#he could have kill him as well but he kicked him out twice

[waiting4nysm3]

The only survivor of oliver's plan.

[cherrychilli]

18+ Eddie Munson x f! reader, best friend! Eddie, friends to lovers, mentions of bodily injury, mentions of masturbation (m), oral sex(m)

Summary: Eddie hurts his dick and as his best friend, you decide to help him ease his pain.

WC: 3K

A/N: I am so tickled by the idea of Eddie wrecking his cock and balls on accident so I had to write about it and wedge in some spice as well. Enjoy!

When Eddie had told you he wasn't feeling well enough to hangout tonight he should have realized that someone like you, caring and loyal almost to a fault, would take it upon themselves to help in any way they could, showing up at his trailer a few hours later with dinner and a zipper pouch full of medicine he might need.

"Ding dong, I'm here to take care of you, Munson", you'd gleamed at him playfully.

It was no secret that he didn't take the best care of himself whenever he was under the weather. Eddie was known for skipping his meds and spending most of the day swathed in a cocoon made of blankets, emerging hours later to pad into the kitchenette where he'd nibble at cold, leftover takeout before weakly traipsing back to bed.

So, when you showed up at his front door with your arms wound around a thermos full of homemade chicken soup and a Tupperware container warm with baked salmon, he should have felt happy. He should have felt grateful for the trouble you'd gone through just to make sure that he ate well and was looked after while he was on his own but instead, all he felt was the sharp, piercing sting of guilt.

The thing was, Eddie wasn't really sick.

He wasn't running a fever like he'd claimed over the phone. He'd purposely hidden the real reason why he couldn't come over to your place and watch a movie like the two of you had planned because well, he was embarrassed.

The truth was, Eddie couldn't come hangout because his dick and balls were killing him.

It had happened last night.

He'd been spread out on the couch while Wayne was away, dressed only in a pair of boxers snug around his hips with a movie playing on TV to keep him entertained throughout the night.

As usual, a blunt was held between his plush lips for most of the evening too, a bottle of jack by his feet which he'd pick up and gulp from time to time.

The combination of alcohol and the weed served a particular purpose that night – helping to make the tooth achingly bad acting in Zombie Lake more tolerable, a movie he'd picked solely for the gratuitous nudity.

Forty minutes of naked, unsuspecting women wading in zombie infested waters later and he was more than a little strung out at that point, rendered blissfully languid while he lay slumped against the couch.

Eddie had picked that moment to reach for the whiskey with his bloodshot, half lidded eyes still plastered on the TV screen, missing twice before he managed to pick it up with light fingers.

Bringing the three quarters full bottle up to his lips for another swig, that was when the booze slipped out of his loose grip, too high to react quickly enough and catch it before it was too late.

With his thighs spread far apart, the full weight of the bottle landed directly on his crotch, the pain shooting from between his legs like daggers, enough to make him feel like the air had been kicked right out of his lungs.

The carpet and couch soaked up most of the spilled whiskey, the nearly empty bottle lying on its side on the floor while Eddie couldn't do much but cup both hands over his junk and curl into himself, trying to grunt, groan and hiss through the pain as tears brewed in his eyes.

Now, it's almost been a full 24 hours since the incident happened but his dick's still super sore from the impact. And to make matters worse his balls are blue in more ways than one.

See, Eddie's got the kind of sex drive that had him jacking off at least twice a day to keep himself sane but now thanks to his injury, he's already feeling pent up, unable to tug his swollen cock and give himself that much needed release.

So, though your outfit isn't provocative, it's still you, his best friend whom he's harbored less than platonic feelings for so of course your denim shorts and your tank top are making him want to act up, the swirling desire at the base of his stomach burning even hotter with the way you're taking care of him, showing him a level of concern no one else has before.

It isn't fair, he thinks, having to sit across from you on the couch while he tries to fight off the growing ache in his cock, tries to will his sore member soft for the sake of your friendship as well as curbing his own pain.

You're yet to notice his dilemma though, rummaging through your bag while Eddie tries not to let the scent of your body wash trigger flashes of you sitting in your bath tub with your bare tits above water, all wet and soapy with your nipples all hard and the bubbles trailing between your cleavage and–

"Shit", he hisses when a twinge of pain flares as his dick starts to twitch in his sweats.

"Everything okay, Eds?", you look up from your bag when you hear it but he's quick to wipe the grimace from his face, faking his best smile at you.

"All good. So, what are we doing next?"

He's relieved when he watches your soft smile slowly return to your face, the kind that reaches your eyes and curves your lips in that way that makes him want to reach out and cup your cheek, running his thumb over your soft skin before he tells you how pretty he thinks you are.

"How about casual sex?", you ask, all chipper.

"…what?"

In an instant Eddie's whole body alternates between flashes of frigid cold and scorching hot. Had he heard you right? were you…offering? fuck, his dick is throbbing so bad in his sweats right now.

You dive your hand back into your bag, pulling out a VHS tape and holding it out for Eddie to see.

"Figured a comedy would be for the best", you waved the tape in his gawking face, his stomach somersaulting when he reads the title. Of all the movies you could have picked, you just had to go pick the one called Casual Sex? didn't you?

"Plus, I know how much you like Lea Thompson so I figured this would be a good pick", you smiled sweetly at him, tapping a finger over the actress pictured on the cover.

Another sharp prick of guilt and another dull ache radiates in Eddie's crotch because his mind's being especially cruel to him right now, dredging up unwanted memories of the time he wore out a copy of Howard the Duck by beating his meat to Lea Thompson's scenes all day and night.

"Uh, got anything else?", he croaks, clearing his throat when you narrow your eyes at him a little suspiciously.

After a little back and forth, the two of you end up watching The Thing to Eddie's relief. Nothing there that might trigger a boner except the couple of times you squealed adorably when Kurt Russell popped up on screen, kicking your feet and hugging your knees to your chest, inadvertently making your cleavage more noticeable over the neckline of your tank top.

Eddie's able to ignore it for the most part, that was until you offered to help clean up a little once the movie was over, bending over in your denim shorts to gather the empty soda cans sitting on the table in front of the couch.

Despite the alarm bells echoing in his head, he can't seem to help it, eyes trailing up the back of your smooth, bare thighs, settling on your ass and the way he can just about make out a peek of your cheeks now that your shorts have ridden up high.

Oh shit.

Up until now you'd been pretty pert all night but when you turn around, you're instantly startled by the look on Eddie's face, all twisted up and pinched as he presses a cushion into his lap and begins to wince.

"Eddie, what's wrong?", you set the cans aside, dropping back down on to the couch beside him.

Yet another flash of pain courses through him when he catches sight of the way your breasts bounce in your tank top when you take a seat. Jesus, this wasn't going to be easy, was it?

Eddie tries to mask it but you can read the pain there easily, especially when you're so close to him now, close enough that your shoulder brushes against his bicep.

"Eddie please, you can tell me. What's wrong?"

If there was a way out of this without having to admit the truth, without having to tell you how he'd given a whole new meaning to the term whiskey dick, he couldn't seem to find it, feeling helpless as he crumbles under the weight of your concerned, round-eyed stare.

"I lied, okay? I'm not sick, I just…"

Insides twisting, he has to squeeze his eyes shut the moment he sees the confusion register on your face, the way your eyebrows draw together and your eyes narrow. It's too much for him to handle and it all comes flooding out at once.

"I dropped a bottle of whiskey on my dick last night and now the damn thing's killing me because you look so– uh. Fuck. You look so…like, this and it's just– it's a lot"

Daring to open his eyes again, he finds that your own eyes have gone understandably wide, your lips slightly parted too and he hates himself for thinking how badly he'd like to slip his fingers between them and watch you suck.

"Oh. So like, is it– are you hurt badly?", you break the silence after a few seconds of processing his word vomit, blinking up at Eddie like you're fascinated to learn more about his injured cock.

"I mean, I don't think it's anything I need to go to hospital over but yeah. Hurts a lot", he replies a little sheepishly, a side of Eddie you don't see very often because he's far and away from the shy type that's for sure.

"Like when you get hard?", you tilt your head to the side curiously.

Eddie blinks back at you when you say it, clearly taken aback by how casually you're treating this whole situation after how hard he'd tried to hide it but he manages to answer you with a slow nod.

He shivers next when suddenly you drop your gaze to the cushion he's got pressed over his aching boner. "Hm… it’s probably not going to go away anytime soon either, huh? we should do something about that", you suggest thoughtfully.

In that moment, all he can do is look at you in disbelief, sweat beading at his temple and his fingers trembling on top of the cushion. This couldn't really be happening, could it? His best friend since, forever, offering to get him off?

Eyes drifting up to his once more, you lean a little closer, voice dropping down to a whisper. "I could help you", you offer, tentatively placing your hand on Eddie's knee. "Only if you want me to."

Adams apple bobbing, it hurts Eddie when he swallows, finding his throat's turned dry and tight in the last few seconds.

"Seriously? you'd actually do that? um, are you sure?"

You bite back a laugh because the look on his face is nothing short of adorable, all wide eyed and eager like a puppy awaiting a treat.

"Well, you could sit here with your bruised dick and keep whimpering like a baby or you could let me make you feel better. What's it going to be, Eds?", you quirk up an eyebrow at him at the same time the corner of your mouth picks up into a playful smirk.

"The second one please", he answers quickly, his cheeks flooding with so much color you kind of want to pinch them and tease him about how cute he looks right now.

"Thought so."

Smiling, you pick yourself up off the couch, carefully lowering yourself to kneel between Eddie's legs when you place your hands on his knees and gently encourage him to spread them apart.

He's quick to help you when you reach for the waistband of his sweatpants next, carefully pulling both it and his boxers down to finally free his cock.

For both of you, it's surreal being in this position – Eddie with his cock out, all hard and throbbing for you and you wedged perfectly between his legs like a puzzle piece he'd been searching for all his life.

You have to take a few seconds to admire it; the way the length of him blushes red and curves up towards his belly, the way the many veins wrap around his thickness and the dark, wiry thatch of hair at his base, untrimmed and full. Just how you'd always imagined based on how wild Eddie kept the hair on his head.

Eyes trailing lower, you have to resist the urge to palm his balls to keep from possible hurting him. You want to feel the weight of them in your hand though because you can't help but think they look so full and that makes you feel sorry for Eddie and how he'd had to deal with that discomfort all day.

The thought has you pushing your lips out into a sympathetic little pout, hand reaching out to finally touch him. Gently, you use your fingers to pull back his soft foreskin, leaning forward and parting your lips to delicately kitten lick at his red, leaking tip, keeping your eyes fixed on his face for any signs of discomfort.

You're pleased to find none, chest blooming with pride as you watch complete bliss wash over Eddie's face, swirling your tongue gently and collecting beads of precum when you hear him sigh and moan with relief.

"Oh my god, that's – that's really fucking good. Please keep going", he whines unabashedly because that persistent ache that's been troubling him since last night is being soothed so fucking well by your eager tongue. At this point he doesn't even care what kind of sounds you might pull out of him, desperate to feel more of your touch.

"Don't think I'm gonna last long", he gulps when you blink up at him with your pretty lips wrapped around his tip. "Your mouth feels too good."

His words make your confidence rise like steadily billowing smoke. "You don't need to", you tell him truthfully. "I just want to make you feel better", pressing a sweet kiss to the top of his smooth head, loving the way his breath stutters when you do it and the feeling of his sticky precum coating your lips in a shiny film. Like he's marking you..

As you continue, you refrain from using your hands while you pleasure him, keeping them pressed flat against his inner thighs, using only your mouth to kiss and lick up and down his rigid shaft as your nose nudges against it softly, returning to suckle at his tip from time to time.

It's easy to tell how badly Eddie must have needed this because he's unravelling so quickly under your touch as he throws his head back against the couch, his hands balled into fists by his sides while he whimpers about how well you're doing.

He's so pretty like this with his neck bared to you but you miss his gaze, removing your swelling lips from his cock to coax him back. "Don't hold back with me, Teddie. Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you", you coo earnestly.

Lifting his cloudy head to look down at you, it's Eddie's turn to surprise you when he brings one hand up to brush back a few strands of hair that'd gotten stuck to your damp cheek, a brief moment of tenderness that makes the butterflies resting in the depths of your stomach wake and beat their wings.

"Could you go a little lower?", he asks you, chest heaving and lips slightly pink from biting.

"Want me to lick your balls?", you try to clarify.

That makes him chuckle, a sweet, airy sound that makes you feel like there's sunlight spilling through the spaces between your ribs, filling up your whole chest with pleasant warmth.

"When d'you start talking like this, huh? Y' got such a dirty mouth on you, sweetheart", he teases you lightly, pulling his hand back so you can get back to working him.

You simply smile against his shaft in reply, feigning coy and innocence while trailing kisses lower and lower until you reach the seam of his balls. Placing your warm tongue flat against it, you draw it up slowly, wetting his heated skin before pressing more kisses against his sack, giggling when the hair there starts to tickle your lips.

"Think you can handle it if I take you in my throat? I'll go slow, I promise", you speak up from between his legs.

Given how often he's pumped his cock to the very thought of you throating him, Eddie nearly trips over himself trying to find the words to answer.

"Holy shit, yes please", he manages to let out with a strained groan.

That's all you needed to hear before you're taking him into your mouth again, bobbing up and down a few times slowly, careful not to let your teeth scrape his sensitive skin before you bob deeper and let him reach the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex and making your throat close around him nice and tight.

"Baby– baby, fuck I'm going to cum", he gasps, hips jerking, eyes squeezing shut.

And that's all the warning he can manage to give you before he's spilling down your throat, thick, creamy ropes of it which you swallow down eagerly and as best as you can.

Most of it slides down the warm, wet contracting walls of your throat but you realize just how pent-up Eddie must have been when your cheeks puff out a little with a generous amount of his cum that you couldn't manage to gulp down fast enough, pulling off of Eddie's softening cock with a mouthful of spend sitting warm on your tongue, coating the insides of your cheeks.

Sitting there on your knees while Eddie pants and recuperates, a deeply curious part of you has you swishing his cum in your mouth, savoring the distinct, tangy taste of him before you part your lips and let him look inside.

Exhausted but entirely amazed, he gawks at you and the viscous mess of spit and semen in your mouth, tempted to stick his own tongue in there and taste himself on you before you press your swollen lips back together and promptly swallow, a beaming smile breaking out on your face.

