcony. The same young man who’d smiled at you as you weaved around his feet, begging for his attention.

That Robin was kind, warm. Gentle. This man… wasn’t. Not even remotely. There was something dark in his eyes. Something feral and predatory.

His grip on the remote in his hand is so tight that his knuckles are turning white. It was like he was claiming some sort of disgusting ownership over you, like he believed you belonged to him in every sense of the word.

Something cold and terrible curls in your stomach as you watch his expression, a quiet horror slowly setting in as it sinks in just how dangerous the situation you’ve gotten yourself into is.

You should’ve trusted your instincts, should’ve listened when something felt off. You should’ve run. But you didn’t, thinking it was all the strange circumstance, that you were just overreacting.

Now, you’re pinned like a specimen under the grip of an unstable hero. At his mercy. At all of their mercy.

You feel your thoughts swirling in your mind, like a maelstrom of confusion and fear. Was it not just the Waynes…? Had every hero been in on it? Were you never going to be safe?

Your heart races as the realisation dawns on you that Batman himself might be part of this. The most powerful man in all of Gotham, the one who was supposed to be the symbol of good.

You were feeling lightheaded, your thoughts swirling in a hazy panic. How could this be happening? How was this real? You were nobody. You lived day to day struggling, how could somebody like you ever catch the attention of so many people? And why?

Tim continues to stare down at you, his smile turning almost unnervingly sweet. It was like he knew exactly what you were thinking, like he could see the questions swirling around in your head.

He chuckles softly, his voice disturbingly casual as he speaks. “You’re wondering why, right?” his words carry a hint of amusement. But his tone is almost pitying, like he was comforting a child about to be told a bad truth.

He pauses, a small hum leaving his lips. He looks like he’s thinking, like he’s contemplating something. Then he reaches out to gently brush a sweaty lock of hair from your face, his touch strangely tender.

“It’s because we’re family.” he states firmly, his tone so casual it chilled you to the bone. There was no hint of doubt in his voice, like he fully believed it. Like he knew that it was the hard truth.

He leans down closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek again. He watches your expression closely, a strange sort of affection behind his eyes. Something bordering on possessive.

You couldn’t help but shiver at the sheer intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes felt like they were boring into your soul. “You’re ours." His words are low and firm. Definitive.

“You’d do well to remember that. You’re family, whether you like it or not.”

“We take care of family,” he continues, his thumb rubbing against your skin in a gesture that’s almost soothing. Or it would be if you didn’t know the meaning behind his words. “We take care of each other. Family protects each other. Family makes sure nobody can hurt each other.” His voice takes on a colder, darker tone. Which contrasts the gentle way in which his thumb strokes your cheek. “This manor is the safest place for a little kitten like you in Gotham. Where we can protect you.”

His fingers travel from your cheek down to your chin, his grip gentle but firm as he tilts your head up. Making you look into his eyes.

They’re so blue. Not in a gentle, calming way, but in a piercing way. Like staring into the depths of an ice-cold river. The look he gives you is intense, his gaze unblinking.

“You’re safe here,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Where you belong.”

Safe? He says the word with such conviction. As if he truly, wholeheartedly believed it. Like he wasn’t the one holding the switch in control of the collar locked around your throat.

The word makes a bitter, dark laugh bubble up from your chest, the sound harsh and rough. “Safe?” You manage to rasp out through your ragged throat. “You fucking kidnapped me. Yo–you’re treating me as if I’m not a prisoner here.”

Tim’s eyes flash at your harsh words. There’s a hint of anger there for a brief moment, a shadow flickering through his gaze as his jaw clenches tightly. He looks like he’s having a hard time keeping himself in check.

“You aren’t a prisoner.” he grinds out, his voice still controlled, if a bit tighter than before. “You can do anything you want, go anywhere you want. Do anything to please us.”

He pauses for a moment, seeming to rein in his anger before continuing. “You’re being provided for, given anything you ask for. You’re protected, in a beautiful home, and kept away from the harshness of the streets. I’d say that sounds like a pretty good deal…”

His grip on your chin tightens, the smile on his face turning almost sickly sweet. “But since you want to be so ungrateful about it,” he drawls, his voice dripping in saccharine sweetness. “Maybe you’d like to go back to the streets, hm? To your cold apartment, your lonely existence, the struggle to find your next meal?”

His words are cold and calculated, like he’s reminding you of the harsher realities of your life. “Because you have nothing, you know. No one. No safety. You’re completely vulnerable like that.”

He bends down to your level, his face uncomfortably close. “You’re a stray, little one. A feral, scared, little stray, with no one to look after you. And the streets of Gotham aren’t kind to strays.”

Your eyes glare up at him, your teeth gritted as you rasp out your response. "Fuck. You.”

Tim’s expression darkens at your words, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his glare deepens. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just staring at you with an intense glare. It feels like he’s trying to decide if he should punish you for your harsh words or not.

You feel the familiar prickling sensation of transformation overcome your body, your bones shifting and compressing as you shift forms.

In an instant, you’re on all fours, your now-furred body feeling surprisingly agile and light, your claws scratching against the hardwood floor. You shift backwards, your tail lashing as you release a low growl up at Tim.

His expression seems to soften for a moment as he watches you transform, it was a familiar sight that he’s grown used to watching over the cameras. But the look is gone in a flash, his frown returning as he looks down at you with disapproval. His hand shooting out to grab you before you get the chance to dart off.

Your front paws circle around his wrist, grasping for purchase as you begin clawing and scratching at his arm. Your hind legs kicking and scraping against his skin, your body writhing violently in his grip. Sharp teeth digging viciously into his thumb.

Tim lets out a loud shrill of pain as your teeth dig into his skin, your sharp canines puncturing his flesh. He hisses out a curse, his hold on your scruff tightening unconsciously in response.

You feel him almost frantically throw you away, the shove hard enough to make you stumble backwards. You land on your paws as you look back up at Tim, your head tilted as you watch him cradle his arm.

His limb is bleeding heavily from the deep cuts you’ve inflicted on his skin, multiple long puncture wounds and slashes littering his wrist and forearm. A string of curses leaves his lips, his hand coming up to grasp at his torn skin in an effort to slow the bleeding. The blood gushing out all around and onto the floor.

The scream that came from Tim’s lips echoed loudly down the long hallways of the manor, the sound carrying through the air sharply. Within moments, the sound of hurried footsteps and hushed voices filled the air as the inhabitants of the manor seemed to gravitate towards the source.

You were preparing to make a run for it, your body tensing and preparing to bolt, when a sudden sharp sting went through the back of your neck, the sharp prick from the collar’s latches lodged in your skin.

Your legs buckled under you, your mind hazy and your vision starting to swim with an all-consuming blackness just as a pair of heavy duty black boots entered your field of vision. Your head felt so heavy.

You vaguely managed to glance up, your eyes registering the sight of Bruce Wayne towering over you before you finally lost consciousness.

For plot purposes, Alfred is Vet trained. TW for the following. If you are uncomfortable with animal cruelty or non consensual body modification, then either skip to the next banner or click off.

Once you slowly come back to, your head feels foggy and your thoughts sluggish. You blink your eyes open, your vision slowly refocusing as you try to take in your surroundings.

The first thing that you notice is that you can barely move. Your entire body felt immobilized, your limbs strapped down to a large, padded table. You attempt to yell, to cry out... but you couldn’t move your mouth. It’s as if your jaw is glued shut by some invisible force.

The more you struggle in your bonds, the quicker it becomes painfully apparent that you couldn’t seem to move anything. Your arms, legs, head, tail, ears. Nothing.

The only thing you could move was your eyes, your pupils darting around the room as you desperately tried to take in your surroundings through a haze of panic and confusion.

You watched as a tall, older man enters the room directly in front of you, his unmistakable white mustache and suit immediately recognisable. He was the Wayne family’s butler.

He was dressed in a pair of sterile scrubs on top of his usual outfit, an air of professional seriousness surrounding him as he stared down at you.

“I apologise for the predicament you find yourself in, young master,” the butler's deep voice rings out around the room, his tone gentle and comforting. "But now that you are awake, we can begin the procedure."

He pauses for a moment, eyes locking with yours. “Just try and stay calm, the faster we get this done the better.” The words are said sincerely, as if he's trying to reassure you.

However his words did nothing to calm your mounting panic, if you could, your body would be trembling against the bonds that held you fast to the table.

You wanted to scream, to protest to whatever it was that he was talking about. But you couldn’t even speak, your jaw stubbornly refusing to move despite how desperately you tried to open your mouth. Not even one pitiful mew left your lips.

“I understand that this situation may not be the most comfortable for you,” the butler continues, his tone lowering in an attempt to sooth you as he speaks. “So I’ll explain the procedure as we go along."

He takes a moment to glance at the various machines stationed around the room as he speaks, before turning his attention back to you. “Just try and remain calm. It will all be over shortly."

The butler’s words wash over you like a cold wave of horror, his voice strangely calm as he explains the medical procedure that’s about to take place.

“I’m going to perform what is called laser onychectomy,” he informs, his footsteps echoing slowly as he disappears from your line of sight.

Your heart plummets at the loss of visual once he moves behind you, fear making your heart drop in your chest.

“This involves using a laser,” the butler continues bluntly as he moves around. “Instead of a scalpel or clipper,” the sound of something metallic being picked up sounding from behind you. “Which is more commonly, or rather outdatedly, used when performing this surgery.”

“This technique targets the bone and tissue,” the butler explains clinically as he works. “Which provides a more precise and controlled removal. Unlike traditional methods," he says with a tone of distaste. “That can be more invasive and painful.”

The sound of a switch being flicked on rings in your ears.

“It aims to minimise discomfort and improve recovery.”

The butler reenters your field of sight, now standing by the table you’re strapped down against. You can see a pair of white latex gloves now covering his hands, along with a sterile face shield now covering his face as he continues to speak.

“I assure you that you won’t feel a thing. It’s completely painless. With the sedation you’re under, the only thing you should feel is a slight heat against your paws."

He hums softly as he adjusts the face shield, “The laser will cauterise your blood vessels and nerve endings,” he continues, a hand diligently peeling back the fur surrounding your claws. “Minimising any bleeding and significantly reducing the post-operative pain.”

His hands move out towards the nearby machine placed beside the operating table, adjusting it to come closer before turning it on. You could hear the faint hum of the machine’s mechanics as it starts up.

“Because the laser sterilises as it cuts, there is no risk of infection."