"See? told you I'd take care of you."

[lilacwants]

million dollar man.

18+ notes: my sweet, flawed english man:’). summary: billy butcher finds solace and deepens his bond with you during a tender, intimate night after a rough day. warnings: soft billy, mature content, oral (f! receiving). discretion is advised. word count: 1.7k

part 2.

You knew Butcher had a temper, a way of seeing red that could make anyone in their right mind stay clear of his path. But it was different with you. He had a soft spot, a rare vulnerability that he guarded jealously from the rest of the world. But tonight, he was late. And that wasn’t like him.

The clock on the wall ticked louder as the minutes dragged on. You tried to focus on the book in your lap, but your mind kept wandering back to Butcher. The scars that crisscrossed his back, the shadows that darkened his eyes, the rare smiles that lit up his face. He was complicated, infuriating, but he was also the man you’d come to care for more deeply than you’d ever thought possible.

The door creaked open and you snapped your head up. Butcher stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his usually sharp eyes dulled by fatigue.

“Hey,” you said softly, closing your book and standing up.

“Hey, love,” he replied, his voice rough around the edges. He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and you noticed the blood staining his shirt.

“Jesus, Billy, you’re hurt,” you exclaimed, rushing over to him. He waved you off, but you could see the pain etched on his face.

“Just a scratch,” he muttered, but you weren’t convinced. You guided him to the couch, making him sit down while you went to fetch the first aid kit.

When you returned, Butcher had already started to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty gash on his side. You winced at the sight, but kept your expression neutral. He didn’t need pity; he needed someone who could help.

“Hold still,” you said, kneeling beside him and carefully cleaning the wound. He hissed through his teeth but didn’t flinch away.

“Bloody hell, that stings,” he grumbled.

“Well, maybe next time don’t pick fights with people twice your size,” you teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. He snorted, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Can’t help it. It’s in me nature.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, well, your nature’s going to get you killed one of these days.”

“Not if you keep patchin’ me up,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. There was a sincerity in his gaze that took you by surprise. You finished bandaging him up and sat back, feeling the weight of his stare.

“Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly. “Why do you stay?”

The question caught you off guard. You’d asked yourself the same thing many times, especially on nights like these when the danger seemed too close. But the answer was always the same.

“Because I care about you,” you said simply. “And because I know there’s more to you than what everyone else sees.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I’m not a good man, love. I’ve done things…”

“We’ve all done things,” you interrupted gently. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve a chance to be better.”

He didn’t respond, but you could see the internal struggle playing out on his face. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, and squeezed it gently.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Billy. Let me help.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m scared,” he admitted in a whisper, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

“Of what?” you asked softly.

“Of losing you. Of letting you in and then watching you walk away.”

Your heart ached at his words. You knew he’d been hurt before, that he carried more scars on the inside than the ones that marred his skin. But you also knew that he was worth the risk.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. “Not as long as you want me here.”

He looked up, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. Finding none, he nodded slowly. “I want you here. More than anything.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He kissed you back, his grip on your hand tightening as if afraid you might slip away.

The apartment was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant traffic outside. Butcher and you had spent the evening wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten as you enjoyed a rare moment of peace. The bandage on his side was a stark reminder of the dangers he faced daily, but tonight, you wanted to focus on the here and now.

Butcher's hands roamed your back, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you closer on the couch. You could feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. His lips brushed against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and intoxicating.

You smiled, threading your fingers through his dark hair. "You're not so bad yourself, Butcher."

He chuckled, the sound low and gravelly, vibrating against your throat. "Not sure what I did to deserve you, love."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," you teased, tilting your head to capture his lips in a soft kiss. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent as he pressed you back against the cushions. His hands slipped under your shirt, caressing your sides with a possessive tenderness that made your heart race.

"Let me show you how much I need you," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Before you could respond, he was lifting your shirt over your head, his eyes darkening with hunger as he took in the sight of you.

"Billy," you breathed, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your chest, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin. He paused at the waistband of your pants, his gaze locking with yours.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, laced with an unexpected vulnerability.

"Yes," you replied, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please."

With a growl of approval, he undid your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. You were left exposed before him, your skin tingling with the cool air and the intensity of his gaze.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread them apart. He lowered himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh.

You gasped at the sensation, your fingers tangling in his hair as he trailed kisses closer to your core. The first touch of his tongue against your folds sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your back arching off the couch.

"Billy," you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper. He groaned in response, his hands holding your hips steady as he delved deeper, his tongue swirling around your clit with a skill that left you breathless.

He took his time, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucks, his eyes watching your every reaction. You could feel the tension building inside you, the pleasure mounting with every flick of his tongue. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please, don't stop," you begged, your fingers tightening in his hair as you teetered on the brink of release. He growled against you, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you that pushed you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. Butcher didn't stop, his tongue continuing its relentless assault as he milked every last drop of pleasure from you. You cried out his name, your vision blurring as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

Finally, when you could take no more, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He crawled up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left you breathless all over again.

"You taste fucking amazing," he growled against your mouth, his hands cradling your face as he kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate act only heightening your desire for him.

"I need you, Billy," you whispered, your voice raw with need. "I need all of you."

He didn't need any more encouragement. In one fluid motion, he was shedding his clothes, his body pressing against yours as he settled between your legs. You could feel the heat of him, the hard length of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm sure," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. "I want you. All of you."

With a groan, he entered you, the sensation overwhelming as he filled you completely.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

He set a steady rhythm, his movements growing more urgent as he lost himself in you. You met him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving together in harmony.

The world outside ceased to exist, the only thing that mattered was the connection between you, the unspoken promises and the love that bound you together.

As you neared the edge once more, you felt him falter, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered your name. With a final, shuddering thrust, you both tumbled over the edge together, your cries of pleasure mingling in the stillness of the night.

Afterward, you lay tangled in each other's arms, the sweat cooling on your skin as you caught your breath. Butcher pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hold on you gentle but unyielding.

"I love you," he murmured, the words carrying a weight that made your heart swell.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice filled with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always be his side. He was your million dollar man after all.

[gojossugarcandy]

It was a Saturday night. Saturday nights always guaranteed party nights at club until the security guards throw everyone out for closing. But it also guaranteed a girls night. You and your she-friends stayed there until 2 A.M. Never have you guys left earlier.

But recently, there was an addition to the group. It was a boy, his name was Aiden, who was from your college. Calling him handsome would be a huge understatement with those beautiful hazel eyes which complemented his tan face and brown eyes. Definitely a model material.

He was introduced by one of your friends last week. But you'd rather not reminisce that memory. Your secret bf, Elias, had seen him dropping you off at your home which ended up with you pulling an all-nighter and your legs being jellos.

This time, you were determined to take his number. Aiden gave off the vibes of haven. A place where you could go when you fought with your overly obsessed boyfriend. Yes, he was a yandere. Accepted he was obsessed with you. But you felt like he was restricting you a bit too much. Yandere behavior had always been out of your mind's reach. A concept which only suited fairy tales.

"Y/n?"

Your head snapped to the side as you stared at the man named Aiden.

"Y/n, what happened? we have been calling you for, like, the last five minutes" Your friend enquired.

"Nothing, few sleepless nights have sucked the energy out of me. Hey! Why is our table empty? bring in some beer and vodka!" You cheered, but feeling a tinge of nervousness. A feeling of being stared at. Paranoia was a common thing when you had a yandere bf, so you just decided to ignore the feeling and gulp down some drinks.

You took a glass and gulped it in one go, your friends cheering you on and then you gulped down another one

and another

and another

and another

and so it went on.

While on a place at a distance from the club was a German shepherd, lying down, waiting for its owner. The door knob started turning, as the dog's tail starts wagging. But the knob just keeps on going down and up, down and up until it stopped.

The dog's survival senses started kicking in as it starting barking. But to no avail, the other side of the door silent, like the calm before the stop. A few thuds on door and then it goes radio silent.

Soon the windows fly open, cold winter frost turning the room in the temperature no different from that of graveyards as a man climbed in. The dog, not smelling his owner's scent, jumped at the intruder, struggling to bite in.

And down came the knife. Not once, not twice, not thrice but uncountable times.

As the intruder starts laughing hysterically, now staring at his hands covered in blood and the beheaded dog.

"She is not here, is she?" He mumbles, staring into the dark space.

He suddenly starts looking around frantically. Tears and sweat coming down as he starts laughing which transitions into crying. She didn't leave him, right? RIGHT?!

"Nononononono, No! No! No! But you- BUT YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T LEAVE ME!!! YOU SAID"

"AH! AH! AAGh!!!!"

As the screams echoes down, the girl unknown of what awaits her at home, gets drunk.

"Ugh! Guys, i can already feel the headache coming. Damn, tomorrow the hangover is going to kill me, Please attend my funeral guys!" You declare to your friends as you start getting up to leave. A little shiver ran down your spine as your intuitions beg you to not go back.

Well, you being you, you ignore it as another glass of drink runs down your throat and you start walking out, along with your friends.

Aiden, helps book a taxi as one by one everyone is seated in the taxis, with only you and Aiden left behind. As the last taxi comes, while you are just about to get in, he mumbles,

"Can i crash at your house, tonight?" The look in his eyes expresses a feeling which you have been longing for. Not possessiveness, not anger but lust. Only lust accompanied by no other strings.

But alas! You might be a open person but not a cheater.

"I, uh, I have a boyfriend." You declare, but he is quick to notice the hesitation and take advantage of it.

"It's fine, but do you truly want to be in such a relationship? I noticed your last week's trynna-hide-act. You literally weren't even being able to walk. I think that's rather toxic" The last line was said in a deep whisper, with leaning in to your face.

You couldn't resist the pull, as you both were just about to kiss the taxi driver honks.

You get startled as you push him back. "No, this isn't right. I love him, no matter who he is. I love his obsession with me and I'd rather not have you act like this with me, please" you plead, before sitting in the taxi.

As the taxi starts driving, you start thinking about his behavior, making you see Aiden in a new light which was definitely not good. Why did he try to hit on you, even when he knew you had a boyfriend?!

Agh! You'd rather not think right now. The splitting headache took over you as you slept in during the taxi ride.

<---------------------------------------------------------------------------->

You gave in to your muscle memory, believing it to take you home and you soon reached your apartment's door.

"Haaaaaaaaaaahhhhh" A big sigh leaves the young drunk girl as she opens the door.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Soon enough, screams were coming out of the now-sobered-girl as she sees the pool of blood connected to a dog, which once had a beautiful face. Which one had a head. Now, beheaded, with a man sitting adjacent to it with a knife and a hysterical look in his eyes.

"Where were you?"

His question is answered, though not very clearly, by the owner's sobs. "Nonono, what did you do? Tell me you didn't do it Elias"

"WHERE WERE YOU?!" Her question is ignored as he stands up, staring at her kneeling form before her head looks up. She looks broken. She looks ruined. She looks beautiful. The thoughts run into his mind before her smells a particular cologne on her.

You see, Elias always had a sharp nose. And this nose picked up the scent of the man who had seen you off last week. Now, Elias was beyond pissed. But he was also hurt.

"Your talked with that man again? Even though you promised you wouldn't..."

He abruptly pulled a fistful of your hair, the knife still in his hand, as he said,

"Any excuse, love?"

Now, your reply decides your fate. A single error and you shall soon see the gates of death.

______________________________________________________________

@meo-eiru (The image up there belong to her. I really admire, adore, worship, words are not enough! creators like these as they draw such good drawing with their imaginations! Like damnnnnn! and then there is me. A person who likes drawing but is a huge failure. (I swear, my human faces look like monkeys😂🤣😂🤣) Anyway, seeing the image, I had like a context for it. I don't know if this is good or not. My previous stories are trash because I, like, had not motivation to write but just wanted to. But this one fanart fired my imagination up and I just started writing.

Also, it went on wayyyy longer. I meant it to be, like, a short story or like a drabble.

[arkham-bunniii]

Third Times the Charm

⌖ Three times you meet the Arkham Knight on his takeover in Gotham—twice you lose… one you don’t.

x: reader is fem, with no use of y/n.

xx: slow burn, sexual/romantic tension, enemies to lovers

The pain faded after the third hit, a dull throb that blended into the ache in your ribs, your arms, your jaw. 

You’d been tied to a chair, with rough ropes cutting into your wrists and blood dripping from your split lip.

The sting barely registered anymore, not after the sun had dipped well below the horizon. Your focus was on the data hidden inside your boot, pressed against your skin like it’s the last thing you’ll ever own.

A couple of the thugs crowded around you, sneering at the blood on your knees. “Thought you could take us on, huh? Thought you could steal from us—that you could with fire and not get burned?” 

One of them kicked the chair, and you bit back a grimace. You’d been so close to getting the intel, the evidence that would expose them all. It was supposed to be easy. In, out, done. 

But now you were trapped, left with nothing but your wits—and your fists, if you could get a chance. And you would get a chance.

“You’re gonna regret crossing us, doll.” Another blow landed hard, right to your gut. 

Your vision swam, but you focused, digging in. You’d find a way out. You always did.

“Enough!” The ringleader held up a hand from across the room as he took another puff of his cigar. “If she doesn’t have the data, kill her. We don’t want any loose ends.”

Panic gripped you, flooding your chest with icy dread. Your breath quickened, the cold steel of the chair digging into your back as you struggled against the ropes, but the thugs were closing in. 

“Get away from me!” you snarled, but their sneers only grew wider.

You fought harder, thrashing against the ropes, heart pounding, the taste of desperation on your tongue. You couldn’t think long enough to make an escape plan—this was the end.

But before they could reach you, the door crashed open.

Gunfire erupted inside the room, ricocheting across the warehouse as a steady stream of fire sprayed from the doorway. The thugs fell instantly, their bodies dropping to the ground like ragdolls.

You ducked your head low and squeezed your eyes shut, praying that the bullets would miss you—or hit something vital, something that would end your misery before you felt the blow.

Then came a new voice, deep and commanding, but strange, distorted. “Hold your fire.”

You froze in the chair as what looked like a fully-geared militia crept through the doors, sweeping their rifles across the abandoned warehouse.

They checked every corner of the room, scanning the bodies of fallen criminals, taking in the blood splattered across the floor and the crates of explosives.