The elder man uses an instrument similar to tweezers to take ahold of the base of your first front claw, and with his other hand he brings close a U-shaped metal device, which you can safely assume is the laser by how warm it is against your fur as he brings it close. You try desperately to move away, to struggle, but the sedatives leave your body unresponsive.

“It will take less than a second,” he reassures, the soft hum of the laser steadily getting louder as he brings it ever closer to your paw. “I promise,” he murmurs softly.

He works in a methodical and efficient manner, his hand steady as he places the end of the laser against the base of your claw. The device hums louder, a low buzz sounding as it warms up. Seconds later, he wordlessly turns over your paw to make another incision on the underneath of your nail. Using the forcep to pull out your claw. As a string of muscle and tendons follows, he uses the laser to burn it off completely.

Throughout the entire process, the butler remains cool, efficient and collected, his movements precise and his voice professional. Choosing to ignore the way you’ve closed your eyes tightly, as the only thing you could actually control, the rest of your body remaining completely helpless and unresponsive to your mental struggles. You laid there limp, unable to reign in the tears that well up in your eyes.

You only break out of your dissociative state once he's cleaned out any blood that had dripped from your paws onto the table, your eyes weakly fluttering open as he turns the machine off and sets it down next to you. His hands moving to release the straps around your limbs, your body remaining immobile even as he frees you from the bonds.

“As the laser seals up the incisions, there is no need to apply any bandages.” he assures, his voice controlled and monotone as he tugs off the surgical gloves.

“You must rest,” is all the butler says as he turns away to clean up, tidying the used instruments and tools before disposing of any blood-soaked tissues into the bin and gathering the used sheets into a basket.

You manage to open your eyes wide enough to watch him work, your whole body feeling heavy and weak from the effects of the sedatives still working through your system. Your limbs remaining unresponsive to your attempts at movement, your body feeling like lead.

The butler finally comes back into your line of sight once he's finished, his hands now empty and his face clear of the protective shield. He crouches down in front of you as he gives you a gentle, almost fatherly look.

“You will probably still experience some nausea and weakness for a short while," he comments. “The effects of the sedatives will need to take a few hours to wear off. But other than that, young master, the procedure was a complete success."

He watches you quietly for moment, his hand reaching out to gently pat you on the head between your soft ears.

“Rest now, little one…” he whispers with a gentle smile, a hint of pity in his eyes as he watches the way your small form trembled. “Just rest. It’s all over."

With that, you could feel the butler release a soft sigh as he straightens back up, before turning and quietly leaving the operating room, abandoning you on the cold, metal table. Your ears twitching softly, listening intently as his footsteps echoed out, the sound of the heavy door closing behind him being the only sign that he’d left.

Alfred met Bruce’s eyes through the two-way mirror, his expression solemn and professional despite the pang of sympathy in his chest. He nodded his head wordlessly in a silent report of a job well done.

With that, he leaves the room, the door closing heavily behind him as he exits back into the hallway. His bottom lip trembling as he digs his nails into his palm. Schooling the resentful look in his eyes.

Your eyes slowly flutter open, groggy and disoriented as you regain consciousness. You vaguely notice the comforting feeling of a warm palm gently running through your fur, the comforting sensation bringing a small, gentle purr from your chest despite yourself.

You lean into his touch subconsciously, finding it strangely comforting in the moment. A small part of you screaming at you to remember the situation - to remember that you’re trying to get away from these people, not into their arms. But another part of you craves that comfort, the tender touches and unwavering attention. Especially now, with your instincts going haywire.

“You’re going to be alright…” a low, gentle voice mumbles quietly, the tone strangely pained.

As you grew more aware of your surroundings, you recognise that you’re lying on some type of bed, a firm yet comfortable mattress beneath your small form. You took note of how Damian’s voice had lowered, as he continued to run his warm palm soothingly through your fur. How his head had dipped down, resting against your fluffy stomach as his hand continued to stroke your ears tenderly with each gentle caress.

Your eyes slowly opened wider, your pupils adjusting to the brightness as you realise that you’re not in the medical room anymore. You’re somewhere that you can’t recognise. You let out a low, confused mew, unsure of how much time had passed since the procedure. Your body feeling strangely weak and lethargic, a small ache still evident in your wrists and the pads of your little toe beans.

Your gaze trails down your limbs, your ears folding backwards as you stretch out your front paws. You whine pitifully, suddenly and painfully reminded by the absence of your claws by the aches in your paws, the dull, phantom throb at the base of where your nails were causing a pitiful whine to leave your throat.

Damian makes a soft shushing noise, his nose nuzzling against your stomach once you whine. You watch as he moves his hand down to gently cover your front paws, hiding them from your view.

“It’s okay.. It’s okay..” he whispers softly, his voice dropping into a gentle pained plea. “I’m.. I’m so sorry…” His voice is ridden with guilt as he apologises.

He continues to rub your stomach softly with his other hand, his head still buried against you, his shoulders hunched forwards. You can feel him trembling as he apologises again, his breath tickling against your stomach as he mumbles words of regret against your soft fur.

His quiet apology was a stark contrast to his usual sternness. The vulnerability behind his words present in his voice. You could feel the tremors running through his shoulders, your heightened senses picking up on the way his muscles tense and tremble as he continues to quietly mutter his apology against you.

He shifts you closer, his hands gently pulling you up to sit in his lap, until you’re lying against his chest, tucked against his front. One hand wrapped around your back to rub gently between your shoulder blades, his other still rubbing your stomach gently with the occasional apology mumbled against your ears.

You feel your body relax against his front as he readjusts you in his lap, your senses being engulfed by his familiar scent. You felt comforted by the sound of his racing heart beating against your sensitive ears, the steady thump of the organ lulling you into a state of comfort despite yourself.

Damian adjusts his waist to accommodate you more comfortably, bringing your form flush against his body, both of his arms now wrapped around you as he continues to rub you gently, one hand trailing along your back, the other perched on the start of your tail.

“I should have stopped them…” Damian mutters out in a pained mumble, his arms wrapping tighter around your body as he continues to hold you against him.

You can feel how tense he becomes. His chest rising and falling heavily as he struggles to reign in his breathing. His heart beating against you as he quietly whispers more and more apologies, his voice cracking slightly with each one.

But even in his attempt to comfort you, you felt nothing. No sympathy, no anything. It was as if you were watching a play, viewing everything from behind a blurry lens.

He was no different. He was still a kidnapper. Still dangerous, despite his apologies. You could hear yourself breathing, but it felt distant, almost like a low buzz in the back of your ears.

Everything was wrong. Your head was spinning from whatever was still pumping through your system. Your instincts felt like they were in a frenzy. It was like your brain couldn’t even recognise you as being alive anymore. Like you were watching yourself through the screen of a TV.

You could register Damian’s arms wrapped around you. The way his heart frantically beats out of his chest. The heat coming off of his body in waves, seeping into your own small form.

You watched the ceiling lights above through your half-lidded eyes, their brightness burning into your dilated pupils. Your ears twitch every few seconds as small, pitiful whines leave your throat. Your body was tense yet still trembling harshly, shuddering as your whole world seemed like it was tipping upside down, your heartbeat too loud in your ears and your mind too distant to feel the way the boy was squeezing you. You wanted to scream.

The young Wayne’s voice sounded distant, as if he was calling out to you through a tunnel. You don’t understand what he’s saying, but you can feel the way his fingers keep running through your fur, his other hand running up and down your back in a way that would be calming, if you were able to comprehend it properly.

You wanted to feel safe. But you just felt scared. Your instincts screaming for you to run, to fight, to get away. While you just laid there, motionless.

What did I do? The thought was a painful one, the question playing on repeat in your head as you lie limp. Your paws stretching out, phantom claws dragging across his shirt. You whine pathetically, your eyes squeezing shut from the emotions welling behind your eyes.

It was a simple question. What did you do to deserve this?

You didn’t ask for any of this.

You just wanted to get back to your home, your life.

You had finally adjusted to being alone. To being free. And they’d taken that from you.

They had no right to kidnap you, to experiment on you, to change you. But they did. And they didn’t even care. They didn’t think of you as a person, a living thing with a mind and a soul. To them, your soul purpose was to be theirs. Someone to keep; something to own.

Bullshit. You think to yourself bitterly. They’re NOT your family. This is just some sick and twisted mind game. A weird obsessive tactic to feel in control.

Family does not experiment on each other. Family does not hurt each other. You’d already learnt that the hard way. This, this is bullshit.

You lie against Damian’s chest, feeling his heartbeat through your own. You were aware that he was still apologising. Could hear the way his voice shook as he tried to console you, his hands caressing through your fur. But it was like the sound was being filtered through a heavy wall of cotton. You could hear him, but you couldn’t process his words. You could feel the effects of the procedure still working through your system. Your mind too scrambled to fully realise what had been done to you, too overwhelmed by the wrong, unnatural feelings going through your body. Damian’s arms did nothing but help you stay put and stationary.

Family. The thought made bile rise in your throat.

Never. Your paws dug into Damian’s chest. A small amount of pain seeping through the cotton filter surrounding your mind.

You would never consider them your family.

This chap goes out to @acid-ixx

Merry Christmas🍀

All reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated and encouraged!!

I fr got no clue if anyone likes this, so I really really appreciate all my anons and commenters who go out of their way to say literally anything. Hope you all enjoyed🦖🦖🦖

I apologise for the extremely long delay. I kept rewriting and editing this cause I fucking hated it. Like I’m genuinely disappointed in this you have no idea. I had to watch SO MANY declawing demonstrations and procedures and went trough like four articles to make this as accurate as possible🙏🙏 So if you don’t like it I might cry🥰

[the-voice-beckons-below]

the end of the (red) line

bucky barnes x steve rogers x gn! reader

synopsis: red string au, in which a thread, invisible to others, tangles you and your soulmate together. you’ve been waiting a long time to meet the person at the other end, the problem is, they keep damaging the thread, leaving you unable to track them down.

warnings: angst (it’s a fic involving bucky, it’s to be expected), fluff, reader is down bad, mentions of death, self loathing, reader is technically an orphan (blame new york not me), big muscly super soldiers !! reader is confident!

word count : 2,928

this whole red string business had cost you many nights of sleep. all your friends had been lucky, bumping into their supposed soulmate in a store or cafe, or getting a new job and seeing a prominent string dangling from their coworker’s fingers.

see, it isn’t visible at all times, which is arguably less and equally more frustrating. there’s only certain times you can follow it, or tug on it if you’re impatient. there’s a possibility you walk past your fately betrothed and you’ll miss them, because the universe decides you’re not ready.

it’s been five years since it first showed up, looped around your fingers snuggly. it happened after a nightmare, which were all too common. witnessing the attack on new york first hand had been devastating, bodies upon bodies. screams and cries and families torn apart, including your own.

it was just you now, scattered in the vast expanse of the world like a drop in the ocean. friends were distractions, only so much could tackle the constant ebbing and aching deep within your chest. tucked away so far that it was normal, like it had always been there.

it was at a bar when the familiar red showed up, and in frustration, you yanked hard. standing up from the booth with your friends and determinedly walking to try once more. the bond was fickle, or maybe, it was just yours specifically. seemingly disappearing each time some ground was made, like someone had purposely cut it.

you learnt to be fast, coiling the thread and pacing swiftly. weaving through crowded streets on a winter’s eve, eyes narrowed and scrutinising. your lips dried at the cold air, and a small voice reminded you that the jacket you’d been wearing was still slumped in the bar’s booth. was it worth it? getting cold and also getting a dead end?

the trail never seemed to end, with each tug and pull, there was no resistance. leaving a yarn-like pile puddled at your feet. it could’ve been the frustration or exasperation that triggered the next moment, gripping onto the thin crimson and jerking it with every ounce of might you had.

it wasn’t noticeable at first, but steadily a burning littered your palms. for the very first time, you’d gotten rope burn from wrenching the thread.

there was also a man who was distinctively dishevelled, like he’d been displaced.

he was littered in crimson.

not only was it looped around him, it also continued from him. which was just too much to comprehend at the given moment, was it possible to be attached to multiple people?

the man whipped his head up, almost like he’d been shocked, and belatedly met eyes with you. locking with a shudder, his gaze was almost frantic.

at the same time, you both spoke, your voice edging on angry and confused. while the stranger’s seemed unbelievably stunned.

“you!”

in all years of imagining your future partner, you’d never expected them to be so…unfairly attractive. adorned with dull blonde locks, a sharp jaw and icy blue eyes that held a depth you hadn’t prepared for. he was tall, and built, gods he could crush you.

it almost cooled the anger in your veins.

“why did you keep cutting me off?” you snapped, fists clenching from anxiety this time. had they seen you before and decided you weren’t enough? could you be enough? why wait all this time? why sever the connection over and over?

“what?” he breathed, the air in his lungs fled. the blonde’s train of thought was completely dismantled, a flicker of hurt and confusion flooded his face. “that - that wasn’t you?”

steve still remembers when it appeared. just after his major transformation from frail to superhuman. the sight caused him to stutter, whole body feeling just as weak as he was before. immediately he’d gone to find peggy, hoping it was her, she was breathtaking. first woman to see him as someone, and who looked at him with a hint of softness that he melted for each time.

and he still remembers the way his heart had plummeted upon finding out his newly acquired string was not attached to peggy. it shattered a part of him, he’d never felt like this with anyone before, and yet peggy wasn’t the one. her bold lipstick would not litter his cheeks or lips, her soft yet strong hands would not rest in his own.

it was confusing.

but what was truly heartbreaking was finding out who it was attached to.

after rescuing bucky from hydra and finally having his best friend back, steve thought maybe it would be okay not to know the person on the other side of the string. him and buck would be alright if they had each other, his fondest and happiest of memories included barnes.

on that train, time stopped. bucky dangling from a scrap of metal, steel eyes terrified and begging for steve to haul him back up.

he couldn’t reach him. he tried, god he tried.

the worst part of it all had been seeing glimmering thread falling into the snow with his best friend. he’d found and lost his soulmate - best friend, at the exact same time. it was a good thing to have crashed that jet into the ice, he was content with it. knowing if there was an afterlife, buck would be there with open arms.

but that’s just not how it went.

instead he woke up from a presumably deadly sleep.

all he had ever known was gone, apart from peggy, who after a little while, was gone too.

thread was still attached to him, he felt it, it was heavy, dragging him down in what felt like every step. the weight was there, but he didn’t see it.

not until a masked assassin stood in his path, mask strewn across concrete. his beautiful bucky was alive, and almost unrecognisable with the torment that surrounded him.

he cried that night.

eventually, after he fought through what felt like hell, he’d pulled bucky back from the torturous programming he’d been under. they’d come to realise that their thread, ignited since the 40’s had changed, it went in another direction.

“multiple soulmates huh?” buck realised, if steve was observant enough, he would’ve seen the defeat in his former best friend’s (now lover’s) language.

“i don’t think it will be a bad thing, it’s, exciting.”

bucky’s bit his lip, “maybe.”

it had taken years to let steve in again. he was on edge all of the time, was real panicky too. spent so much time locked in his room, and went between eating so much his stomach hurt and not having an appetite at all. it felt undeserving to have what he wanted, to have a soulmate, to be potentially happy after what he’d done.

the lives he’d taken.

the guilt had crushed him, and the self hatred never dulled. he didn’t deserve steve, he was too good. too sweet, too soft. too, steve.

when it became clear that someone else was out there, linked to steve and him, he panicked. it had been hard enough coming to terms that steve didn’t hate him, didn’t blame him. no one else could get close, what if he hurt them? what if they took steve?

what if this string thing didn’t work out all the time? everything was fine with steve. he felt safer than ever, with a calm so alien to him.

it wasn’t purposeful, but whenever the other string popped up, every time he went to touch it, it frayed. like the bond didn’t want him.

time after time it dissolved after bucky touched it, no matter how gentle or rough, it vanished. it was humiliating. after a while he just swiped at it whenever it did reappear, wanting it gone. it was just there to insult him. of course it would fray when he touched it, it was naive of him to think that a killer, someone drenched in the blood of others, could be wanted.

steve would disagree of course.

steve loved him with every fibre of his being, so fiercely it was near startling. it was more than he deserved. every embrace was simultaneously his oxygen and his undoing.

captain america was righteous, strong. believed in bucky and nursed him back to ‘health’ as much as he could. rogers was more than a tight suit and a impenetrable shield. he was everything.

he knew that steve was searching for their other, other half. knew that he was excited to meet them, wanted to show bucky that it would be a good thing. steve hadn’t accounted for one thing, bucky’s fear.

bucky was internally petrified of losing his everything.

he swiped at the string over and over, and the guilt was way lesser than the fear.

the name you’d gotten was steve, you’d quickly texted your friends not to worry.

followed string, please hold onto that jacket, it’s my favourite. i’ll be sad if you lose it :(

he had ordered two coffees, “this may take a while.” the man wrung his hands nervously, it was mildly comforting to know you weren’t the only one with a pounding heart and a sweaty brow.

“you’re different than i thought you’d be.” it had come out in a splutter, scrounging for a conversation, it would be embarrassing to confess you just wanted to hear him talk more.

the raise in his brow only made your heart thud faster, eyes becoming half amused and half apprehensive. “how so? i’m sorry if uh, don’t cut it.”

you had practically interrupted him, “no - you’re just, i mean for one you’re captain america. makes sense why i couldn’t find you, you’ve probably been all over the place.” after years of pondering about your soulmate, finally coming face to face with one of them was exhilarating and overwhelming. and you couldn’t stop talking, spilling too many words. it was a wonder that he kept up. “and secondly, you cut it, how you look is borderline unfair to the general public.”

you had caught him off guard, and his laugh, it came from his chest. deep, rich and warm. “fighting takes you all over. i’m glad - that i cut it. been worrying that you were making it disappear, that you didn’t want to see me - us.”

mid sip, you halted. he drank his own coffee with a small smile. “you uh, know the other one?”

his lips quirked up more, a fondness shining in his pupils, “you could say that.” steve cleared his throat, thumbing the handle of the coffee cup, “i’ve known him my whole life,” he hesitated, “his name is bucky.”

everyone who’d paid attention to the news was aware who this ‘bucky’ was. captain america’s best friend who was taken in by hydra and brainwashed so severely he’d lost himself along the way, who was used as a weapon for a long, long time.

steve was prepared for a bad reaction, people weren’t always understanding when it came to buck. more often than not, they’d call him a killer or become uncomfortable. it made him incredibly protective, and he struggled to stay present in a conversation after judging bucky so poorly.

“you don’t need to be on edge you know.” you spoke, spotting the super soldier’s tense posture. “i know who he is,” you started carefully, sweeping across the expanse of steve’s face, “and anyone with a brain knows what happened to him, is not his fault.”

steve inhaled with a shaky, but relieved breath. “thank yo-“

“you don’t need to,” you cut in, “i’ve been waiting for years, for you, for you both technically.” a blush quickly swarmed your cheeks, and you broke the eye contact between the two of you. the rest of the sentence was silent, but steve would’ve decoded it as: i don’t give up so easily.

being connected by fate to one extremely attractive man was already hard to grasp. but two of them? it was almost sending you to an early grave. it was easy to see just from a small interaction that steve was sweet, protective, handsome and you were bound to him.

“he’s a tough nut to crack.” a part of you laughed at the innuendo, but outwardly, just managed to keep it in. “he’s probably worried, said i’d be back by 5, always make sure im never late.”

“trying to escape already?” you teased, before asking for his number. he fumbled around with his phone, shaking his head at your question. it was slightly endearing how steve’s fingers shook as he pulled up his contact details. despite the pair of you trying to appear confident, you were equally as nervous and giddy.

as soon as you finished inputting the information, the door to the cafe dinged, and in walked the reincarnation of sin itself. brown messy hair and the most hypnotising steel irises. red thread wrapped around the metal of his arm beautifully. you sucked in a breath, not out of fear of who bucky was, but the dawning realisation you were linked with perhaps the prettiest men on earth.

his face was hard set, pulled taut and serious. clinically, and methodically, he swept over the cafe until he found his target. the tension from the man visibly eased, enough so that he didn’t even clock the person sitting across from steve. who, if he had noticed, was staring at him unashamedly.

“it’s 6, you’re never late.” bucky narrowed his stare pointedly, quickly checking to see if steve was perhaps held back by an injury. when he found nothing, he almost looked offended.

steve’s lids fluttered at the timbre of his partners voice greeting him, “mhm.” amusement quickly overcame his expression, “well, i was busy.”