You were there, still bound to the chair, but you weren’t sure if they noticed you so pathetically slumped in the chair.

“Clear,” one of them called, and the militia lowered their guns.

Then the doorframe seemed to darken, and a figure stepped through, taller than the rest. 

His silhouette was encased in dark, angular armor. A black helmet, sleek and curved, covered his face, but the visor—glowing a dark blue—surveyed the room without an inkling of emotion.

“Gather the explosives,” his voice rose above the others, cold and commanding. “Move fast. We leave no trace.”

You blinked. Who were these guys? Armored and trained, that’s for sure. But why? Most of the population had escaped Gotham by now, even the criminals had slinked out of town the moment Scarecrow announced he was going to release his fear toxin on the city.

Were they… working for him? Their insignias weren’t familiar, and none of them matched any of the criminals that had escaped Arkham City after Joker’s death. 

You didn’t get a chance to chew on everything, not before their leader faced his faceless visor toward you.

“Whose this?” He tilted his helmet, scanning the bruises across your skin.

You didn’t reply, so the soldier nearby spoke for you. “Looks like they were torturing her for information, sir.” 

Your pulse raced. Please, don’t let him kill me. Don’t let him kill me now.

His visor flickered, but the leader didn’t flinch, he just watched you curiously.

“Then she must have something of value,” he remarked. “Search her.”

A couple of soldiers stepped forward, and you fought against your restraints again, ignoring the flood of pain as the ropes dug deeper into your wrists. 

Your stomach churned in panic, and you glared at the men as they came closer.

“Don’t even think of touching me—!”

One slapped a hand over your mouth, sneering. “Quiet! Unless you want the Arkham Knight to show you who runs these streets now?”

The ‘Arkham Knight’? Your gaze flicked to the unfamiliar insignia on his chest again. That name was unfamiliar, too. But at least you had something in this confusing mess.

The others began their search, moving rough as they rifled through your jacket, your pants, ignoring your quiet gasps. The cold metal of their gloves brushed against your skin with each pass, and when one prodded too close to your chest, you snapped at him with your teeth.

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt one of his gloved hands slide down to your boot. Panic clawed at your chest, and your breath hitched in your throat. You tried to move, to react, but it was already too late.

His fingers brushed against the hard drive nestled against the inner lining of your boot, and you gritted your teeth. That was my evidence!

For a moment, all was still when the drive was handed to the militia’s leader. His visor tilted down to the small, seemingly insignificant object in his hand. 

The hard drive, the very thing you had fought so hard to keep hidden, even as you were being beaten to death.

He stared at it, his visor betraying no emotion, no hint of what he was thinking. The seconds stretched on as he examined the drive in his gloved hand, his silence almost suffocating. 

You sat there, pretending innocence, but it didn’t take a genius to know what he was wondering. How did someone like you—someone who looked like they should have been nowhere near gangbangers and child traffickers—end up in the middle of it all?

You kept your expression neutral, but frustration at your helplessness bubbled within. If only he knew what you were capable of.

The rest of the militia continued working, gathering weapons, ignoring you completely. But their leader kept his visor fixed on you as he turned the data in his palm. What was he thinking? 

Then, the Arkham Knight raised a hand, signaling his men beside you. “Let her go.”

You barely registered the words at first. Why would he let you go? You weren’t an ally. You weren’t even a threat anymore. He could easily kill you if he wanted.

When the militia’s hands released you, the Arkham Knight stepped forward, unhurried, taking his sweet-ass time—like he already knew exactly what he was going to do to the stranger trapped in the cage full of angry, mauling bears with machine guns.

As he reached you, he knelt to your eye level, bringing himself face-to-face with your battered form.

His gloved hand reached for the hard drive, lifting it between the two of you like a trophy. He held it up, inspecting it in the dim light, then slowly, almost as if savoring the moment, he spoke.

“Is this yours?” His voice was cold, the distortion of the helmet making it sound even more machine-like.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Too bad,” he chuckled, turning it between his fingers. “It’s mine now. All of it.”

He shifted forward, the reinforced plating of his armor brushing against your scraped-up knees. His presence swallowed the space between you, the scent of gunpowder and steel clinging to him like a second skin.

“You know why I’m letting you live?” 

Oh, great, here comes the speech, you thought, scoffing inwardly. Let me guess—because you’re some twisted hero with a soft spot?

The Knight didn’t wait for an answer. “Because killing you would be mercy.”

The hard drive disappeared into one of his pouches, tucked away like it was nothing. Like you were nothing.

“You get to walk out of here and live with the fact that you lost. That everything you bled for, fought for, meant nothing.” He tilted his head. “And that? That’s gonna hurt worse than anything they did to you.”

The Arkham Knight rose to his full height, and turned away without another glance. Around you, the militia moved quickly, packing up the last of the weapons and explosives, erasing any trace that they’d ever been there.

One by one, they filed out, leaving nothing behind but the bodies cooling on the floor.

At the doorway, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. 

“You should have gotten on one of those buses when you had the chance.” His tone was almost…pitying. “Because by nightfall, this city will be mine.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, you were left there, bound, alone, empty-handed… but alive.

The pain in your limbs flared as you struggled against the restraints, but you didn’t stop. Your fingers trembled, but you kept fighting, pushing against the ropes until they finally loosened. 

With one last yank, they snapped free, and you stumbled to your feet, breathing heavily. You rubbed your wrists, glaring daggers at the doorway the Arkham Knight had so easily waltzed out of.

The room was silent besides your labored breaths of pain. But the fire in your chest burned brighter as you heard the sound of screeching tires fade into the distance.

The next time you crossed paths, you’d make him regret keeping you alive.

The air reeked of gasoline and rain-soaked asphalt as you sprinted across the docks, following the echoes of heavy, armored boots that skirted just out a reach.

Ahead, the Arkham Knight weaved through the maze of shipping containers like he’d been here a hundred times before. He probably had.

You weren’t far behind, and you weren’t thinking of slowing any time soon. He should have never let you live.

“I know what you’re planning, Knight!” you called. “Blowing up the shipment? Real original!”

A deep chuckle came from ahead, distorted through his helmet. “I’d be more worried about catching up, sweetheart.”

Your teeth clenched, but you pushed harder, closing the distance between you. The bastard was fast, but you’d spent years chasing Gotham’s worst before you ditched the badge.

Leaving the GCDP had been a good decision. Here, in the underground, you were a hunter, taking out cartels and human traffickers on a smaller scale than the bat-themed vigilante grappling across the skies above you. 

But this job? This was bigger.

You’d been hired to protect the arrival of high-powered weapons—gear meant to combat the growing militia presence. 

It should have been simple. Escort the shipment, keep it out of the wrong hands. 

But every time the Arkham Knight showed up, he managed to win. Every damn time, he outmaneuvered you, slipping through cracks you hadn’t even seen, cutting down every layer of security like it was nothing. 

And now you were chasing him, angry that he was trying to outsmart you again.

Because this time, it wasn’t just about a stolen cache of weapons.

This time, he wasn’t just trying to sabotage the GCPD’s rare import of military-grade gear.

He was taking out the whole damn dock.

Explosives were already planted along the shipping yard, tucked between crates, hidden under trucks, blinking red in the rain. You had expected a crew, mercs to handle the heavy lifting, just like Scarecrow preferred.

But the Arkham Knight was different. He liked getting his hands dirty, getting a taste of the action. It’s as if he had been doing this kind of a thing since he was a kid.

Good thing the criminals around here had the firepower and armor to match Gotham's newest mysterious villain.

There was no time to think as he suddenly pivoted, twisting mid-step and pulling his gun to aim straight at your forehead.

But you saw it coming.

Before the Arkham Knight could pull the trigger, you ducked and lunged, grabbing the barrel and yanking it downward just as the shot fired. The bullet sparked off the concrete, missing your foot by inches. You used the momentum to drive your elbow into his side, but he was already reacting—twisting his body to lessen the impact before slamming his knee up, nearly catching your ribs.

You barely dodged, stumbling back.

“Don’t start making me regret letting you live now, sweetheart” he said, his breaths barely labored. “You think you’re some kind of hero? Don’t tell me you’re one of Batman’s newest sidekicks to throw headfirst into enemy fire?”

You grinned through the exhaustion, wiping a trickle of blood from your lip. “Nah. I work for pest control—the rats in this city are overrunning the place… don’t you think?”

His visor flickered with anger, and his fists clenched tighter. “You sure you want to keep talking? I don’t mind getting a little rough.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen rough yet,” you shot back. “But you’re about to.”

This time, the Arkham Knight didn’t hold back.

You barely had time to duck before his fist swung at your head. You twisted, countering with a sharp jab at his ribs, but he blocked it, catching your wrist and twisting. Pain flared up your arm, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you used his grip against him, yanking hard enough to send both of you off balance.

He recovered first, shoving you back against a metal shipping crate with enough force to rattle your teeth.

You grinned through the impact, wincing. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like getting me up against walls.”

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you like pissing me off.”

The air between you crackled. Charged with something neither of you would acknowledge in this hour-long chase of cat and mouse. 

Then you moved.

Using the crate as leverage, you kicked up, planting your foot against his chest and shoving hard. He stumbled back just enough for you to break free, dropping low and sweeping his legs out from under him.

For a second, you thought you had him.

Then, like the stubborn bastard he was, he twisted mid-fall, rolling onto one knee and bringing his gun up again.

You dove before he could fire, grabbing the wrist of his gun hand and knocking it skyward. The shot went wild, shattering a hanging floodlight above you. Glass rained down, and you shield your head from the shrapnel.

You were close now. Too close. His chest nearly brushed yours, breaths ragged, shoulders tense.

Your lips curled. “If you wanted me up close, Knight, all you had to do was ask.”

His visor flickered for a moment—maybe surprise, maybe amusement. His grip loosened slightly, enough for you to slip free.

You moved quickly, sidestepping and swinging for his legs. But he was faster. With a grunt, he kicked out, forcing you to roll to the side to avoid his boot slamming into your ribs.

You barely regained your footing before his fist was coming at you again, this time aiming for your face. You ducked, but he was already shifting his weight, elbowing you hard in the side.

This time, you saw stars.

“Getting tired, sweetheart?” He sounded almost too smug.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back through gritted teeth, blood starting to well at the back of your throat.

You shifted into a crouch, anticipating his next move. Sure enough, he lunged, but you were ready. As he came at you, you grabbed his arm and swung him into the nearby shipping crate with a force that left a satisfying thud in the air.

The clang echoed through the empty docks, and you took a moment to steady your breath, watching him stagger upright.

It was easy to out-pace him, the Arkham Knight seemed trained to take down foes twice your size and strength. 

You were nimble, he was like a bumbling oaf. For once, you had an advantage.

“Looks like a draw,” you breathed.

His helmet tilted. “You sure about that?”

Then his free hand gripped the back of your collar, yanking you forward. Before you could react, you were airborne.

The impact knocked the wind from your lungs as your back hit the hood of an abandoned car nearby. Rusted metal groaned beneath you.

“Shit—”

The Knight was on you in an instant, pinning you down with his weight before you could fully recover.

You blinked up at him, head spinning. “You got a thing for throwing me around, huh?”

“Only when you make it fun,” he said, and damn if you couldn’t hear the smirk in his voice.

Your fingers twitched toward a second knife hidden in your boot. 

Before you could grab it, he shifted, pressing his knee just hard enough against your thigh to pin it down.

“Don’t,” he warned.

You exhaled sharply, annoyed. “You suck.”

“Yeah. I get that a lot.”

His visor flicked upward, tracking something behind you. You didn’t need to look to know what it was—the detonator, blinking a bright, steady red only a few feet away.

The light pulsed, quickening with every second the Arkham Knight was near, and the sound of a faint mechanical whir grew louder, like the ticking of a bomb just waiting to tear through the night.

When he finally turned back, you could almost picture the shit-eating grin behind his helmet as he said, “Well, looks like you’ll have to live with your failure again, sweetheart.”

Your stomach dropped. 

“You son of a—!”

Then the world exploded.

The shockwave hit you first, rattling your bones, sending fire and debris into the sky. But before the blast could swallow you whole, a boot slammed into your chest, kicking you back—

Right off the docks.

You hit the water hard. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, the icy current dragging you under before you could even curse him out.

By the time you clawed your way to the surface, gasping, the docks were in flames.

And the Arkham Knight was gone.

You treaded water for a moment, watching the inferno rage above you, heart pounding against your ribs as you glared at the blaze of your defeat.

Then you swiped a hand down your face, slicking your wet hair back, and exhaled sharply.

“Asshole…”

Gotham’s skyline sprawled beneath a shroud of ink-black night, its bright, colorful spires rose to the heavens, piercing the clouds that smothered the full moon’s glow.

At the edge of the city, where the streets thinned into silence and the glow of neon faded into darkness, the old GCPD communications outpost loomed ahead, a relic long abandoned to the city’s decay—until tonight. 

Someone had breathed life into its dormant servers, and you knew exactly who had dared to trespass into this forgotten domain.

The Arkham Knight.

Perched near the rooftop’s crumbling edge, you watched the dim blue glow seeping from the outpost’s cracked windows below. 

He was in there, hunched over the monitors, his armored fingers likely dancing across keys as he sifted through encrypted data—data valuable enough to drag him out of whatever hole he’d been brooding in. 

Whatever it was, it was big. And though your loyalty was no longer to the GCDP, you weren’t about to let him walk away with something that could hurt everyone.

You had loosely tracked his steps across Gotham since nightfall. From the docks, then Kingston, the clock tower, and now to this abandoned building.

How could one soldier get so much done in one night?! It was ridiculous! You weren’t sure how many more caffeine patches you could stick to your skin before you finally crashed from exhaustion. 

Unfortunately, you seemed to be one of the only good guys left on the streets. Nightwing was only ever sighted in Blūdhaven, Robin had gone completely dark, and Batman was elsewhere, fighting even uglier battles than you. 

You had even heard over the police scanner that Barbara Gordon had been kidnapped, and that made your stomach turn. 

You had known her a short time, just long enough to see the sharp mind behind her easy smile.

But you had known her father longer—and you knew he would tear Gotham’s streets apart to get her back.