“busy with what?” bucky almost growled, frowning at the pleased glint present in steve’s pupils, and how his partner seemed smug. he was happy about not coming home? he’d been waiting at home like a damn dog, until noticing the string and following it to steve like he was on a mission. steve shifted to look at you, and couldn’t help the smile that burst from him. oh you were perfect. not afraid or judgmental of bucky at all, you instead looked all but ready to devour the ex assassin.

at steve’s silence, and sudden interest looking at something else, bucky cranked his head to the side. all words dying on his tongue the second he caught onto you, the string cocooning you and your ecstatic half crinkled eyes. “oh.”

“oh.” steve echoed with a poorly hidden smirk, anxiety tugging at his chest, waiting to see how bucky would react. it all depended on this moment.

it was basically a staring contest with the amount of eye contact between the two of you. it was like bucky was searching for something within you, trying to dig into your core and assess what laid there. “this is an acceptable reason for being late.” and with that, he turned away.

steve sighed exasperated, “i’m sorry for him, that, that was rude buck.” back in the 40’s bucky was an unrivalled gentleman, polite to women and men alike. he was guarded, too much so. steve had desperately wanted to forge a connection with their third partner, and didn’t expect bucky to seem almost against it.

“don’t apologise for me.” he withheld a small scowl, flicking back and forth between steve and you. it didnt deter you, rationally maybe it should have, but you waited 5 years. you’d be damned if you gave up on the first hurdle. steve had said he was a ‘tough nut to crack’, so cracked he would be.

“it’s alright,” you waved steve’s concern off, “it’s good to meet you, years of waiting was worth it.” you raised your hand expectantly, bucky hesitated, until stubbornly wrapping his metal fingers around your flesh ones. the lack of alarm or fright from touching the metal limb had him faltering.

you truly weren’t affected by him or the history and baggage he carried.

with a confidence you weren’t sure you had, you leant closer, heart hammering at a speed that felt dangerous. slowly, and tentatively, you placed a tender kiss upon the back of the silver hand. bucky’s reaction was a sucked in breath and a sharp twitch in the prosthetic limb. it was almost as if he’d felt the sensation coursing through him. “i am sorry for keeping your partner, do forgive me.”

“i’ll think about it.” his stoic facade was ruined by the smallest lopsided lift of his lips. all three of you had trouble slowing your pulses, all frantic and strangled by adrenaline. “here again, tomorrow at 2.” he all but demanded, pulling away and walking towards steve.

“bucky! you can’t just - buck!” the blonde groaned, jumping at bucky interlinking their hands and dragging him away. before he was completely swept, steve fumbled through his wallet and laid money on the table for the coffees, “i hope tomorrow at 2 is convenient.”

“i’ll think about it.” you replied, slyly laughing at steve before he disappeared through the glass cafe door.

there was no doubt about it, they would cram into every space hidden within your head, without any resistance. one interaction with them both, and you were a goner.

you leant into your hands, muffling the borderline painful grin painted on your face. after a moment, you turned on your phone, sending the fastest text.

you are never going to believe this, i’m coming back for my jacket, and for drinks.

your index hovered over the new contact in your phone, and before you could think it through, you typed away.

you both cut it ps. do you or bucky want flowers or chocolates?

a/n: so i started this fic today, and it was meant to be a very short one, more of a drabble than anything. i’ve become more attached than initially expected, and it became a longer fic. divider credits are me just in case anyone was about to ask about them, i might post them!! i think i need some more to do a batch though.

i don’t normally see more confident readers/a mix of flustered and confident, and i’m not sure how well received it will be because of that. i hope there’s people that can appreciate a cheeky hand kiss and a little bit of flustered steve and bucky. reader would spoil them both, gifts and open affection, would be so supportive and protective, steve and bucky would end up so possessive of them in return.

i hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it !! merry early christmas <33

[dervampireprince]

thank you everyone who's found me after watching arcane season 2 and my almost 3 years of making viktor audios!

my current audios:

25 sfw

9 public nsfw (6 x listener, 3

#jayvik)

10 patreon nsfw (6 x listener {3 machine herald, 1 vampire}, 1 jayvik)

mostly trans viktor

a mix of mostly gender neutral listener, but also female listener, male listener (including trans man listener and t4t viktor x listener), nonbinary listener

my public sfw audios are on youtube and soundgasm, public nsfw are on soundgasm, and the rest are patreon exclusive. all the links are in my pinned post.

[18+ only, minors dni]

[4ranghaes]

can i req 23rd with leehan :D

day 12 ⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆ exchanging gifts!

kim leehan x reader [fluff, gender neutral!reader]

23:01 - “can we open our presents now?”

you smiled, leaning up on your boyfriend’s chest and rolling your eyes at his repetitive question from the last few weeks, “why not?”

leehan gasped, his hand flying from your back to the back of your head, grasping tightly, “really?!”

“it’s only an hour until christmas eve,” you chuckled, “and we’re not spending christmas day together. so if you’re happy with it.”

“well…” he smiled sheepishly, looking down at you with a cheeky glint in his eye, “i’ve got you multiple! we could do one now?”

you chuckled, leaning up and kissing his lips softly, nodding, “sounds perfect.”

leehan moved quickly, jumping out of bed and opening his wardrobe, grabbing one of the multiple wrapped presents out of there, without second thought.

“why are they still in your wardrobe?” you laughed, getting one from your pile at the end of his bed, “they’re wrapped!”

leehan shrugged, a smile on his face as he came and crouched next to the bed, handing you the present as though you were a child, receiving a present from santa claus. you chuckled, taking it from his hands.

“what could it be?” you hummed, smiling as he sat back on the bed, leaning against the headboard. he raised his eyebrows in suggestion, amused look on his face.

you flipped over the now unwrapped present from your boyfriend, a homemade frame decorated with stickers (fish-based or otherwise) and a photo of you and leehan, taken on a date from mid-spring.

“that’s your favourite, right?” he said, a slight shyness peeking through, “i– it was your lockscreen.”

you broke out in a smile, crawling forward on the bed, hanging onto the back of leehan’s head as you pressed a kiss to his lips. pulling away, you remained just centimetres from his face.

“thank you,” you mumbled, kissing him again, “it’s so thoughtful, donghyun, really.”

he broke out in a smile, leaning in to kiss you again before pushing you away.

“okay, go away, i’m excited for mine,” he laughed. you sat on your knees, watching his nimble fingers shake your present, admiring the size and putting it up to his ear, you chuckling at his childish behaviour. “it’s big!”

“it’s kind of stupid,” you said, shaking your head, “don’t expect too much.”

he glared up at you before looking back down at the present, a smile spreading across his face.

“lego?” he read, looking up to you, becoming happier and happier.

“yeah…” you smiled, “it’s, um, a fish tank.”

he giggled, “really?!”

you nodded sheepishly, “you build all the fish and the decorations and the tank. but it’s small, so i thought it could be like a transportable one for you.”

“and i already have my mini!” he beamed, reaching and showing you his tiny fish tank, “it’s like all the sizes!”

you nodded, laughing, “do you like it?”

he was giggling, grabbing your face and pulling you towards him, kissing you lips repeatedly, “yes. thank you, darling. really.”

you smiled into the kiss, “merry christmas, leehan-ie.”

he pulled away, smiling as he admired your face, “merry christmas.”

[leighsartworks216]

All-Nighter

Zayne x gn!Reader

Somewhat related to Protocore Syndrome and Antiseptic and Latex, but only very vaguely

Warnings: pre-relationship, college au, cuddling, literal sleeping together, food, sharing food

Word Count: 1,123

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You frown at your laptop's bright screen, scanning over the words of the academic paper. You only look away to glance down into the cup of noodles. You gather a bite on your chopsticks, eat it, and drop the sticks into the cup to set it beside you. Hands now free, you open up another tab and begin typing the info you need.

The cup is picked up. Zayne takes up the chopsticks and looks away from his own work to dig through the cup. He pushes aside the carrot bits and picks out his own bite.

This has become commonplace, especially as the semester goes on and the work gets harder. All-nighters were spent on your dorm's couch, side by side on the bed, on the floor, or at the table. You'd gather a bunch of snacks, quick meals and drinks, and hunker in for the foreseeable future.

You're mid-sentence when an alarm goes off on Zayne's phone. With a pavlovian response, you stop typing and close your laptop. Tonight, you sit on your couch, feet up on the coffee table. The back comes up to your neck, allowing you the perfect opportunity to tilt your head back and stretch your arms overhead.

Zayne stops the alarm and closes his laptop. "Fifteen minutes." He takes another bite.

You sigh. After working for a solid hour, it does not feel like enough time to rest. What you both really need is one night where you get 6-8 hours of sleep, each. However, with finals just on the horizon, that feels like a dream that won't be coming true anytime soon.

You hold out a hand. He drops the chopsticks back into the cup and passes it over. You don't comment on his picky eating. Besides, the vegetables in this are sub par; you don't really want to be eating them either.

There's not much left. You finish it off and set the empty cup on the table. Zayne massages the tension in his hands. "How much do you have left?" he asks.

You rub at your eyes. They're raw with exhaustion, your vision beginning to blur despite how much you try to focus. "Too much," you mutter. "What about you?"

He hums, holding his laptop as he stretches his long legs out under the coffee table. "Too much," he parrots, though he doesn't say it with the same overwhelm as you. He's always been better at all-nighters, working with the utmost efficiency to get it all done. He's top of the class for a reason. Not to mention he’s already grades ahead of you, despite you both having started freshman year together. How you became friends in the first place was mere chance.

In one of your lecture classes, you both sat next to each other. You both stayed respectfully on your sides of the table, didn't speak to each other, diligently took your notes and did your work.

Then, weeks in, you'd overslept and were running late. The embarrassment of slinking in mid-lecture was bad, but when you realized you forgot your stuff for the class, you wanted to be swallowed up by the floor.

Zayne had watched you frantically rummage through your bag. He watched you stop, bow your head as though you were trying to pull yourself together, and quietly set it down under the table. He watched as you sat up and watched the lecture, leg bouncing and hands fiddling together.

You probably were about to cry when he slid over a small candy, wrapped in shiny paper. When you looked over, he was looking ahead. But, you took the candy. It was a small gesture, but the underplayed kindness of it made you feel loads better. When class ended and you thanked him, he offered to send you his notes from the class. You eagerly agreed and offered to make it up to him by buying him lunch.

You've been friends ever since.

You set your laptop aside and draw your legs onto the couch, trying to get comfortable. "'M gonna take a nap," you mumble through a yawn.

You have no idea if Zayne said anything in response. As soon as you were even remotely comfortable, you were asleep. After not sleeping well for the last few days (if not the last few weeks), your body just gave out.

Zayne checks the time on his watch. He can stand to stay awake for a while longer. He gets up, doing his best not to disturb you, and uses the rest of the break time to tidy up the snack wrappers, drink a glass of water, and grab a spare blanket to drape over you. He almost feels bad, knowing that in about 2 minutes, he would need to wake you up again, just so you can get back to your work. While he was ahead of you now, you'd told him about this class before. It's a neurology-specific class, one you'd been excited to register for, before you heard anything about the absurd workload.

He double checks your schedule. The next time you have this class is a couple days from now, and your class tomorrow isn't until the afternoon.

He sits back down, settling his laptop back in his lap, and turns off the alarm set to go off soon. He waits for the last few seconds. Then, he gets to work.

It's maybe 30 minutes later when you shift to get more comfortable and end up leaning against his shoulder. He pauses his typing for a moment, watching you. You look quite peaceful like this. Though, the dark bags under your eyes contradict that peace, describing it instead as utterly necessary with a secondary threat of what might happen if you don't get enough rest right now.

Maybe it's seeing you asleep that makes him yawn. Maybe it's the warmth and weight of you leaning into him that makes him acutely aware of his own exhaustion. Maybe it's just the late (or very early) hour.

Whatever it may be, Zayne's body refuses to keep looking at this screen and working.

He sighs quietly as he closes his laptop and sets it aside, his glasses with them. Fully relenting to the situation, Zayne closes his eyes and slowly falls asleep.

Come morning, your roommate wakes to find you both asleep on the couch. You have your head on Zayne's shoulder, and he has his head resting on yours. Your hands have somehow sought each other out, holding each other in his lap, which has some of the blanket strewn across it. She snaps several pictures, snickering to herself as she gets ready for her classes, already thinking up ways to tease you when you wake up.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

[coc0amocha]

Sensitive || Careful between the legs, please?

Satoru has sensitive thighs, and the second you found that out you were having a field day toying with him while sucking him off

Satoru x gn!reader

(I've had this in my drafts since November 30th. Sigh)

Word count: 496

You'd finally found his weakness. Now, he was at your mercy, spread out on the bed, his legs obscenely wide, like some desperate whore, eager for your touch. You were between his thighs, your hands gliding up and down the soft but firm surface. Every caress made him jump and whine helplessly, his body quivering under your hands.

As you lavished attention on his cock, it proudly stood slick with your saliva. His head shone wet at the top, dribbling precum down his shaft. "You should've told me these are so sensitive," you stated, rubbing Satoru's inner thigh.

Satoru's body spasmed with the contact as a shrill whine escaped his lips.

"Nuh uh," he managed to gasp out between labored breaths. "That would've been a horrible idea. I was trying to avoid you doing what you're doing right now. Which is teasing me."

"Whatever, Satoru," you teased, rolling your eyes, "You've pushed it off for long enough."

You shrugged with a sly smile before dipping your head lower. Your teeth grazed his inner thighs, alternating between nips and sucks that left his skin marked and reddened.

"Nghhn– fuck.." he groaned, his thighs tensing as your lips and tongue worshipped his sensitive skin. It made his entire body shake with his need. "You're so mean. Just take it already..!"

You chuckled and pulled away from his thighs. Then, slowly took his cock into your mouth inch by deliberate inch, you made it as pleasantly tortuous as possible. Soon, swallowing around it, almost choking on his length. Satoru loudly moaned, his hands cupping the back of your head to ease him the rest of the way down your throat. He fit inside as easily as a key in a lock, your throat stretching to accommodate his girth.

His voice shook as he looked down at you, his thighs tensing as your nails scraped a little harder. "Goddamn, you're always so fuckin' good to me," he breathed out sharply.

Satoru's moans filled the bedroom, bouncing off the walls as his body writhed on the bed. Drool hit the sheets as your mouth worked overtime, your fingers purposefully raking and pinching the sensitive flesh of his thighs.

You bobbed your head on his cock, which only seemed to thicken and twitch against your tongue, the first signs of his impending climax. Satoru chewed on his lower lip, his breath coming in wheezy puffs as his hips rocked into your eager mouth. The muscles in his thighs jumped beneath your palms as his cock finally erupted, emptying all his hot cum into your mouth. Satoru's breath caught audibly in the back of his throat as you swallowed a few times around him.

Before his foggy brain could even process what transpired, you were no longer on his cock but kissing your way up the sensitive skin of his thighs. Your lips brushed against his skin in soft, worshipful kisses to soothe the flesh you abused mere moments before.

[yandere-yearnings]

'I'm your rag. You can tear me up.'

Laurent Sanchez, a man whose name is well-known — though not for the reasons one would expect. The line of work he was thrust into from a young age has ultimately made him a man of few morals, yet even those with their heads pressed to the barrel of his gun can't help but fall for his irresistible charm. It's astonishing how his smile remains pure, whilst framed with blood and viscera.

Being as hollowed out as he is only means it’s that much easier for him to hold onto his shortcomings, and they fill him up and fester inside while he loses himself somewhere between switching from façade to façade. Burden and blame are so deeply interwoven into his very being, Laurent doesn’t know what face to show you when you first begin to unravel him. Though he remains unable to ask for love when he knows you’re seconds from seeing his decay, and despite every darkness that defines him, you take the pain away. You’ve become a drug to him, and now he’s scared to admit that he can’t live without you.

There’s many things in this world that Laurent can protect you from, but he is not one of them.  So he runs from you, the sole person his tired heart feels safe with, and builds a wall on time and excuses. Praying the distance will change your mind about him, finally make you come to your senses about who he truly is and what he’s done. He’s no good for you, Laurent is worn and weak; if you disregard his sacrifice and show up at his door again, he really won’t be able to fight his feelings for you any longer.

'Use me to wipe up all your messes, and then wring me out.'

[holorform2009]

Ya know what?

Sonic brainrot got the best of me

*Shoots you and grabs you, then yeets you into a blue portal*

This place feels familiar, isn't it..?

Have you seen this place before?

[noodle-is-unstable]

Hi!!!! I hope your doing good 😚

I see that requests for the group chats are open so I decided to be brave and request something! If you don't want to do this don't even worry about it!

I was wondering if you could do a thing where they find your Sketchbook and its filled completely with drawings of the both of them, together and separate. (Established relationship if that's cool)

Thank you!!!

Proud of you for being brave 💖

The JJK Group Chat finds your sketchbook (Established Throuple)

Ft ~ Gojo x Reader x Geto, Toji x Reader x Shiu, Sukuna x Reader x Uraume, Nanami x Reader x Ino, Choso x Reader x Mahito

Synopsis ~ The JJK Group Chat finds your sketchbook

Content Warning ~ 18+, Crack as HELL, Suggestive, Language, no real Angst, a lil Fluff. I'm autistic IDK

[auroracalisto]

day #21: winter proposal

benedict bridgerton x gn!reader, 1k words a/n: listening to christmas music as i write this. hope it shows. or not. idk. <3 also??? does anyone know the terry's oranges you can only get around christmas? i love them. i make a tradition out of buying one every single year. THAT BEING SAID YOU LIKE ORANGES IN THIS FIC. it's self-indulgent. i'd say i'm sorry but i'm not. if you want a pt 2 let me know cuz i could totally do it tw: not entirely historically accurate (yes it's bridgerton) BUT i have a reason. i started writing this and only researched halfway through what the cost of a chocolate would be during the 1810s and little history lesson for you but europe didn't have access to chocolate until it was brought over from central america IN the 1810s, and then it spread all over. it wouldn't have a substaintial processor until like... the 1850s. so um. we're going to pretend for this fics sake that i didn't totally muck it up and chocolate processors were everywhere during this time. thanks spooky pookies

The season of the 'ton has come and gone, leading the socialites to a rather dreary winter. Balls were still held, dinners still attended, but the chill of the air haunted every hall and home.

Unless they were imported or dried, fruits and certain vegetables were hard to come by. The markets were compact with the exception of said dried goods and chocolates from the heart of European society.

One good in particular was one that continued to catch a certain Bridgerton's eye—the little chocolates meticulously crafted to look as if they were made from an orange and even had a hint of orange taste. He didn't truly know how they did it, but he cared little—what he cared about was that he knew you had mentioned liking them some time ago.

He managed to get his hands on a few just the other day.

Despite it being after the proper season, he found himself seeking out your comfort and conversation at any moment he had been given—his mother found it endearing and supported his wants. After all, perhaps there was something to be said in developing a friendship before a marriage. She, herself, had married her best friend once upon a time. She'd like to see that in her children, if they could manage (her sons especially—she knew it would be harder for her daughters to do the same).

So, to get you to the Bridgerton manor without causing some kind of scandal, Benedict convinced his mother and brother, Anthony, to host a dinner for his family and yours.

Your parents agreed in typical fashion, and you were at the Bridgerton's in a matter of days. Dressed warmly, dressed as if you had something to show off for (you did, but you wouldn't confess to that), you entered the front door where Anthony, Benedict, and their mother greeted you and your family. The rest of Violet's children were just behind them, but they smiled mildly as they usually did.

Benedict greeted you with a kiss to your knuckles and a smile on his handsome face.

"It is a pleasure to see you again," he softly said, your name leaving his lips soon after.

"To you as well," you answered, unable to hide your smile.

Violet shared a knowing look with your parents. It was almost as if everyone was just waiting for what they knew would happen. The way the two of you looked at each other was almost frustrating—how could the two of you not just marry when you both clearly adored each other?

Dinner went well. Honey glazed ham, tarts with dried apples and strawberries, breads baked with selective flours and grains. You truly couldn't complain about the spread before you.

At some point or another, Benedict had dragged you to the drawing room, hand in hand.

"I've something to give you," he said, smiling back at you. "I saw it and I knew I had to buy them. I couldn't pass them up."

Your eyes widened a bit. "What? You didn't have to get me a thing, Benedict," you said. "I need for nothing."

"Perhaps," Benedict said, grinning all the while. He let go of your hand and with long strides, he was across the drawing room to where he had kept the box of chocolates for you. He then brought them back, holding the box to you.

You watch him warily for only a moment before you opened the box. Your heart nearly lurched in your throat as you looked up at him.

"These—Benedict, these must have cost you a fortune!"

"Rubbish," he said, watching you with happy eyes. "It truly wasn't much. I would buy even more if I hadn't bought the rest of what they had."