Was the Arkham Knight involved in that? Probably, his militia surely was, being used as expendable bait for the city’s gliding guardian as he used the distraction to hack into the GCDP.

Your breath steadied as you secured the final piece of your trap. A reinforced cable, thin as a whisper but strong as steel, rigged to snap taut the moment he stepped into its invisible snare. 

No crazy gadgets, no complicated mechanisms. Nothing the Arkham Knight could pick up in that fancy helmet of his. 

Exhaling softly, you slipped through a shattered window, landing in a crouch on the dusty concrete floor. 

The building was a labyrinth of cracking walls and exposed beams, the kind of place that had long since given up on standing tall. 

One wrong step, and you’d be a smear on the concrete ten stories below.

Distant thunder covered your footsteps as you crept through the halls of broken glass and scattered files. 

Ahead, half-shrouded in shadow, the Arkham Knight stood with his back to you, the cold glow of his visor throwing colorful reflections over the broken glass at his feet.

Beneath the armored plating, the suit clung to broad shoulders, tapering to a lean waist. He was built for both power and speed, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the strength behind those arms, the sheer force he could bring down if he wanted to.

The plan was to get all of muscle man’s attention focused on you. That was the easy part. 

The real challenge—though you considered it more of dumb luck—would be to keep the Arkham Knight moving in the right direction, all the way to the snare.

A loose shard of glass, nearly invisible beneath layers of dust.

The crunch beneath your boot was barely audible, swallowed by the distant rumble of thunder. But it was enough.

The Arkham Knight’s head snapped up from his work, visor glowing faintly in the darkness. He didn’t move at first, only tilting his head, listening.

You stilled, pressing into the shadows, holding your breath.

A beat passed. Another second of suffocating silence..

Then, he reached for the pistol at his side, and you grimaced.

…So much for subtlety.

You exhaled, just loud enough to carry. And it worked.

The Arkham Knight turned. He met your gaze from behind the visor of blue pixels, an eerie, unreadable beacon in the low light, locking onto you like a hunter sizing up its prey.

“You again,”  he huffed, and his hand left the pistol at his waist.

You smirked, letting the curve of your lips carry a taunt. “Miss me?”

A chuckle. “Why would I miss the headache?”

Ouch.

You feigned a pout. “But I came all this way just to have a little alone time with you! You're breaking my heart, y’know...”

He stepped forward, just enough to close the gap between you. “You’re wasting your time, sweetheart. I’m not here for games.”

You grinned back at that stupid, expressionless helmet of his. There was an itch in your bones to reach up and throttle him now, if only in a vain attempt to smash that visor to bits over the Arkham Knight’s actual head.

Instead, you flicked your wrist, sending a throwing disc spinning toward the server bank. It struck, and sparks flared on impact. A controlled shockwave rippled through the system, enough to scramble the hard drive and his precious data into digital confetti.

The Arkham Knight twisted his helmet to glimpse the scatter of sparks and hiss of wires catching fire. The smugness on your features grew, and you lifted your chin victoriously.

Then, he chuckled, and your smirk faltered. It was a sound that threw you off, a response you hadn’t expected. 

He raised his hand, and in the light of the fire behind him, you caught sight of something small between his fingers: a tiny USB, gleaming mockingly against the orange blaze.

“You really think I didn’t plan for this?” The Arkham Knight stepped. “I’m almost hurt that you’d think I'm that stupid.”

Your eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter how many backups you have. I’m not going to just let you walk out of here.”

The USB disappeared into a hidden pouch of his suit, and the Arkham Knight tightened his stance. “I never expected you to.”

When he lunged, you were ready.

You darted to the side, feeling the air rush as his arm passed just inches from you. You slammed your palm into his chest, forcing him back a few steps before you twisted around to land a quick kick to his side.

He was a wall of strength, but you were liquid lightning, slipping through his grasp even faster. This time, the advantage was yours. You tasted it in the air every time his hits landed a little less sure.

The Arkham Knight swiped for you again, his armored hand snatching at the fabric of your jacket. His fingers closed around your wrist, and before you could yank it free, his grip tightened like iron as he pulled one fist back.

You caught it. The slight pause. The fraction of a second where, instead of following through with a punch that would have had you seeing stars, he hesitated.

That was all you needed. You planted your hands on the desk behind you, using it to propel yourself forward with both legs, sending him stumbling right into the snare.

His legs tangled, lifting off the ground with an almost comical jerk, and you exhaled a gasp of relief.

He was still dangerous, and his hands, both free, grasped for anything to steady his wild swinging. You could see him working out his next move, calculating an escape as he reached for his waist.

Before he could grab his pistol, you rushed forward and closed the gap. You caught one of his wrists, ducking as he used a free hand swing at your head before slamming both of his hands onto the floor.

You had to press your entire weight against his arms to keep him from wrenching his hands free from your hold. Your fingers found the wire you had stashed in your jacket, and you looped it tightly around his wrists, pulling it taut until it bit into his skin.

It was secure, but not anything that would cause unnecessary pain. He was strong, but now his hands were useless, bound against the cold concrete floor.

“Gotcha,” you purred, savoring the moment.

“Clever,” the Arkham Knight conceded, tilting his helmet to inspect his bindings.

“I’ve been studying you.” You crossed your arms, letting the smugness drip into your voice, “You’re too predictable when you get riled up. You make mistakes.”

He scoffed. “You think you have me all figured out?” 

“Not figured out. Just enough to know you’re not as smart as you think.” You stepped closer. 

His fingers flexed against the restraints, testing their give. “Give me ten seconds.” 

You leaned in, lowering your voice just enough to needle him.

“Or… you could just say please.”

A moment of silence passed, as if the Arkham Knight was left stunned.

Finally, he spoke. “You really think that’s gonna work?”

“I don’t know.” You reached out, brushing your fingers over the edge of his helmet. “But this might.”

His body went rigid, and in that distraction, you slid your other hand across his armor.

“I’ve always wondered what’s under here,” you mused, scraping your nails against the bright, blue display.

His voice dropped. “Not happening.”

“Why not?” You hooked your fingers around the edge, tilting your head. “Afraid I won’t like what I see?”

The Arkham Knight didn’t speak, and you lost interest. Your real target was somewhere in his armor

“What about over here?” Your fingers danced across his chest plate, prodding for anything out of place. “Would you mind if I took a peek?”

The wires binding his wrist threw sparks as the Arkham Knight’s metal gauntlets writhed against their hold. You smiled. Each little shift, each frustrated pull of a response gave you a clue of where that drive was as your fingers continued their search.

“Watch your hands!” He growled warningly as your thumb brushed against his belt. “Stop poking around.”

You glanced down, feigning innocence. “Just making sure I don’t miss anything. You sure this isn’t where you’re hiding it?”

“When I get out of here,” he growled, the restraints straining beneath his shifting muscles. “I’m going to make you regret everything.”

Just as the words left his lips, you felt the faintest bump beneath your fingers, something solid and small tucked into the armor’s seam.

Your heart raced for half a second, then you carefully pried the tiny USB drive free, holding it up in front of him.

“Well, look what I found,” you said, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips. “Maybe you should’ve been more careful about where you stash your secrets.”

The Arkham Knight’s gaze burned through his visor, but he didn’t speak. 

You inspected the drive before turning away from him. This hadn’t been so hard,

The escape was sudden, seamless, a twist of his frame that turned the cables’ tension against them. His weight shifted, shoulders rolling as he slipped one wrist free. A flash of metal—a hidden blade—sliced through the remaining line, and before you could blink, he reversed the game.

You hit the wall with a soft gasp, concrete cold against your back. He closed the distance in an instant, his armored form looming, the heat radiating off him swallowing the space between you. 

One gloved hand braced beside your head, pinning you without touching. Your breath hitched, and the Arkham Knight leaned closer.

His voice dropped, velvet wrapped around steel, teasing in a way that made your pulse stutter. “I think you have something that belongs to me. Be a good girl and return it, won’t you?”

You lifted your chin, meeting that glowing visor with a stare that refused to bend. “Oh, you’re going to have to beg for that, Knight.” 

The Arkham Knight went rigid. His shoulders squared, his breath barely audible through the modulator, but you could feel the tension crackling in the air between you.

“You really think you can run from me?” His words were rough, barely controlled.

You held your ground, pulse hammering but expression cool. “I don’t run.”

A creak whispered beneath your boots. Barely there, but enough. Your eyes flickered down, and through the haze of debris, you saw it—fractures splitting through the old concrete, widening like veins.

You pressed your foot against the cracks, and felt the floor waver beneath your feet. The Arkham Knight’s visor followed your gaze, and when he pressed closer to keep you backed against the wall, you heard the groan beneath his shifting weight.

So you moved first, stomping hard onto the split concrete, forcing the fractures to buckle beneath you. The floor gave way instantly. Cracks splintered outward, then collapsed in an avalanche of dust and stone.

For a split second, you could have sworn he moved—an arm jerking forward, fingers twitching like he might reach out to catch you. 

But then he didn’t, and you were falling before the breath could escape your lungs in a gasp.

The last thing you saw was his silhouette standing at the edge, visor glowing through the dust.

Then you were gone.

[freeuselandonorris]

honestly would kill to see your take on any kink ever, but I must admit I haven't been able to get your thoughts on electrostim out of my mind since you shared them so. that one. (+camshow if you're feeling it 👀)

ps.: I did have a good festive season, and I hope you did too!! 🫶🫶

glad to hear it! 🫰 mine has been. mixed. but mostly good thank u!

obviously could not resist this one. enjoy oscar being the stone cold freak for once!

Lando had asked to see it, mainly because he didn’t entirely believe Oscar was telling the truth. 

Oscar was cool and everything. Funny, with a saucy mouth on him once you got to know him. But you had to admit the guy came off as — well. Vanilla. 

So when they’d gotten pissed together on leftover Moët in Lando’s suite and Oscar had picked up the TENS machine Jon had left in there, turned it over in his hands and said, “are you into electrostim?” in tones of nervous delight, Lando hadn’t even considered it might be some sort of weird sex thing.

What the fuck is electrostim? he’d asked, tipping the remnants of his glass down his throat, which meant he didn’t notice Oscar’s horrified expression for a few seconds. 

“Nothing,” Oscar said quickly, but by that point Lando had clocked the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks and perked right up. Even then, he’d figured it was something embarrassing, but not — that. 

He’d not believed it, when Oscar explained it. How you could wire up the same kind of machine Jon used to zap the cramps out of his aching thighs and stick it round your cock. Not that Oscar said it so brazenly. There was a lot of umm-ing and err-ing, a lot of vague hand gestures and stuttering, before Lando got the picture. 

“Fuck off,” Lando said when Oscar finished stammering out the barest of explanations. “Really? You?”

”Jesus, Lando,” Oscar said, somewhere between exasperated and indignant.

“I bet you a hundred quid you can’t,” Lando said. 

Oscar shrugged. “Believe what you like.”

Lando, whose impulse control was bad at the best of times and even worse combined with half a bottle of champagne and a burgeoning stiffy, picked the machine up from where Oscar had dropped it onto the coffee table and held it out. “Show me?”

Oscar gaped at him. He was redder than Lando had ever seen him, but he didn’t look mad or anything. Just — blindsided, maybe. 

“Not now,” Oscar said eventually. His voice came out in a kind of croak, and he cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Maybe — maybe some other time.”

Lando knew a brush-off when he saw one, so he shrugged and changed the subject and tried not to feel too mortified about it. Oscar made his excuses after another glass, sloped off to his own bedroom, and Lando put the whole embarrassing affair out of his mind. 

When his phone buzzed a week later with a text from Oscar, he had to read it twice before he understood it.

Osc 19:48 Hey. I took a video if you’re still interested. No worries if not, don’t want to pressure 🙂

Lando breathed out hard through his nose, blinking at his phone.

lando 19:50 thats the politest sext i’ve ever had yeh i am pls

Osc 19:51 🙄 it was hardly a sext [video attached]

The thumbnail was blurry, a flash of maroon and some squiggles that might be wires. Lando swallowed hard, thumb hovering over the play button. He tapped it.

”Okay,” Oscar’s voice came from the phone’s speaker, quiet. Lando kicked the volume up a couple of notches, watching a confusion of movement. Oscar’s torso, clad in his usual plain t-shirt, and a pair of khaki knee-length shorts, open at the waist. The wires Lando had spotted led out to a hand-held control box, similar to the one Jon used but a different model. 

On-screen, Oscar cleared his throat. “Had it on for five minutes or so already,” he said. His voice was a little shaky, like he was nervous. He swallowed audibly before he spoke again. “So I’m a little — I’m already, you know.” A soft laugh. “Sorry, don’t know how well I’ll be able to, um, talk you through it. Let me just — I’ll just show you.”

He exhaled, audibly steeling himself, and Lando felt himself mirror the action unconsciously. His hands were sweating enough to worry he might drop his phone. He swore under his breath and hit pause on Oscar, heading through to his bedroom and flopping back onto the bed. After a moment’s deliberation, he shoved his own shorts down to mid-thigh. He wasn’t hard yet, but — well. Better to have the option. 

He hit play. Oscar-on-the-screen hummed thoughtfully and then the screen blurred again. Some scuffling sounds that made Lando wince, the screen going briefly dark and then bleaching light again until Oscar came back into focus from the neck down to mid-thigh, standing in what looked like his bathroom with the camera, presumably, propped on the sink. 

“Right, that’s better,” Oscar said, and breathed out again, a short sharp exhalation. “Okay, here goes.” 

He put the control box down, out of shot, and visibly straightened his spine before he pushed his shorts down. No boxers. Oscar, Lando thought admiringly. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.

It took the camera a few moments to focus, but when it did, Lando bit back a groan. Oscar’s cock was thick, semi-hard, and covered in wires. A thick black loop of it cinched tight around the base, and another snug beneath the head of his cock, trailing a black wire. 

“Had it on low,” Oscar said. “I’ll turn it up a bit.”

His hand reached out of frame and adjusted something, and he gasped. His cock jerked, filling out in front of Lando’s wide eyes. Oscar made a soft noise, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he adjusted something else that made his cock jump again, a tiny rhythmic pulse. 

“Ah,” Oscar said. “That’s — about halfway now. Feels pretty intense.”