"You did not!" you exclaimed, holding the box tightly. "Oh, Benedict, this is—you are so kind. How can I ever repay you?" you asked, smiling all the while.

He chuckled softly. "Your friendship is enough repayment for me, dear Y/n," he said.

You sat the box down and reached forward, taking his hands in yours. "There must be something I could do for you," you said, eyes sparkling with mirth, and a little something that Benedict could only recognize as adoration. He knew that look well.

He watched you, lips parting as the words died on his lips. "Well, you..."

"Yes?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It is foolish. I couldn't..."

"Benedict," you softly said. "We are already causing scandal enough just by being here in your drawing room with no chaperone. Truly, whatever you have to say, I want to hear."

He blinked slowly. You were right. Here you were, alone together, with no one to watch over you. To see what was happening. To see if you were doing wrong.

He licked his lips, peering down at you as he found his words.

"I could buy these for you, every winter season, you know," he said, a smile forming on his lips once more. He smiled quite a bit around you. He couldn't help it.

He loved you.

"Oh?" you asked, tilting your head at his words.

"All I'd need from you for repayment is your hand in marriage."

You paused—did you hear him right?

"Perhaps I should have a ring, or ask you during the marriage season, but truly, Y/n, I—"

"—I feel like the chocolates are close enough to a ring," you interrupted him.

He snorted softly. "I beg your pardon?"

"You bought them, for me. You saw them and thought of me. I do believe that warrants a proper proposal, does it not?"

There it was—one of the many reasons he loved and adored you.

He leaned forward and would have kissed you had it not been for the knock at the drawing room door.

In walked Violet, and Benedict quickly looked over, wide eyed.

"I wondered where the two of you were," Violet said, suspiciously watching the two of you. "Well? Did I give you enough time to find an answer, Benedict, or will you marry them due to scandal?"

His eyes widened. Had his mother planned this? He paid no mind, smiling her way.

"I do believe we should plan for a wedding, mother," he said. "And perhaps a proper ring, yes?"

"Yes," you said, your own smile mirroring his. "It would be good to start."

Violet returned the smile. "Good," she said. "Now, come back and join the party. Your father, dear Y/n, has just made a fool of himself with an apple tart."

[spoonguy]

Imaginary Friend

Pairing: Childhood Imaginary Friend x Gender Neutral Reader

Synopsis: You reconnect with your imaginary friend after moving back to you childhood home. They aren't willing to let you go again.

Work count: 3.0k

Content Warnings: Yandere themes, claustrophobia, death, near-death experiences, sleep paralysis

While you had made the drive back to your old family home more times than you could count, you felt especially exhausted. You barely had enough energy left in you to throw your bags down in your childhood bedroom and collapse onto the old mattress, not even bothering to remove your shoes. You were out cold before you registered the shadowy figure in the back of your closet.

Sometime around 3 am, you awoke to the sound of labored breathing. You panicked when you realized you were unable to move, locked inside your own body. From the corner of your eye, you watched helplessly as an ominous humanoid figure approached your bedside. It drew closer, its very presence dropping the temperature of the air surrounding it. You could only watch helplessly as its face split open to reveal row upon row of razor-sharp teeth drawn upwards into a sinister smile.

“Starlight?”

A familiar voice called out through the darkness. The mention of your childhood nickname opened the floodgates to years of repressed memories. 

“Bazel?” you asked incredulously.

“You—you came back for me! I thought you were gone forever. It was so quiet in the house after the accident, and you left, and I—” Their voice cracked, full of emotion and vulnerability,

“Bazel!” You willed your body into mobility again and wrapped your arms around their waist in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come back sooner.”

“No, no, Starlight, I could never be upset with you! I’m sorry I snuck up on you.”

You were still breathing heavily and your heart was racing, but you still managed to laugh. Even after all these years, their personality hadn’t changed one bit. Still the same goofy, overprotective imaginary demon friend from your childhood. 

Their appearance, however, was way different than you remembered. They were much taller and lankier. They had always had at least a couple of inches on you, but now they dwarfed you in height. Their skin was dark gray, almost pitch black, and cool to the touch. A smattering of softly glowing white freckles dotted their cheeks and nose, and their fluffy black hair fell in messy bangs framing their face. Their horns, which used to be blunt nubs hidden under their loose curls, were now as long as your hand and swept back over their head like a goat’s.

“You changed! You look so different,” you exclaimed, finally.

“Me? You’re an adult!” They scooted closer to you on the bed to straddle your lap and pinched your cheek affectionately.

“You say that like you're not!”

“No, silly, I’ve got at least another millennium until I’m fully grown. You humans have such strange ways of thinking. Anyways, tell me everything!” They giggled and grabbed your shoulders, pulling you off the bed with them and sending the both of you into a sprawling heap on the floor.

And all of a sudden, it was like you were back there, you and Bazel curled up in a blanket fort long past the witching hour, swapping your deepest secrets, pinkies interlocked as you crossed your hearts and hoped to die, stuck a needle in your eye that you would never tell. 

You had laid out the blankets, for old time's sake, and gathered every pillow and plush into a pile on your bedroom floor. You lay side by side, staring up at faintly glowing stick-on stars on your popcorn ceiling. Bazel grabbed your hand, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding as their fingers interlaced with yours.

But this time, you found no pleasure in bearing your soul to your childhood friend. Instead of detailing playground drama, you were recounting the accident, the faulty carbon monoxide detector, the day you woke up in the hospital clinging to life by a thread, cheeks flushed cherry red and starved of oxygen, mumbling nonsense about almost making it through the woods. The way your parents had fled the house, so terrified that their only child was so close to death.

By the time you had relayed it all, you felt hollow and had run out of tears to cry. Silent, tearless sobs wracked your body, and you put up no resistance as Bazel wrapped you in their arms and gently nudged your head into the crook of your neck.

“I'm so sorry, Starlight,” they finally spoke, voice barely audible.

“It's not your fault…” you sniffled, hugging them tighter.

“I should have protected you. I promise, Starlight, I'll never let anything take you away from me ever again.”

They rubbed your back as you drifted off into unconsciousness, falling deep into a dreamless sleep.

When you awoke, Bazel was gone. You couldn't be sure they were even there in the first place. While it was the first time you had thought about them since visits with the numerous psychiatrists you had bounced between as an early teenager. The more you woke up, the less and less you could remember Bazel. The memory unraveled like a sweater when you started to pull at it. By the time you had sat down for breakfast, you had convinced yourself that it was all just a dream. And your spine was completely jacked. Last time you slept on the floor, you promised yourself. That kind of thing only flies when you're a kid.

It was true that you had an imaginary friend, though, as a child. Bazel, the monster in your closet turned best friend. But your parents weren’t as big of a fan of Bazel as you were. While parenting magazines and informational guides had prepared them for you wanting to save your imaginary friend a seat at the dinner table, the way you spoke about Bazel was troubling.

It had started off mostly harmless, you telling them about the strange child who lived in the closet and came from the shadow realm. They started to become more skeptical, however, when you began blaming Bazel for knocking things over around the house. They had reassured you that it was okay; you wouldn’t be in trouble; they just wanted you to know that you shouldn’t spend the whole night on the floor or grab things from shelves higher than you. No matter how much they promised they wouldn’t be mad, the excuses continued to escalate. Candles were left burning, broken glass would end up covering the bathroom floor, but the final straw was when they found you seated in the kitchen, unharmed, but surrounded by the contents of the overturned knife block.

“Oh! Sweetheart, are you—No! Don’t move; I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Hang on, I got you.”

“Bazel said it was okay!” You giggled, unfazed by the cutlery surrounding you.

“Oh no, no, sweetie, Bazel’s not real. Let’s, uh, go for a walk to the park! Does that sound okay?” 

You had always had a healthy sense of imagination, but as you grew older, your parents grew concerned with the possibility of maladaptive daydreaming. One consult visit with a child psychologist turned into two, then a weekly occurrence. You hated the oppressive atmosphere of the office, the way the adults talked past you as if you weren’t even there, the pitying, self-righteous way the psychologist asked whether your friend was in the room with you. Of course they weren’t. Bazel lived under your bed.

This was a frequent topic when you vented to Bazel late into the night. They shared their own worries too, but they seemed genuinely upset when you recounted the way your therapists and doctors tried to convince you that they were just a coping mechanism for your lacking social life. 

After months went by, you finally caved. You gave in to the advice provided by your care team. You expanded your social circle, actively sought out more friends, and let your parents enroll you in countless after-school clubs and extracurricular activities. Around this time, your nighttime conversations with Bazel grew less frequent. They appeared on the darkest nights, when rolling thunder shook the house, but most days you were tired enough to sleep through the night.

Your parents were ecstatic with your progress. They hated to admit it, but the way you spoke about Bazel had started to scare them. They rejoiced every time you asked for a ride to see your new friends. They were over the moon when you asked for permission to have a friend or two over to hang out. Of course they accepted, and you raced to school the next day to let them know that your plans for the weekend had been approved.

That night you had curled up in bed and were just on the verge of unconsciousness when you thought you saw a shadowy figure standing in your open doorway. You blinked, and it vanished. Convincing yourself that it was just a trick of the light, you drew your comforter closer around you and settled in again. When you rolled over, you came face to face with Bazel, lying right next to you.

“Bazel! Where were you? I missed you.”

“You've been avoiding me!” Their tone was indignant and extremely jarring after you hadn’t spoken to them in so long.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to visit you every night for the past month. You won’t let me in.

“I’m sorry, I really have no idea what you are talking about.” You were on the verge of tears, unable to understand why your friend was so upset with you.

Seeing you so genuinely confused made their heart melt. You clearly weren’t trying to avoid them, and they missed you so badly, so the only thing they could do was wrap you in a tight hug and sob silently with you until you were both calm.

“Do you not love me anymore?” They finally asked.

“Of course I love you, Bazel. You’re my best friend.”

“I love you too, Starlight. Forever and always.”

“I’m sorry, Bazel. I don’t know what happened. I was waiting for you; I tried. But I was so tired from school, therapy, and appointments; it’s all so much.”

“Therapy?”

“Yeah, I go see counselors and doctors and stuff. We just talked for an hour. It’s kind of exhausting.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Well, life, school, friends. We talked a lot about you at first, but I didn’t like to argue with them. They keep trying to tell me you aren’t real.”

Bazel froze. When they finally spoke, their voice was cold and measured.

“Starlight, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“They keep trying to convince me that you’re just a figment of my imagination. That you aren’t real, and you’re hurting my development.”