He adjusted himself with one hand, pulling the top loop of wire a little tighter with the plastic toggle tucked up tight beneath the head. His long fingers hovered for a second, like he was struggling not to jack himself off, help things along. 

Lando let out a string of curses beneath his breath and grabbed himself. He thumbed at the bottom of the screen to bring up the playback bar. Jesus, the video wasn’t even a quarter of the way through yet. 

He watched Oscar’s cock get harder, bobbing in midair. Lando tuned himself into it after a minute or so. He could tell when Oscar adjusted the intensity of the current by the way Oscar’s cock flushed red, jolting against his belly, the veins on the underside pulsing beneath his foreskin. 

Still, it made him gasp when Oscar’s cock blurted thin clear liquid. It trickled down the side of his cock and dropped out of sight. 

“Yep,” Oscar said tightly. “Yeah, it’s. Getting good now.”

“Oh my God, Oscar,” Lando said to his empty room, voice shocked and shaking. 

Oscar hummed again, a low rumble in his chest. When he spoke again, it sounded like an effort. “Sometimes it makes me, uh. I think it stimulates my bladder or something, so — just to warn you.”

Lando let out a shuddering breath, blinking hard at the screen. This was insane. Both of them had clearly lost their minds. He wondered, for a brief paranoid second, whether this was some sort of sophisticated deepfake scam and he was going to have his bank account emptied or his DMs leaked yet again. But no, Oscar had said it to his face. 

“Right,” Oscar’s voice came over the speaker. “Gonna take it up another notch. It’s getting — it’s strong now.” 

Lando could hear it now. A faint ticking sound, barely there, pulsing in time to the jerk of Oscar’s swollen cock. Oscar pulled up the hem of his t-shirt with one hand and clenched his abs, gasping. 

“Ah, jeez,” Oscar gritted out, and on the screen, his cock jumped and let out a spurt of liquid. It spattered wet against his stomach, dripping down. Too far away from the camera to be able to see what it was. 

Lando curled his toes into the bedding. He was wanking furiously now, skin slapping against skin sounding overly loud in the room compared to the processed sound of Oscar’s heavy breaths. On the screen, Oscar’s cock was pulsing rhythmically, drooling clear liquid with every movement. Little droplets ran down the shaft, dripping to the floor. The hem of Oscar’s t-shirt had fallen down again when he’d let go of it, and it was dark and damp. Lando found himself wanting to suck it clean.

”Not—” Oscar’s breath hitched on a moan. “Not long now.” 

You’re telling me, Lando thought wildly, squeezing himself around the base to try to calm himself down. He was panting, thighs flexing with the need to come, but Oscar hadn’t yet, and he wanted to see it. 

“Okay,” Oscar was saying on the screen, more to himself than the camera. “Gonna — gonna turn it up to max now, and that’ll probably do it.”

He reached out then and picked up the phone, bringing it closer to his straining cock. As the camera moved, Lando caught a glimpse of his face, red and shining with sweat. 

“Ready?” Oscar’s voice came over the speakers, and Lando moaned at the shock of being directly addressed. 

Oscar reached his other hand out to the control unit, and Lando saw his thighs clench, his cock lurch violently. 

“Oh, fuck,” Oscar rasped. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” 

He came, untouched and messy, spraying across his t-shirt. Before he knew it, Lando was coming too, letting it get all over his own stomach as Oscar’s ragged gasps echoed in his ears. 

Lando stopped coming before Oscar did. Oscar’s cock was red and angry-looking, still spurting thin liquid every few seconds as his thighs shook visibly. Then the screen tilted dizzily, and the video stopped.

Lando stared at the screen, shell-shocked. His brain felt like it had been hollowed out. 

“Fucking hell,” he croaked to the phone. He wanted to laugh, slightly hysterical. Instead he wiped his sticky hand on his shirt and swiped out of the video, back to his message thread with Oscar.

lando 20:03 omfg wow

A second later, Lando’s phone vibrated, but there was no reply in his thread with Oscar. Instead, there was a notification from his bank. Lando opened it.

Oscar Piastri has requested funds! Oscar Piastri has requested £100.00 GBP.  Message from recipient: “Told you so.” Accept request to transfer funds?

[ramp-it-up]

Knock You Down: III

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down. Bucky feeds you after the failure of date number 2.

This is a follow up to Part II

Word count: 2.3 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Okay I Lied! I added more words as I edited this and it ended up over 5K. So... there will be four parts to this fic which has posessed my soul. It will be posted Tuesday 10/15. Thank all of you for rocking with me on this one. This was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, idiots in love, playful banter. Bucky and reader talk about sex, without talking about it. Or doing it. This is fluffy, yet angsty and I feel like you might not like it. Let me know if you do.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

Bucky Barnes was sitting at your table eating Thai food with you and you weren’t mad. He had ordered twice the amount you requested and damn you, you thought it was cute.

He was cute, casual in t-shirt, sweats and a ball cap. He looked as alluring as he did in a suit.

You were doomed.

Bucky didn't try to get into a deep discussion or get close to you. He just kept you company as you ate and poured you some of the best rosé that you’d ever tasted. 

Food was your love language, and having good food did a lot for your mood. It also didn’t hurt that the delicious snack known as James Bucky Barnes was sitting across from you.

You respected his game.

But somehow you didn’t think it was a game. He’d been honest and straightforward with you. As much as a man in his position could be. Then you realized that he’d probably told you too much.

“What is it, Frumoasă? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you here to give me a last meal and then kill me?”

Bucky laughed loudly. He loved that you had the ability to make him do that. He loved…

“That mind of yours, Y/N.” 

He shook his head at you.

“I’m not going to kill you. I want you safe. Even if you are not going to be mine.”

Your ears perked up at that phrase.

You already knew that Nico was parked outside of your place. You realized that he had been hanging around since Monday night. 

But what you were tripping over is that Bucky said that he wanted you to be his. 

You normally weren’t into possessiveness, but on James Barnes it was sexy as fuck.

After eating, it was only polite that you gave him a tour of your brownstone. He didn’t touch you, but the proximity of his body to yours at the door of your bedroom was heady stuff. You wanted him to… 

But you just took a deep breath and led him back down to your front door.

“Before you kick me out, I have something to say.”

Bucky had never felt the need to explain anything to anyone in a very long time. But you weren’t just anyone.

“I apologize for giving you a security detail without your knowledge. And then piling my friends on as well. They wanted to check you out, and I wanted to be sure that you were safe. Those gossip blog posts have heightened the risk for you.”

Your eyes widened.

“What posts?”

“We’ve been papped every time we’ve gone out. You didn’t know? I thought that’s why you asked what you did tonight.”

You groaned. 

“No, my friends must have seen them. What do they say?”

Bucky hesitated. Just a moment, and then responded to the look on your face. He ascertained that he was going to have to be straight with you consistently if he wanted to be in your company.

“Well… Since we’ve been spotted together more than once, one particular site is claiming that we’re already in a relationship. They say you are my girlfriend.”

The softness of his voice when he said ‘girlfriend’ got to you.

Whoo boy.

You groaned, then laughed.

“That’s ridiculous, you’ve never even kissed me.”

Bucky laughed too.

“Ha ha. Yeah. It’s crazyyyyyy.” 

“Isn’t it though…?

You tried to look deep into his eyes, and he let you. You saw something that didn’t really surprise you. So you decided to just ask the question that was on your mind.

“James, what do you want out of this? This…”

You didn’t say what you were thinking, but he knew exactly what you were thinking when you didn’t finish your sentence.

Bucky looked off as if he were seeing something that wasn’t there yet, then back at you.

“I want… you. I don’t want a one night stand. Or a situationship.”

He watched you carefully as he said the next words.

“I want, I need so much more from you.”

He took both of your hands into his as he leaned against the door frame.

“Listen. When you left earlier this evening, it knocked me on my face. You’ve got me thinking about a lot. Things like what our life might be like in the future.”

You were spiraling as he spoke. ‘Our life,’ ‘future.’ But you tried to remain calm.

“This was never supposed to happen to me. Y/N. But ever since you came into my office on Monday, my heart has been racing. I’ve got feelings for you. Strong ones.”

“Wow.”

It was all you could say. But when you thought about it, you felt the same exact way. You smiled at him and his nerves calmed. 

Just a bit.

“I have to admit that every morning when you text me, I get the biggest smile on my face. That wasn’t something I wanted or planned.”

You looked down at your fingers entwined with his. Yes. This could be a thing.

“It’s not exactly convenient to have these kinds of feelings this fast, James. Especially with all has happened.”

You looked up at him, and the hurt on your face destroyed him.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. And I understand if you want to pump the breaks. I-”

“If you want me, then why haven’t you made a move?”

You interrupted him to ask about the next most important topic on your list.

Bucky recognized your insecurity.

“Don’t ever doubt the sexiness of your appeal, Frumoasă. I want to kiss you, and more to be honest. But I haven’t because I am so afraid of you.”

The way he looked at you caused a tingle of fear to unfurl in your belly.

Or was it desire? 

“You are afraid of me. I see. You’re a terrible kisser. That’s why you don’t go on second dates. I get it now.”

Bucky threw back his head and laughed.

“Maybe so.”

He gazed at your smile and the way your entire face was alight. Then he brought one of your hands to his lips.

His mouth on your palm enabled you to feel the salt and pepper whiskers on his face. And when he slid those lips to your wrist you moaned a little and squirmed and his eyelids fluttered closed as he inhaled the scent there.

“The skin here is so soft and fragrant, makes me wonder about…”

He stopped speaking but the silence spoke volumes. This man was having wild thoughts about you. Of that you were sure now. You wanted him everywhere.

Bucky brought your hand down from his face and rubbed your wrist with his thumb. The sensuality of the act made you feel unstable. You must have wobbled because his hand went down to your waist to steady you. But you just felt more dizzy.

He chuckled at your tell and saved you again.

“Can we sit?”

“Yeah.”

The couch was a bit dangerous, but the blood was leaving your head.

“Truth?”

“Always, James.”

“Okay. The truth is I don’t think you could handle it.”

You scoffed at the challenge.

“Come again?”

He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes and then he sobered up.

“If I kiss those lips, Y/N, I’m not going to abandon them in haste. I’m going to take my time. And I’m not being cocky, but I’m pretty sure things will progress rapidly. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop myself from giving you anything you ask for. Anything.”

The sensual promise was making you wet. You clenched your thighs together, causing Bucky to look down at them and lick his lips. When he looked back up, his eyes were dilated.

You knew that you could have him right now if you wanted. You took a deep breath to clear your head and Bucky’s eyes were on your lips.

This feeling was a drug.

“I’m already falling for you, but I know that I will crash into you. I can get intense about the things and the people that I care about. And you’re not ready for that, Frumoasă. Not at all.”

You pulled your hands away from his even though you wanted to jump his bones. 

“How do you know what I’m ready for, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky smiled at you.

“You just said that your feelings for me aren’t convenient.”

You sucked your teeth at him and crossed your arms, turning your body away from him. Bucky was charmed by your pout, but a little mad at you closing yourself off from him. If you were his, he’d teach you a lesson about that. He’d open you up. 

But damn, he didn’t need to be so hard right now. You had an important day ahead, and he wasn’t going to rush this experience. He tried to calm down, but his voice betrayed him.

“You also haven’t asked me for a kiss. Although you did tell me that you wanted to fuck my voice...”

You dropped your head, embarrassed.

“Let’s not!”

He laughed, on cloud nine at your shyness with him. He’d teach you to be wanton, and have a grand time doing it.

“Frumoasă mea, you could request a kiss at any time. And I will always give you anything you ask of me. If you ask nicely of course.”

You cocked your head and Bucky bit his lip at how adorable you were.

“You want me to beg you for a kiss?”

Bucky took in the fire in your eyes and his own darkened.

“A kiss is not what I want you begging for.”

You coughed to cover a whimper as your mind went where Bucky wanted it to go. You couldn’t believe that your panties were soaked by someone you’d never even kissed.

“I just want you to know what you’re signing up for if we get physical.”

“From a kiss? It’s like that?”

You tried to be incredulous, but you believed every word that he said. You just wanted to verify.

“So let me get this straight. I kiss you, you rock my world, but I’m not ready for it?”

You’d never been so annoyed yet so turned on.

Bucky shrugged.

“Or you could be right. I’m a horrible kisser. A lousy lay. I’m just trying to stretch out the good times with you before you find that out and dump me.”

You shook your head at him, not wanting to laugh, but doing so anyway.

“...But, in order to find that out, I would have to kiss and lay with you.”

“Of course.”

“You know what…”

Bucky teasing you was the best kind of foreplay. You felt comfortable with him. And now you were intrigued.

“I can’t with you.”

“So we agree.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t, but you’re cute when you’re angry.”

“Fuck you, James.”

“Is that a request?”

This banter was everything.

You got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen.

“I’m going get you something to drink. Do you drink tea? You seem a little thirsty.”

“As long as you drink with me. You seem a little parched yourself.”

Bucky called after you while watching your curves in your sweats as you flipped him off. He rubbed his hand on the ridge of his semi-hard dick. You were so damn hot. He concentrated on calming down while the kettle heated.

“Honey?”

“Yes, dear?”

You laughing was amazing.

You came back with a tray of herbal tea, milk, and honey and sat down again.

“I do want to talk to you about something else.”

He said it as he prepared his cup.

“Yes?” 

“I want to let you know, as much as I can, the plans for me to go legit. Can I have just a little bit of your time tonight? And then I will let you get some rest.”

Your heart melted and you smiled at him.

“Yeah. You got it.”

—-

You woke up at 3 am, Bucky’s steady heartbeat under your ear and his arms wrapped around you. You had fallen asleep after hours of talking about the future. You looked up at him and those lips were right there. 

You could just steal a kiss.

But you didn’t, just tried to ease out of his arms so you could go pee.

Bucky’s arms tightened around you and you couldn’t move. He was awake.

“What time is it?”

“A little after three.”

He let you go and sat up, looking around, then at you.

“I’m sorry, I talked your ear off and bored you to sleep.”

You shook your head. 

“I wasn’t bored. You made me feel safe.”

Bucky grinned.

“I’m glad that you feel safe with me. You are, you know.”

His morning voice was sensual heaven. You never wanted to kiss someone more in your life.

“And for your safety, I probably need to leave now.”

You wanted him; his body felt good against yours. But he was right. You chuckled and then led him to your door.