“You know I’m real, though, right?” they asked cautiously.

“Of course, you’re sitting right here in front of me.”

“And you know I would do anything to protect you?”

“That’s what best friends do. I would do the same for you.”

“Do you want a break from it?”

“Hmm?”

“Why don't you come to my world? Come with me. You'll never have to worry ever again.” Bazel reached out a hand, which you clasped. “It'll be just the two of us, forever.”

While you had ostensibly returned to your old house to fix it up and sell it, you weren't getting too much actual cleaning done. You had wasted most of an afternoon, and well into the evening, excavating the contents of your closet. Some minor sorting had gotten done, and a few boxes of clothes had been put aside to drop at Goodwill, but for the most part, you were just exploring the myriad of toys and knickknacks squirreled away in the back. You yawned and started to stand up when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

You nodded and followed them as they opened the door to your closet, transfigured into a dark tunnel, lined with jagged branches.

“Looking for something?”

“Nothing in particular. You, I suppose.”

“Well, you found me. You always do.”

“I can't believe I had so much stuff.”

“You'll get through it; you've got all the time in the world.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“Hey, tell me something.”

“Mhm?”

“The psychologists, did they really make you forget about me?”

Your silence was more than enough of an answer for Bazel. Their face fell.

“I never forgot about you,” they finally whispered.

“I truly am sorry.”

“You came back through; there must have been some part of you that knew I was still here.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I always am.”

“Hey, tell you what. I’m not going to make any meaningful progress on this tonight, so let me call it quits, and we can stay up late. I think I remember where the blankets are.”

Bazel beamed from ear to pointed ear. Any trace of anger dissipated from their face, and they pulled you into a warm hug, nuzzling their nose against yours.

The blanket fort you constructed was truly impressive. It spanned most of the dining room and was filled to the brim with all sorts of pillows and stuffed animals. You had lit dozens of candles, the small flames illuminating the fabric walls. You and Bazel were currently curled up inside, their head resting on your lap, and you ran your fingers through their wavy black hair. Absent-mindedly, your fingers drifted to their pointed horns, and you began to wonder exactly what kind of creature they were.

“Bazel, you said you were a demon. Did you mean that figuratively, or…?

“I suppose that is what you humans call us. We live in the shadows and eat souls.”

“You eat people?”

“Of course not, just siphon life force. A little at a time. Humans eat animals. I don’t feel my way is particularly gruesome.”

“Have you eaten my soul?”

“What? No, I don’t feed off you. You’re too full of light and life. You’re far better as a friend than food.”

“But you tried. The first night I came back.”

“To be fair, I didn’t realize it was you at first. You looked so different. I almost couldn’t help myself.”

“What do you do instead?”

“I eat your dreams.”

“What?”

“You ever wake up from a dream and can’t remember anything about it, but know it was there? I ate it. You have very nice dreams, full of creativity and life.”

You were silent for a long while. 

“Is that why you stay?” you finally asked.

“Of course not, I enjoy your company. I get lonely in the dark. You’ve always been the one bright spot in my life. My little Starlight.”

They reached one finger up to your face and playfully booped your nose, giggling. Their glowing white freckles seemed to flicker gently, their pitch-black eyes reflecting the warm candlelight.

The woods were exactly the same as you remembered them. A dark forest threatening to swallow up the tiny path. Gnarly branches, black as tar oil and covered with thorns, pulled at your clothes and scratched your face. Bazel pulled you closer to them, shielding you from their grasp.

You smiled, allowing yourself to relax. You missed the way that you and Bazel used to pass the nights. You longed to forget your responsibilities, your worries, to fall asleep in the arms of your closest friend. So you did.

“It’s alright, Starlight, I won’t let them take you away from me.”

You trudged on, screwing your eyes shut and letting Bazel guide you through the thicket. You were older now, taller, and it was harder to make it through the passage than last time. The air was bitter cold, and the wind shrieked all around you. When you felt their grip on your hand start to loosen, you cried out and grabbed for their wrist, holding on like your life depended on it.

  After what felt like an eternity, Bazel took you by the hand and pulled you away from the last of the wild trees. You opened your eyes to see them checking you all over for signs of injury. Aside from a few light scratches, you had escaped mostly unscathed.

“You made it,” Bazel’s voice was almost incredulous. 

They were right to be worried. The last time you were here, you hadn’t. A sound, a familiar voice, a trick of the woods, had startled you, and you had slipped from their grasp. They had turned, but too late, and could only watch as your face disappeared behind layers of thorns and black bark. 

You hugged them, standing for what could have been minutes or hours in silence, your face nestled against their chest.

“Starlight, you made it. We made it.,” they repeated. “I can’t believe it. Thank you. I’m so proud of you.”

You were a little confused; after all, it was them who had done all the work, guiding you through the claustrophobic woods, but you stayed in their embrace. It felt nice to have them offer such unconditional praise. You couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy it.

Finally, they released you, only to grasp both of your hands and stare deep into your eyes. An exuberant smile was forming on their face, wider than you had ever seen before, and they looked expectantly at you.

“We finally made it, Starlight.”

“Made it where?” you asked, still confused. 

“We crossed the veil; we made it to my realm. Like I promised you all those years ago. But we did it this time.”

Their enthusiasm was too infectious; you couldn’t help smiling, even if you didn’t understand completely.

“Nothing will ever take you away from me again. I’ll make sure of it. I can’t believe it. I love you, Starlight," they were rambling at this point, too caught up in their emotions to notice.

They let go of only one of your hands and turned to face the open expanse of void on the other side of the woods.

“Now where do we go?” you asked, voice trailing off into silence, tinged with fear.

“Anywhere you desire, Starlight. As long as we’re together.”

[6rookie-writer0110]

I’m holding out

Yelena Belova x Reader (Gender-Neutral)

You are on a mission with your girlfriend Yelena. Before the mission, you and Yelena were affectionate towards each other. She was away for weeks but when she came back, she didn't leave your side at all.

But that changed when Yelena heard you talking to Valentina at the compound. You are in the coldest country in Europe and you are in the middle of the woods with Yelena.

“Yelena, listen to me!” You yelled

“No! Y/N you lied to me! All this time!” Yelena yelled back

She just kept walking away. She is heading to the frozen lake, you and Yelena have to cross the lake to reach the hideout of the enemy.

“I’m sorry. But Valentina made me spy on you and Natasha. I stopped reporting to her when I caught feelings for you” You said

“I don't believe you. You know I don't trust her now I don't trust you, Y/N Y/L/N” Yelena said

“Yelena, you can trust me,” You said

“No,” Yelena said

She kept walking and you sighed heavily.

What about us?” You asked

“There is no us,” Yelena said

“That’s it? We are done?” You asked

From the beginning, you knew that Yelena and Natasha don't trust Valentina. You worked for Valentina, she wanted you to make them trust you and report everything that they do. When you caught feelings for Yelena, you stopped reporting to Valentina. That made her angry and she started to threaten you.

“I’m sorry, Yelena,” You said

“I don't believe anything you say, Y/L/N. You are her toy. What you and Valentina would have a sleepover and talk about me and Natasha” Yelena said

“I don't have sleepovers with her. Just let me explain “ You said

You and Yelena started to argue while walking on the frozen lake. It's the only way, to the hideout to grab the secret codes USB.

You and Yelena kept arguing. But you stepped on a crack before you could say a word or move, you fell into the ice-cold water. You start to panic, you start to swallow water and your body starts to feel numb. You tried to swim towards the light, but you fell deep and you were not swimming fast enough.

“Y/N, tell me. Was it all a lie to you? What you said that night, was it a lie?” Yelena asked

She waited for your answer,

“Oh, now you can't talk? You need her permission?” Yelena said

She stopped and then turned around. She noticted the hole in the lake and your beanie on the ice. She runs towards the hole, you still haven't come up for air.

“Y/N!” Yelena yelled

She starts to panic and then makes the hole bigger. She didn't think of a plan, she just jumped in the water. She sees you and you are passed out, and she starts to swim toward you. She put her arm around you then she started to swim, she did struggle but didn't give up. She made it to the surface and she was breathing extremely hard, she struggled to bring your body out of the water. She starts to tap your face but you don't wake up. She opened your mouth and started CPR on you, she did it a few times then you started to cough up water.

“Y/N, hey look at me,” Yelena said

Your vision is a blur and you are shivering excessively. You started to tumble and she didn't understand you. She stands up and makes you stand up. She takes off her jacket and beanie and puts it on you. You almost fell but she quickly grabbed you,

“Hey hey… look at me I will get warmed up soon enough but for now don't close your eyes,” Yelena said

You don't say anything and you don't stop shriving.

✯ ✫ ✯ ✫

You and Yelena are staying at a cabin. She made you sit down then she started to add wood to the fireplace then she lit the fire. She rushed to get you undressed then she brought dry clothes and helped you put them on.

“Y/N, how are you feeling now?” Yelena asked

“Still cold,” You said.

Yelena took you to bed and helped you lie down. She grabbed the extra blankets and put them over your body. She went to take a long hot shower later, she went to check up on you. You are still sleeping, then she lies next to you. She put her hand on your cheek

“What, am I going to do with, Y/L/N” Yelena whispered

She kissed your forehead then kissed you on the lips, but you don't wake up. Her thumb gently caresses your cheek, she keeps staring at you. She moved closer then she put her arm around you. She presses her forehead on yours and she closes her eyes.

Yelena woke up hours later. She checks your temperature by putting her hand on your forehead, your body is warm. She gets out of bed and heads to the fireplace. She grabbed more wood and put it in the fireplace. She heads to the kitchen and she starts to make soup.

You start to open your eyes and you are still feeling cold. You sit up and you get out of bed, but you wrap the blanket around your body. You head to the kitchen and Yelena places the bowls on the table. She saw you, she ran towards you. Before you can say a word she started to kiss you. She has her hands on your face and you continue to kiss her.

“Yelena, I-”

She kept kissing you and you didn't say anything else. You kept kissing her and you put your arms around her.

“I was going to wake you up. I made Ukha. Eat, you need it” Yelena said

“Thank you for saving me,” You said

She watches you sit down and you slowly start to eat the soup.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” You asked

You continue to eat the soup. She sits down and she starts to eat her soup.