“Okay.”

At the door, Bucky turned and looked down at you. He was thoughtful.

“Do you have plans for Sunday?”

“No, why?”

“I wanted to ask you on date number three Saturday night.”

You two stared at each other for a beat before he continued.

“How do you feel about a late dinner at my place after the exhibition? Since you don’t have to get up early the next day.”

You took in his meaning, but you didn’t address it.

“Are you trying to feed me, James?”

His gaze got intense. You got wet again, realizing the double meaning. 

“You have no idea, Frumoasă.”

Holy shit. He caught it too. You gulped.

“Okay. Sounds… intriguing.”

Bucky looked like a little boy on Christmas morning.

“I’ll stop by the center around midday, then go shopping for our meal. Nico will bring you by. About 8?”

“It’s a date.”

You two grinned at each other like idiots. Then he opened your door to leave.

“James.”

“Yes, Frumoasă?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

“Yes.”

He pulled you into his arms and kissed you on the forehead. It was perfect, and a little bit like a promise.

Then he left, straight into the early morning fog, waving at Nico as he got into a sleek black sports car, blew a kiss at you, and then pulled away.

That felt like an escape from the inevitable.

To both him and to you.

——

As always, let me knowww! ❤️

Part IV Here

[lunaforyou]

HI

Maybe you seen me in @transingthoseformers asks and wondered "Wow, what the fuck is wrong with this guy?"

Many years of catholic trauma

ANYWAYS, YES, I'M MAKING AN AU

So like, to understand this AU you need to understand three things

1) My genuine belief that tf1 Optimus will be tied or connected somehow in the creation of new sparklings

2) The fact that merging with the Matrix is considered "Interfacing" (IDW Optimus put it this way, not me)

3) My interpretation that the Matrix and the bearer are constantly spark merging.

I lied it's 4) My obsession with the Virgin Mary, she should have been at the cluuuub

So, the AU starts by Optimus somehow in the surface, his entire frame has been aching for a while but he is still needed to fight the Decepticons and the Quintessons.

Maybe a fight goes wrong, but it sends him panicking because his HUD just fucking told him "Emergence protocols initiated" and it's a little earlier because of the fight but that's not an impediment, the little one wants out and he wants out now

So you might want to guess, where does our dear Prime go to give birth?

.

.

.

.

That's right! The cave of the Primes! You get nothing for guessing correctly <3

Plot twist; Optimus didn't have a forge, another thing Sentinel took from the miners. The Matrix gave it back when restoring his frame, after all, it needed it for restoring the rest of the Primes. So yeah he freaks out a lot a lot

And yes! He is going through this TWELVE more times

The first one is Prima naturally, the little one gives Megatron a run for his money in "things that nearly killed Optimus multiple times" and almost gets stuck in the birth canal once or twice (Optimus doesn't want to think what would have happened to them both if his coding hadn't kicked in at the right moment) and Optimus can't see the little one without getting his carrier coding out of hand and deciding right then and there that he needed to find a sire for their sake. Also Optimus absolutely loves the little bastard like he hung the moons and the stars

And all the time, he felt the presence of other mechs in the cave with him. Someone definitely helped him stay upright, and he could squeeze his hand around a much much larger one when the contractions hit.

Right so he goes back to base, and everyone pretty much noticed how white and gold the sparkling is. Everyone assumes that somehow D-16 is the sire, keeping on brand with the platinated colors, and, well, Optimus doesn't correct them. Besides, it was just one sparkling, what harm could it do if a few rumors ran around here and there?

Ohhhh boy, not a week later, he discovers that maybe it won't be just one sparkling.

Also, I'm naming this au Primes Reborn, and you can't stop me

[majoryeager104]

shigaraki with a reader who also plays games and is rlly good at gun games and aiming? x3

eeee yes

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“damn”

Tomura’s voice came from behind you in the arcade. He’d have startled you if you hadn’t heard the rest of the league chatting somewhere close by. You’d been playing the game for a few minutes, and you’d hit every target with ease, a skill- or maybe a talent, you still weren’t sure- that you’d mastered through years of practice.

You’d only recently joined the league, and while some members were still cautious and distant with you (That burnt one in particular was fairly rude and avoidant) it seemed like you were fitting in well, although you were yet to go on your first mission.

“so do you always shoot like that?” He asked awkwardly, his hands shoved in his sweatshirt pockets. You smiled back at him. “Pretty much… ever since my big sister taught me how to aim” you said in response. He nodded, watching as you started up the game again, setting it to a harder difficulty.

It powered up once more, and you raised the connected toy gun glowing as I aimed it. Some of the targets began to move, fast and slow, and rather randomly, at least in Tomuras eyes. You on the other hand caught the pattern quickly, and in what seemed like seconds, had all targets down, bright lights flashing over your head as a speaker to the right proclaimed you ‘winner’

Naturally, he was shocked. He’d never really been a good shot before, especially considering that he’d prolly decay a gun if he ever got a hold of one, so unlike the others, he had a different view of your talent, which was, to him, exactly what you had.

“wow…that’s cool” he said, almost dumbfounded. You smirked, pretending to blow smoke away from the fake gun, offering him a wink

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'𝒜 𝒻ℯ𝓌 𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉ℯ𝓇'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Of course, this proved to be a skill not only in the arcade, but in missions as well. Watching you sweep in and take down targets faster than the hero Snipe himself was already cool enough, but the League had plenty of cool abilities attached, so Tomura didn’t overhype it…

Until later that day, of course

He sat on the couch, playing Apex all alone. Spinner was on a mission, twice was painting Togas nails, and Dabi was hunched over in the corner grumpy because Tomura even suggested he play with him.

And then you walked in, waving at everyone before you glanced at the screen and gasped. “Oh my gosh you play apex?” You said with a smile, looking over at Tomura. His eyes widened slightly at your excitement, but he nodded. “Yeah… wanna play? We can run duos or something-“ “lemme go get my switch!” You said excitedly, running back to your room. Tomura couldn’t help but smile, even as Dabi scoffed in the background, muttering “fuckin nerds…” (meanwhile he’s playing Tetris on his phone but to each his own I suppose)

Before Tomura could even get back to the menu you had flopped down on the couch beside him, your back rested against his shoulder, your legs crossed and kicked up on the arm of the couch opposite him. He didn’t say anything about it- he was quite used to your random antics at this point, but if you’d glanced over you would have seen him blushing a little.

After a few minutes you were ready to go, joining his party and starting a match. Out of the various characters to play as, his main was Revenant, essentially an emo creepy robot, and yours was Octane(ofc), a high-speed daredevil with such random lore that you couldn’t help but love him. He knew you played games sometimes, but seeing you dart around the map in game while yapping about your favorite weapons had him smiling to himself.

You’d touched ground at a pretty quiet spot, moving further into the map as the game continued. Initially, Tomura had assumed he’d carry the match… but he was sorely mistaken.

Not only were you marking enemies you spotted for him, but you were actually racking in most of the kills. He was impressed with how many times you ended up saving your ass as well as his own.

“Wow… you’re really good at this” he said near the end of the game, the ring around the map getting smaller as there were only a few teams left, including the two of you. You giggled and winked up at him, and he shook his head and rolled his eyes in response, propping his elbows on his knees as he looked back to the tv.

The last few moments of the round were a bit of a blur, and to save you the confusion, I’ll sum it up by saying the two of you outright destroyed the other three teams. You hopped off your seat as the word ‘victory’ crossed the screen, pumping your fists as he looked up at you and laughed, shaking his head once more. Even toga and Twice, no longer busy, had been watching the last few minutes and cheered with you.

“you people are crazy. Shut up.”

Dabi said gruffly from the corner. You rolled your eyes, glancing back down to Tomura with a “well?” Kind of expression, a smirk growing on your face. “We should play more often” he said, averting his gaze, his hoodie hiding the tinge of blush that now seemed to linger every time he looked at you.

He didn’t really mind it though. In all honesty, if he had to embarrass himself by blushing like an idiot every time you leaned against him like that, or gave him the looks you did, he wouldn’t mind being embarrassed all the time.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Sorry this took me a hot minute I had a busy day

Idk why I made it so Jinx coded but looking at the final product im not complainin 😭🙏

Also I really hope you imagined the “a few hours later” in the french guys voice from SpongeBob lmao

idk if u play apex legends but it’s so freakin fun 👌😌 my favorite shooter game and its free so I highly recommend hehe

[heartfullofleeches]

[Request] Reader caring for a sick Remmy [Dollmaker Yan Oc]

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.1k

-

“Remmy isn't home right now…. Please come back later.”

Could this day get any worse?... Weeks, months even, building up the courage to ask you to hang out with him. It wasn't like he asked you out on a date or anything, not yet anyway. He still needed to test the water a little longer, make sure the signals he had picked up from you weren't figments of his imagination. All that time, all those embarrassing hours spent in front of the mirror practicing what to say given any outcome - flushed down the drain in one night. 

Remmy could hardly open his eyes the morning you were intended to meet. You didn't even recognize him over the phone at first. In his heightened state of delirium from the fever racking his weary mind, he hoped the same would happen as you continuously rang his doorbell - demanding in the softest voice you could manage for him to open up.

As if he could be that lucky….

“And where, pray tell, would someone hacking up a lung over the phonean hour ago be right besides the hospital? It's not that far away. I can head over right now and check.” 

….

“Open this door right now, Remiel. You're not going to flake on me twice today.”

Did you have to phrase it like that? Kicking a sick person while he could barely stand was cruel - even if you did come to check up on him. 

“O…okay…. Remmy is- I'm going to unlock the door, just…give me a minute to clean up my room. I have some stuff out I really don't want anyone to see…”

The muffled shuffling of plastic splices between the click of the lock as Remmy unlocks the front door. 

“60.”

“Crap.” 

Hobbling away from the front door, Remmy clings to the hallway walls as he makes a break for his bedroom. The straight path twists and bends as his stress levels skyrocket from the very real fear of you finding out what he had stored. There wasn't enough time for him to hide everything. His top priority were the worst offenders - items he couldn't excuse as being a result of his relatively harmless hobby. Doll clothing fashioned after clothes you'd yet to wear for the public eye. Others you never owned and probably would never wear, unless they were for a partner or to make yourself feel good. Pictures of you hung up on his walls. So much to bury in such little time. 

“They can't see that…That one either. God, they'd kill me if they saw-”

“Saw what?” 

A hoarse yelp claws its way out of Remmy's aching throat. Standing in his doorway, you balance two separate bags in your arms - awaiting his response. Remmy hurriedly pulls the corners of his blankets over the space beneath his bed. 

“I…threw up a bit ago. Guess I'm feeling worse than I thought when we spoke over the phone.” 

In the blink of an eye you're by his side. Remmy flinches as you press the back of your palm against his forehead.

“Oh, Rem….” Concern oozes from your words as you set your bags down, taking hold of his arm. You're burning up. Come on. Let's get you back in bed.”

“You don't have to go through all this for me, Y/n. Really, I'm-” His sentence falls short as you scoop him off the floor, sitting him up on his bed. Were you always this strong - or had he always been this easy to carry? In that moment, Remmy felt just like one of his dolls. His head spins at the very thought. You take the opportunity to gently ease him down against the mattress, rolling the discarded sheets up to his waist. You pick up the plastic bags, setting them on the small table in the center of his room as you rummage through them.

“Got some chicken soup from this dinner down the street. If you can't keep anything down, maybe the broth will be a good place to state. Oh!- picked up some ginger ale too. That might help with your stomach too. Cough drops, cough medicine…. Do you prefer liquid or pills?” 

Remmy turns his head away from you as he coughs into his fist. “...whichever…whichever you brought is fine.”

“Well,I actually bought both, but I can just return the other on my way home later. I'll go grab you a cup real quick.”

Heading for the door, Remmy’s meek voice calls out to you - barely about a whisper. “Y/n?”

Hand on the doorframe, you gaze over your shoulder at him. “What's up? Need something else while I'm in the kitchen?”

“No…” Remmy shakes his head, the pressure of a headache hammering at his skull. “Agh… Remmy… I just wanted to thank you…for this. You really didn't have to come over…” 

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “Don't think I did this for nothing. Gotta make sure you're well enough for our date next weekend. The park is nice and all, but that's where we always go. I expect to be taken somewhere else for our first date.”

“Date?” He couldn't have heard you right. But, you said it - twice. You disappear down the hall before he can properly question you. Was this all a dream? The conjurings of his ill mind as the sickness took hold? This felt better than anything he could imagine- Your hushed voice as you reenter the room confirms it. You wiggle your arm behind his head, helping him sit back up just enough to place the cup to his lips without him choking while swallowing. A part of him wished this was a dream. One that he'd never wake up from if he had the choice. Another dream come true was waiting for him once he got better.

“Remmy?...Rem?”

Soda spills onto your hand as the weight of his head crashes upon your shoulder. Did he…. fall asleep? Just like that? You hadn't even given him his medicine yet. At least the sleep will be good for him. You should probably go put everything else you brought up to pass the time until he wakes up. 

“Mmm…”

Remmy’s face scrunches in discomfort as you part from his side, lowering his head onto the pillows as you stand. Your foot touches something soft beneath his bed. You reach a hand underneath - completely forgetting about his earlier warnings as your fingers wrap around the squishy item. A doll with instantly identifying features stares back up at you as you drag it from its prison. Funny - you don't remember wearing this shirt around Remmy. You only bought it a few days ago. You planned to wear it today before he told you the bad news.

Shrugging, you raise Remmy's arm - tucking the doll against his chest. His face melts into that of peaceful bliss, body curling around the doll as his other hand strokes its face as if on auto-pilot. You press a kiss to his forehead - shutting off the lights in his room as you depart for a second time.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

The thing about the new hunger games book is that it could be a Haymitch centric story or it could be otherwise and I trust Collins either way, but looking at her themes (propaganda and control) I think there's a lot of room for a story that is definitely about the Capitol, the creation of these specific games, the control and propaganda and power. These are special games, twice as many children stolen as usual, and they should be won by one of the low number districts as usual, powerful, semi-Capitol districts. Everything is poised and planned for.

Except one tribute keeps poking through. He refuses to kill, that's alright, a lot of them don't have the guts. He travels away from the centre, and by all rights should be killed by the arena but he's clever, he works out the poison, the vicious animals, he escapes it all.

Well, never mind, there's 48 tributes and far more interesting things going on than some twelve kid. Until there's 40 tributes, then 30, than 20. President Snow holds watch parties and celebrations, the Capitol bets on winners and losers, tossing around money like it's worthless.

The twelve boy who should be dead has an alliance with a twelve girl until she leaves, not wanting to kill him. She still screams for him when she's killed. He still runs back to hold her hand as she dies.

A sweet gesture. Makes people invested. Still, might not be ideal to show, don't want to humanize them that much, so it's cut. Easy. The games are all under control and only show what Snow wants them to show. The people are happy or content or afraid, but they're all watching exactly what they should be watching.

Until the twelve boy wins. He wins by using the arena, a trick, a twist to it. And the games are trapped in their own making, you see, because the Capitol can't get rid of him. Everyone knows he's the victor because everyone saw. Everything about Haymitch was wrong, everything about his victory was a kick in the teeth to the Capitol. He was a District Twelve victor who won by refusing to play the game properly on a year that was meant to show the Capitol's power. He was out of their control and it hurt them, we know it hurt them, they killed every single person he loved because of it. Haymitch isn't the center of the story, he's the flaw in the perfect code. He takes the control of the Capitol and he bruises it. 24 years later it's broken by another twelve child who held the hand of her friend while she as dying.

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - BEGIN AGAIN

A/N: And here I am, once again. With another one-shot. Well... not a one-shot. This is chapter one of a series with Logan. More on that later.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: none

Summary: After a failed mission, Logan unexpectedly brings home an injured mutant.

Please, do not read if you are under 18. This story includes mentions of abuse.

Words: 5300+

Important note: Again, Logan is a tall MF, because they fucked up in the movies. Also, Hugh Jackman!Wolverine.

A TOUCH OF HOPE MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - BEGIN AGAIN

Logan’s mission was a failure, a trap. He was glad he got away before he could end up in a cage, locked forever. It was supposed to be easy. An in-and-out mission with a mutant child. Fuck no. He was met with a bunch of soldiers, ready to kill him. And, there was no child. He quickly learned that it was a set-up. The child that Charles had found got moved away from that facility. 

On his way back to the school, he found a place to get a drink. The moon was up in the sky, illuminating the night world. The air got colder. He still had a long road home. One little detour to a bar wouldn’t hurt anybody, right? A drink would lift his spirits.

He parked a stolen motorbike in front of a dive bar. Drink or two to get his mindset straight, and then he would head back to the school. 

The place smelled like a hellhole - urine, spilt alcohol and cigars. It was a perfect place to hide a corpse. By the smell, he wondered if there wasn’t a rotten body under the floor. He sat at the bar, ordered a beer and minded his business. He could hear everything with his enhanced hearing - even a pin drop. 

Whistles came from behind his back when he was on his second beer. That could only mean one thing - a woman entered this hellhole. Probably a hooker, he thought. 

“Hey baby, are you lost?” he heard someone’s sleazy voice. 

“Now that’s what I call entertainment for tonight!” another man shouted. Some even made howling sounds. 

Logan gently turned his head to the side, ready to see an old hag or a trashy whore. What he found was a young woman approaching the bar. She had torn old clothes on her, covered in dirt and dust. He wouldn’t stare at her if it weren’t for the bruises and scratches on her face and hands. He frowned. What the fuck happened to her? 

She took a seat two seats to his left side. The corner of his eyes captured three scumbags approaching her as if she was their prey. Logan gripped his beer bottle tighter, his knuckles becoming white. 

“Baby, let’s have some fun,” one guy touched the woman’s shoulder, making her face them. 

“Leave me alone,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. 

“Come on, sugar, don’t be a prude,” another man touched her cheeks, mapping the wounds on her face. “Somebody had their turn. Now, we want to have some fun. Huh?” 

It was Logan’s cue to step in. He was fast enough to take the man’s hand off the woman. He gripped it tightly with his, twisting it. “Leave her alone, dipshit. I’m not gonna say it twice.” 

“Get your paw off me, dude,” the man growled. He couldn’t get away from Logan’s hold. His friends got his back, ready to beat Logan’s ass. “And leave before the we will teach you a lesson.”

The woman’s breathing sped up, distressed from everything that was happening. “Stop, please,” she said to all of them. But she was cornered at the bar by one of the guys. There was nowhere to escape.

Logan smiled at the bastards. “I’d like to see you try.” 

His adamantium claws slid out and penetrated the man’s skin on his arm, almost cutting off the limb. He screamed from the pain, blood spurting everywhere. Then was kicked in the gut. 

One of the men grabbed the woman’s shoulder, pushing her to him. A knife appeared under her throat. He wanted to get away with her. “No, please,” she gasped as she felt the man’s other hand wrapped around her torso, holding her against her will. She was tired, beaten and ready to give up. 

“Shh, darlin’, it’ll be over soon. We’ll have some fun. Be a good girl and come with me.” 

Logan’s eyes found the woman visibly disgusted and afraid. As he was about to finish the second guy, the woman pushed the bastard off her. 

“No,” she screamed. And with that painful sound, some force escaped her body, knocking down everyone around her, even Logan. He flew through the bar and smashed into a wall like the rest of the people. Glasses and bottles shattered around the place. 

Logan grunted, surprised by what happened. Slowly, he got on his feet. His eyes found the woman again, standing at the same spot, alone. Her body was shaking. It seemed she was on the verge of crying. 

Grunting, he stood up and walked to her. She pressed herself against the bar. “No, please.”

“Don’t worry,” his voice was softer than before. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid.” 

She took a step back, shaking her head. She didn’t believe a word he said. No wonder. 

Fuck this night! Then and there, he knew he had to take her with him. At least he wouldn’t come empty-handed. 

“We are the same,” he tried again, slowly reaching for her. “I can take you to a safe place. There are people like us who can help you.” 

His eyes scanned the woman’s face. He knew only two options could have happened: A) She got beaten up by her significant other. B) She escaped some sick fuckers who experimented on her. 

People around were getting on their feet, shaking off the dizziness. They were processing what happened. Some of them were able to put two and two together - mutants.

“Come before they try to kill us both,” Logan tried her again. “Take my hand. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“Fucking mutants!” someone shouted. “Kill them! Kill them both!”

This time, the woman didn’t hesitate and grabbed Logan’s hand. What choice did she have? He led her out of the bar before the first gunshots started. He got to his bike and sat on it. “Quick, hop behind me.” 

At least seven men ran out of the bar with shotguns and pistols, shooting at them. One of the bullets hit Logan’s shoulder. He snarled from the pain. He started the bike before more shots could get to him or the woman. 

When he felt her body against his back, he started the engine. “Hold me tight,” he shouted at her. 

The woman grabbed him by the waist, gripping him tightly. The gunshots weren’t stopping. A few of them swished near their heads. Her heart beat fast. She gave her life to some stranger. The last time that happened, they tortured her. 

One of her hands let go of the man’s and turned her weak body to the side. One more time, the power escaped her hand, and she protected them from the bullets that kept flying around. Again, a veil of some energy surrounded them. Under the moonlight, it seemed silvery and light blue.  Bullets got absorbed into the shield. 

It lasted only a few seconds, and then the energy disappeared. The shooting stopped. Logan got them far away from that hellhole. Now, it was just the two of them on the bike driving away. 

“You okay?” he asked, shouting through the wind. 

He then felt her other arm sneak around his waist to hold onto him. The rest of her body leaned against his back. He heard a deep exhale and a soft “yeah”. 

He couldn’t believe anything that happened today - first, a failed mission that almost got him captured. Now, a woman on his bike, whom he saved from pervs. Plot twist - she was a mutant with an ability he had never seen before. 

And he didn’t know her name. 

Logan registered that her body got heavier, and the grip on his waist loosened. “Shit,” he cursed and slowed down, bringing the vehicle to a stop. He moved fast, doing his best to capture her body before she could fall. 

“Hey,” he shook her a little as he took her into his arms. “Come on, kid, I need you to come back and look at me.”

Unknowingly, he brushed her cheek with his thick fingers. Damn, she was pretty. That’s when she opened her eyes slowly, staring into his. “I’m sorry,” was all she said. 

“That’s okay, kid. Can you hold on a little longer? We are two and a half hours away from a safe place.” 

She took a deep breath. “Please, just kill me and don’t make me suffer.” 

Logan frowned. He got an answer he wondered. Option B was the correct one. “What? No, not happening, bub. I won’t harm ya. I promise you that.”

“I’ve heard that before.” 

“I get it, kid. I get you have no reason to believe me. Just this once, trust me.” 

He helped her to her feet, holding her tight in case she’d lost balance. Her eyes found his. Tears were sparkling inside of them. “Okay,” she whispered. 

“Good girl,” he praised her gently and helped her get on the bike behind him. “If you need anything, tell me and I’ll stop. Keep your eyes open.”

I should have stolen a car, he thought. But at least they were on their way to Charles Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. 

They entered the school’s estate. From afar, they could see the lights coming from the building. The woman exhaled, and her hands again lost their grip. This time, she fell from the bike onto the hard ground. It was so quick that he didn’t have time to notice she was slipping off him. “Shit!” Logan cursed and brought the bike to a halt, jumping off it. 

He ran to the woman, kneeling next to her. First, he checked her up, just to be sure she wasn’t dead. “Hey, hey,” he tapped her face, trying to wake her. Nothing happened. His fingers managed to find a pulse. Fortunately, it was there. “Storm! Charles!” he shouted from the top of his lungs. “Anyone!” 

Logan grabbed her body, holding her under the knees and back. He started to walk to the school. One of her arms was hanging in the air. 

The main entrance door opened. Several people ran outside. Storm was the first one out, followed by Beast and Bobby. They were all dressed in sleep outfits. Their sleep was interrupted by the unexpected turn of events. It was two in the morning. 

“Holy shit,” Bobby commented when he noticed the woman in Logan’s arms. 

“Oh my god! What happened?” Storm questioned. 

Together, they walked inside the mansion and headed to the lower grounds where they had their infirmary. It was hard to be silent. When they walked inside, Logan put the woman on an examination table. 

“Damn,” Scott commented. 

Jean was already there, prepping the tools. When she approached the woman, she gasped. “What the hell happened to her?” Storm helped as much as she could. Hank approached the table as well.

Logan was visibly pissed. His chest was heaving, and he wanted to punch a wall. “Where the fuck is Charles?” he asked loudly. “Fucking mission, fucking night!” 

“Who did this to her?” Storm asked, her hands gently brushing the woman’s bruised face. It played with colours, spreading from one side to the other. Her fingers brushed against the scratches. “What’s her name?” 

Logan huffed. “Don’t know. There wasn’t a lot of opportunity to chit-chat when scumbags were shooting at us,” he explained to them. “All I know is she’s a mutant. She protected our asses. That’s why I brought her here.” 

“Vitals are stable. There is no internal bleeding.” Jean informed them once she checked the first data that she got. “Hm,” a sound escaped her throat. “We need to scan her body to see if she has anything broken.”

“Logan had to get a child, and he comes back with a woman,” Scott commented not so silently. 

“Scott,” Ororo glared at him. “He saved her life.” 

“You’re such a dick, Summers,” Logan frowned at him. 

“It’s good you brought her here, Logan,” Hank joined the conversation. 

“She was about to become a toy for some fuckers who can’t keep their dick in their pants,” Logan said. “And then she showed me what’s in her. I’ve seen a lot of shit throughout my life. Honestly, I’ve never seen this kind of mutation.”

“What did she do?” Hank asked. Everyone wanted to know more. 

The Wolverine grunted and shook his head. “Dunno how to describe it. Some force got out of her that threw us all away from her. It was powerful, it stung like a bitch. It looked like a veil of energy. When she used it again, it absorbed all the bullets fired at us.” 

“Flyrokinesis?” Jean questioned. 

“It’s a possibility,” Hank nodded. “But I’d need to see it. Or it could be Flyrogenesis.” 

“Or both,” Jean added.

“Defensive mutations are rare,” Storm chimed in. “It’s been decades since we got any information about a mutant like this.”

“Until we know more, we can only speculate,” Hank ended the discussion. 

“Let’s give her some rest,” Jean turned to the screens. “She’ll be out for a while, and we all need to rest. We’ll know more tomorrow.” 

They left the infirmary one by one and headed back to their rooms. The last two people who remained were Storm and Logan. Both of them stayed by the unconscious woman. “I cannot believe someone did this to her,” she said. 

“I think she escaped some lab,” said Logan. “When she was conscious, she didn’t believe I wanted to take her to a safe place. She wanted me to kill her.”

“It’s a good thing you brought her here, Logan,” Storm patted his shoulder. 

Logan’s eyes kept travelling around the woman’s face, taking in her hair and their colour. “For now, we can only guess what happened. But, fuck, she looked like she escaped hell.” 

. . .

White light, so bright it hurt her eyes. It was painful to open her eyes. She slowly got used to it by rapid blinking. The white turned into silver, then steel-blue, until the first outlines appeared. Her ears registered a steady beeping sound. Where the hell was she? What happened? What was this palace? Panic started to rise inside her chest. Her body started to shiver.

There was a man who promised to take her to a safe place. How could she trust a stranger?

Fuck, it was hard to breathe. The beeping sound fastened. She ended up locked somewhere. Again. It was another lab - she was sure of it. 

A woman’s face appeared above her. She had short white hair and a smile on her face. Weird. “It’s okay, you are safe,” were the first words she heard. “Calm your breathing. You are in distress.”

“W-what-”

“You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you here,” the woman had a soothing voice. 

“W-where am I?” she whispered with fear. Her whole body was shaking. Tears threatened to escape her eyes.

“You are in a school for mutants,” she explained. 

“School?” 

“Yes, school. It is not a lab or some kind of crazy facility. We have children here who are like us, special.” 

A school for mutants, she repeated inside her head. New emotion came to her face - confusion. “I don’t understand. W-who are you?” 

“My name is Ororo Munroe,” she introduced herself. “But they also call me Storm.” 

She tilted her head to the side. “Storm?” 

“I have weather-manipulating abilities,” she said with a smile. “What’s your name?” 

 She took a deep breath. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N,” she introduced herself, eyes never leaving Ororo’s dark ones. Y/N sat up carefully. 