“How are you feeling?” Yelena asked

“Still cold but the soup is helping make my body warm,” You said

“I forgive you, Y/L/N” Yelena said

“You don't have to say my last name. I thought you hated me” You said

“I don't hate you. If i hated you, I would have left you in the lake to freeze death. And I still trust you. Do you still keep in contact with her?” Yelena said

“I stopped when we first started dating. Sorry, I messed up the mission” You said

“Don't apologize. You need to get better then we will do the mission. I don't want you to pass out in the middle of the mission when we have to fight” Yelena said

You just nodded and continued to eat. Later, you cuddle with your girlfriend in bed. She has her arms around and her hand under your shirt. You and Yelena just lie in bed together. She gives you a peck on the lips and you just smile at her.

[4ranghaes]

day 8 ⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆ creating traditions!

lee riwoo x reader [fluff, gender neutral!reader]

23:02 - “what’s wrong?”

you glanced up at your boyfriend, humming. he was stood by the chest of drawers, pulling an old t-shirt over his bare torso.

riwoo laughed, running his hands through his hair, “what?!”

you shook your head, laughing at his insistence.

“you look so sad though, my darling,” he pouted, climbing on the bed and crawling over your body. he tapped on your arm, over-dramatic pout on his lips, “what’s wrong? hmm? what’s wrong?”

you laughed, “it’s nothing, sanghyuk-ie, really. it’s just…” riwoo tilted his head to the side, listening intently. “we decorated for christmas today! and it seems so sad in here.”

he laughed as you rolled your eyes, knowing your words were stupid. you picked at the pillow sheepishly.

“i just– we’re stuck in the one room with no christmas decorations.”

riwoo smiled, stroking your cheek gently, “you’re so cute.”

he got up off the bed, leaning over and gathering his pillows and stuffed animals in his arms. he looked to you, “come on then.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, chuckling, “hmm?”

“let’s go sleep in the living room,” he shrugged, “it’s decorated for christmas. there’s a perfectly good sofa.”

you broke out in a grin, “really?!”

riwoo nodded, a small smile on his face as he looked at your growing excitement. you jumped up, grabbing your pillow and the duvet off the bed. riwoo was giggling, leading the way to the living room. he moved around, flicking on the lights to the tree and the other various string lights you had around the house.

“how’s this?” he asked, turning to you with his arms spread in an invitation.

you giggled, walking up to him and smoothing your hands over his chest, kissing against his lips, “you’re such a genius.”

riwoo giggled, “i know, i know.”

getting comfy on the sofa, riwoo checked all the curtains and lights, picking up the remote for the tv before coming and laying down with you, pulling you into his arms.

“you wanna watch a movie?” he murmured, kissing your forehead as his arm pulled you closer to him.

you slung your leg over his hips, placing your hand on his chest as you looked up at him, nodding, “that sounds perfect.”

he smiled, looking down to you and pressing a kiss to your lips. he looked up, beginning to flick through the tv as you settled into his chest. he put on home alone, wrapping his arms around you.

“happy?” he asked, kissing your head.

you smiled, kissing his chest as you didn’t take your eyes off the film, “very.”

the movie continued playing as your breathing got heavier, relaxing into your boyfriend’s arms for the night. you looked up at him, tracing his face for a moment.

“hey,” you spoke, gaining riwoo’s attention as he looked at you with a small smile, “can we do this every year? maybe on the night we put the decorations up we… sleep in the living room?”

he chuckled, brushing your lips with a kiss gently, “sounds perfect, sweet. i love it.”

[leighsartworks216]

Silent Night

Zayne x gn!Reader

Inspired by the end of A Christmas Story cuz I watched it yesterday lol

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, parenthood, Christmas, cuddling, food, sharing food

Word Count: 452

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Toys still lay strewn across the floor around the tree. Game cases half-opened beside the consoles, with controllers scattered on the coffee table. Candies and sweets, lining the kitchen counters and fridge shelves, half-gone from the two sweet-toothed monsters in your home.

The lights on the tree twinkle gently, casting golden reflections on the ornaments. They gleam against the window like fireflies. It is the only source of light in the living room. The glow shines faintly on the side of your mug as you take a slow sip of the hot chocolate inside. Fat snowflakes drift down outside, floating softly to the ground in gentle flurries.

Zayne’s steps are quiet as he retreats from your daughter’s bedroom. He pulls the door shut, twisting the knob to hush the click. It didn’t take very long for her to fall asleep. After all the excitement of the day, she wore herself out. Which meant, now, in the final hours of the day, you two finally have time to yourselves.

His slippers pad down the hall. They start to head toward the kitchen.

“Zayne?” You tilt your head back to see over the couch. His glasses reflect the shimmering lights of the tree, almost obscuring his eyes entirely. He hums, giving you his attention. “I got you a cookie.”

You see his ears darken in the dim lighting as he ducks his head, smiling bashfully to himself. “You know me too well, love.” He rounds the couch and immediately sinks into the cushion directly beside you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you in, while he takes the proffered cookie from you. You rest your head on his shoulder and one hand on his leg, tracing mindless shapes of affection against the flannel pajama pants he wears.

The silence settles in like a warm blanket.

You think idly about the presents you gave and received, the bright eyes of your daughter, the excited energy in the house. The way she was so excited to personally hand you and Zayne her gifts, bouncing eagerly as she watched you unwrap them. Her gap-toothed grin when you took pictures to cherish these memories forever.

You turn to nuzzle your face against your husband’s neck. He finishes the cookie, baked and decorated by his two favorite people, and takes your mug from your hand. He drinks the last of its contents before setting it on the coffee table. As much as he wants to sort the controllers and put everything away properly, he settles instead for resting his hand on your forearm and rubbing shapes over the sleeve of your sweater.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” you whisper against his neck.

He kisses your head. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

[onekeii]

We can eat the snow

Day 3: Kissing in the snow | Accelerated heartbeat Genshin Impact: Xiao x GN!Reader Warnings/Genre: light angst, fluff, reader has self-esteem issues, not proof read Word count: 942 AN: i haven't played genshin in like 2 years but i love xiao

Read on AO3

Your mysterious Yaksha companion never gave you a break. Danger was always around the corner with him, and you started to think your body couldn’t produce adrenaline anymore. Or maybe you were just high on it all the time. Today was no different.

“Xiao!” You call out after running down the inn’s many stairs. He’s not standing too far, back facing you as he stares at the fresh snow thinly veiling the ground. “What is it this time?” You say exasperatedly. It’s not that you don’t care, but running after him like this all the time, finding him contemplative after defeating the threat before you could even lift your own sword, was exhausting. Why do you stick around? Why does he bother to keep you around?

He doesn’t respond. It’s unlike him. Xiao’s usually too on edge to let anything slip past him, or maybe he was ignoring you unintentionally. You curse under your breath as you take careful steps towards him, your foot slips on a particularly wet and icy patch but you dig your sword into the ground, you find your balance again. Always a fight to get closer to him, huh? You laugh to yourself.

Finally, you reach him in one piece, and ask again, more nonchalantly this time, “Whatcha doing?” Yeah, you’re totally chill right now, you think. Except you’re only chill in the sense that it’s cold, and you forgot to put on an extra layer when you ran out to find Xiao. You grimace - at the cold and at your stupidity.

When he turns around, his eyes aren’t dark and brooding like always. They’re wide and shining and a brighter gold than you’ve ever seen before. He’s holding a clump of snow in his gloved hand, close to his face, his cheeks puffed out as innocently as a squirrel. Xiao swallows - what, you don’t know - and finally responds, “Eating.”

Your eyes search over him once more; he’s holding nothing but the snow. When you peer over his shoulder, you can see where he’s dug it straight out of the ground. Your vision tilts, “The snow?!” you exclaim.

“...Yeah?” He takes another bite. Xiao has mused about eating snow before, but you could never take the childish fantasies of an immortal so seriously. Forgetting how slippery the ground was beneath you, your quick step forward (in a valiant and sick attempt to knock the snow out of Xiao’s hand) did not land. Instead, your heel just kept slipping forward, then it was arcing in the air, and your limbs were too numb with cold to move quick enough. You slipped. In your shock, grief, stress, you slipped . You shut your eyes and braced for impact.

Woosh , a warm arm wrapped around the back of your waist, pulling you away from your terrible fate written in the ice. Of course Xiao is the one who caught you. Opening your eyes, a breath hitches in your throat at how close his face is to yours, you can feel his breath against your chin, and it’s… It’s cold from the goddamn snow. 

“You’re so strange,” you scoff. You’re very much safe from falling now, but Xiao doesn’t let you go or help you to your feet. He just stares at you longer, his gold eyes wide and unfazed still. When you start nervously looking beyond him, he finally says, “Your heart is beating so fast. Are you that cold?”

Indeed, it’s pulsing violently in your chest right now, desperately pumping blood to your freezing skin. It’s thumping so loud you can feel it behind your eyes and in your stomach, setting your blood on fire, urging you to do something stupid. Doesn’t he realise how his grip around your waist burns? That you might want to feel even more of him against your icy skin?

He’s still holding onto the dwindling pile of snow in his free hand, swallowing yet another mouthful. This side of him was absurd, ‘normal’ was not the right word - normal people did not eat snow - but it was so… mundane? Wide eyes and puffed cheeks and a disturbing curiosity suited him surprisingly well. It was cute. How could Xiao be cute?

Fuck it, you think, I can always leave tomorrow. You hook one arm around the back of his neck and close the gap, catching his lips in yours.

But he pulls away instantly. Ouch, he could have at least been shocked for a moment. You breathe a sigh, thinking up your dramatic escape. At least that weight was off your chest now. Xiao doesn’t let go of you, though, and you’re reduced to staring at him awkwardly once again. His brows are creased but he’s not angry with you, maybe confused? You’d rather he was angry, then it would be easier to walk away.

Then your back falls into the snowy ground, clothes already soaked through, “Thanks,” you snark and try to sit up, but Xiao’s eyes are in front of yours once more. His cold, gloved hand (it’s no longer holding the snow!) pushes you down by the shoulder, traces down the side of your arm and intertwines with your own hand. Xiao’s knees are planted either side of your leg and he’s hovering over you completely, blocking any light or sky from your view. There’s only him. 

And there’s only his lips on yours. Again. For longer, much longer, this time. He moves slowly, with uncertainty, unlike his usual grace in battle. You cup his cheek and welcome this surprise, just like he welcomes your tongue when you ask. Xiao’s mouth is still frozen from the cold, but you’ll soon change that. 

@12daysofchristmas

If you enjoyed, please consider helping out by dropping a reblog or follow ☆