It had to be a lab. There were monitors and displays with data. Her eyes lowered to her hands, and she saw an IV on top of her hand. Y/N realised her hands were not tied up. Was Storm telling the truth? 

“How are you feeling, Y/N? Do you need anything?” 

“Uh,” she tried to find the right words. “I’m tired, my whole body hurts, and I am confused.” 

“Give it a moment. It will all click together. I can promise you that,” said Storm. 

The door to the infirmary opened. An older man wheeled in on a modified wheelchair. Y/N’s eyes followed his every move. He was bald but dressed in a fancy suit. He had a gentle smile on his lips. 

“Y/N,” he said her name. 

She frowned, not expecting anyone to know her. It was alarming. “How do you know my name?” 

“Y/N, this is Professor Charles Xavier. He’s like us, a mutant. He has an all-powerful brain thanks to his telepathic powers,” Storm introduced the man to her. “He’s the headmaster of the school.” 

He approached the woman, gently touching her hand. “I am so sorry for your suffering, but please know you are safe here.” 

“Don’t…” she raised her hand. “Please, don’t read my mind.” 

“I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t want to pry. It’s just that your thoughts were screaming so loud, it was impossible not to hear them,” Charles explained to her. “I will not talk about it. It is up to you to share your story.” 

Her shoulders dropped, and she relaxed. “Thank you.” 

“Now, let me tell you about this place,” he wheeled a bit farther away from her, observing the room as if he were there for the first time. “In this school, we not only teach children and help them learn their mutations, but we also accept fugitives and help them learn.” 

She tilted her head, wincing in pain. “Are you offering me a place to stay?” her voice was softer than before. 

“That is if you want to,” Charles nodded. 

It came as a shock. Tears appeared in her eyes. “I don’t have to run anymore?” she asked timidly.

“No, Y/N,” he smiled. “You are safe here, with us.” Charles wheeled back to the door, obviously pleased. “Welcome to the X-Mansion. If you need anything, come see me in my office.” And then he was gone. 

Y/N turned her head to Ororo, wiping off the tears that gathered in her eyes. It was all surreal. “I was expecting many things to happen, but not this.” And then, “Wait, but I have nothing. No money, no clothes. I can’t afford to stay here. I can’t give you anything.” 

Ororo stopped her. “Don’t worry about it. First, you need to get better. You still have bruises and wounds around your body that need to heal.”

Y/N’s hands shot up to her face, fingers grazing over scratches. Then, under her fingertips, she felt a bruise under her eye that hurt a little. Her eyes were looking for a mirror or a reflection. She needed to see the damage. Her mind wandered into her memories, looking back at what happened. For now, it was all a mush. Everything that had happened overlapped. She pressed fingers to her temple, massaging them. 

“You okay?” Ororo’s hand appeared on her shoulder. 

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, just a mild headache.” 

Half an hour later, she met more people - Dr. Jean Grey, who ran more tests on her. She X-rayed Y/N’s entire body just to be sure there was nothing broken. Later, she did a scan to see if there was any indication that would capture Y/N’s mutant power. 

When Y/N met Hank, she got scared. She never saw a mutant who looked like that - a blue ball of fur and monster claws. No, he was not a monster. He looked like a beast. “I’m sorry,” she quickly apologised. 

Hank was with Jean, looking at scans they made together. “Do you see that?” he asked, his thick blue finger pointing at the blue hue floating inside her body. “Have you seen anything like that before?” 

“No,” she said. “But it’s nothing, to be honest. It barely showed in the scan. It might not even mean anything.” 

“Or it can be everything,” Hank looked at Jean. “But I agree, so far we have nothing. She’ll be healthy in no time. But, we need to know what she can do.” 

After the tests, Ororo brought her a bathrobe and took her upstairs. It was a perfect time to walk around the mansion. All the kids were in their classes or outside, and no one was around. 

Y/N’s eyes wandered around the place. She couldn’t take in how massive the institute was. It carried the history and memories of so many people. Overall, in one word, this place was magnificent. “This is amazing,” she whispered. 

Ororo’s hands held her shoulder as they walked to the highest floor in the mansion. She opened one of the many doors. They belonged to a bedroom. “Is this yours?” Y/N asked. 

“No,” Storm closed the door. “This will be your room, Y/N. You have a bathroom here,” she pointed at the door beside the bed. “And a closet.”

“I thought that this was your room. It’s too nice.” 

Storm laughed. “I have my room on a different level. Here’s how it works: The students share bedrooms. The youngest are in groups of three to four. The older two to three. Adults like privacy, so they have a room for themselves.” 

Y/N nodded, understanding what she was saying. “Thank you.” 

After Storm gave Y/N instructions, she was left alone in the bedroom. She had to sit down on a bed to take it all in. They gave her a bed, hot water, and so much more. It seemed surreal. What if this was all a dream? She sat in silence, waiting for someone to wake her up with torture.

Five minutes passed, then ten and fifteen. Nothing happened. Maybe it was real. Y/N pinched herself, and it hurt. It is real. She went into the bathroom and took a shower. Everything was there - towels, soaps, shampoos. 

Surreal. 

Clothes were resting on her bed when she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in fluffy towels. There were jeans, socks, underwear, bras, t-shirts, sweaters, hell even shoes. There were only a few pieces from each item. Y/N pressed her fingers to her temples. She wanted to cry. How is it possible that her life turned upside down in less than a day? 

Once fully dressed, she opened the door and peeked into the hallway. No one was present. She walked outside, clean and fresh, ready to explore the place more. Her walk was careful and slow. Her fingertips touched everything she could reach - the wooden walls, the statues and the paintings. Her eyes were travelling around the place, taking it all in. 

What was fascinating was the portraits of Oscar Wilde, Jane Austen and other novelists. It brought her memories of when she would read books in her bedroom.

“You alright, kid?” 

That voice was familiar. It made Y/N turn her eyes to see a well-built man with unusual facial hair. She couldn’t deny he was handsome. She had to blink a few times. This man was the guy who got her here. As she observed him, the white tank top with a black flannel shirt over it, she tilted her head to the side. Damn.

“Yeah,” she said. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he took a few steps closer to her. 

“You are the guy who brought me here,” she pointed a finger at him but quickly retracted it. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “I remember so little from that day.” 

“Well, tough night.”

There was a flash of memory from that night. His face, looking down at her, lips moving and saying something that she couldn’t quite comprehend. “Sorry for ruining your evening.” 

He chuckled. “You just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” 

She opened her mouth but then closed it. She didn’t know what to say. The man talked instead. “What’s your name, kid?” 

“Y/N,” she introduced herself.

“Logan.”

“Logan,” she whispered his name. “Nice to meet you. And thank you for saving my ass.”

He only nodded. “I should get goin’. I have a class to teach,” he said. 

She crossed her arms akimbo. “You teach? Here? In this school?” 

“What, is it that hard to believe?” he chuckled. 

“Actually, yeah. You don’t look like the guy who wants to teach kids,” she commented. “What do you teach?” 

“History and combat training.” 

Y/N opened her mouth but then made a face, perplexed. “Combat training?” Why would they teach combat training in a school? And then it hit her, to defend themselves if necessary. 

Logan walked past her, heading to the stairs. “I guess I’ll see you around.” 

She gave him a simple nod, and then he was gone. Y/N’s eyes had trouble pulling away from the spot she saw him. This Logan guy was a handsome man with a rough exterior. 

She continued walking through the long hallway until she found another set of stairs that she took to a lower level. She must have been walking like this for another thirty minutes until she came down to the entrance hallway. This place was indeed huge. 

She kept turning, trying to figure out which way to go next. A school bell started to ring. Another lesson was over. The doors opened, and kids of all ages walked out. There were so many of them. And they were all happy. They weren’t lying. This building was filled with them - from the youngest kids to teenagers. 

A paper plane flew before her eyes, steadily floating in the air. A boy used his ability to make them fly. Magical. 

Her eyes captured Storm walking with another man, chatting. It was probably another teacher. Y/N decided to wait for Storm and ask about the place some more until someone shouted: “Watch out!” 

Y/N spun on her heel. Her breath got lost when she found a fireball heading straight to her. Her hands immediately went up in the air. To protect herself, a veil of blue hue covered her whole being. It was a forcefield, and it absorbed the fireball. Y/N could feel the energy in her palms.

Why would anyone throw a fireball? That scared the shit out of her. The veil disappeared once the danger was gone, and her hands fell to her body. She took a few deep breaths. Her eyes caught a boy staring at her with big eyes. Was it him who did it? Impressive. 

“Did you see that?” 

“Who is she?” 

“What kind of power is that?” 

The students saw it all. They whispered about it while staring right at her. There were many of them looking and talking. The voices rang in her head. Just calm down, Y/N, she told herself. They are just kids. 

Storm’s eyes were wide and sparkling with excitement. She was fast enough to run to her. “Forcefield,” she exclaimed. 

Y/N twisted and turned on the spot, looking at everyone. All eyes were on her. It made her feel vulnerable. Her eyes caught Logan standing at the stairs, observing. She couldn’t read his face. 

“Everyone back to your classes,” Logan ordered the students. 

“Amazing,” Storm commented. “We were wondering what your power was.” 

Y/N’s eyes widen. She’d never heard someone say that to her. Creep! A woman’s voice screamed inside her head. Murderer! Psychotic bitch! She wrapped her hands around herself, taking a step back. It all came back again. 

“Hey, hey,” Storm put her hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to hide here. We are all the same. The students were surprised by your ability.” 

Come to my office, Y/N, she heard in her head. She spun on her heel to look around, trying to find the source of the voice. 

“I think I heard the… the Professor,” she said.

“He’s in his office. That way,” Storm turned Y/N to the right side. There was a hallway leading to a big wooden door. 

Y/N managed to catch Logan’s eyes looking at her before he left. He was something else - that’s how she could describe it. 

Hesitantly, she walked over to the door, ready to knock, when she heard the Professor telling her to come in. As said, she opened the door and walked inside. She was met with the older bald man, still wearing fancy clothes. 

“Take a seat.” 

Y/N sat on a brown leather armchair. The place smelled like wood and books. There were lots of them. The armchair was comfortable. Her back was straight, and her body was stiff, always ready to run if necessary. 

“I would like to know more about your mutation,” he wheeled closer to her. 

“What do you want to know?” 

He smiled. “Anything you’d like to share with me. I know I can look, but I don’t want to pry.” When he saw the distrustful look, he chose different words. “The more we know about your power, the better we can train you. We can give you more information about your mutation.”

“How can I know you won’t use it against me?” 

Charles nodded. “You don’t. We will need to build the trust together.” 

“Before I answer you,” she took a deep breath. There were some questions, and she needed answers. “What exactly do you do here?” 

The man sighed. “What you see is true - this is a school. There was an idea it would become a mixed school for mutants and humans. That never came to life. Now, it is a safe place for mutant kids, disapproved by the regular society. I find children around the States, and we bring them here - if they want to. Occasionally, we give adults a place to stay, like we did for you.” 

It was sincere. Charles wasn’t lying. She could feel it. “This ability showed when I was around 15. I know that it can protect me when I am in danger. I can sense the energy in my hands when I let it out. I can’t protect another person if you are wondering.”

“But…” he goaded. 

“I killed with this burst of energy. I hurt people with it. I believe you saw it, didn’t you?” 

Charles nodded. “Yes, I did. You can create a protective force field that keeps you out of danger. For example, what happened minutes ago, the fireball one of the students accidentally threw at you.”

She frowned at him, not liking what he was saying. “Then why did I kill with it?”

“There is an explanation to it. From what I saw-” 

“When I asked you not to look,” she cut his speech. 

“I apologise, Y/N. It is not my intention to hurt you or be nosy. As I already told you, your thoughts and memories were screaming, mixing inside your head. The door was open, and I only peeked in.” 

She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. “You saw it all?” 

“No,” he shook his head. “But enough to have a picture. As I said, it is your story to tell, Y/N.” 

“What you saw?” 

“The day you used your power for the first time.”

It was a moment, a three-second glimpse into her past, but she was back in her child's room, messing with her then-boyfriend. And then, they were arguing when it happened. The force that escaped her body killed the boy and destroyed half the house she once lived in. 

“If we want to know more, we must see what you can do. Flyrokinesis is the ability to create and manipulate force fields. It is mostly defensive. However, there can be some offensive moves done with it. This mutation is exceptional.” 

She cocked a brow, not sold on it. 

“We can help you learn and work with your ability. That is if you want.” 

No one is forcing you to stay, Y/N. The choice is up to you. His voice was in her head again. 

No more running, no more experiments or killing. Y/N could choose her life. Out of everything that had happened in her life, this, so far, seemed like the best thing that could have happened to her. Fucking trust issues. 

“We have everything you need and more,” Charles wasn’t using his telekinesis. “You don’t have to worry about anything.” There was a smile playing on his lips. “No more running.”

“No more running,” she repeated. 

[sie-rui]

❀ SISTER, SISTER (REWRITE) | TOKYO REVENGERS 🤍 sano family 💿  female reader, second pov (you/your), angst and fluff, hurt / comfort, family, platonic relationship, implied soulmates, tw: canonical character death, au - canon divergence, timeline: pre-canon (headcanon), timeline: pre-moebius (imagine), headcanon + imagine 📅 july 21, 2021 🎙️ i accidentally deleted this. i had to rewrite… if someone has the original copy, please i beg of you, SEND it to me. i don’t really care if you plagiarized it or something, just give me the copy i beg. I had a breakdown because of this. 🔗 masterlist ,, parts: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05

Sano Shinichiro’s best friend isn’t just his platonic soulmate, they’re also his younger sibling’s older sister.

☆ Sano Shinichiro has a lot of tight-knit relationships (4lifers, some may say), but there is one that everyone unanimously agreed was his closest one.

☆ It was a wonder to some how the two of you become such close companions. To some, after seeing Sano Shinichiro with you, they easily understood.

☆ Meeting in school as his underclassman, it didn’t take long for you to get roped into his gang’s bullshit. It wasn’t that you were an official member but you were definitely someone. Someone to Sano Shinichiro. Someone.

☆ Sano Shinichiro is batshit crazy, especially during his younger years. It just so happened that you were crazy as well.

☆ In high school, you guys were definitely uncontrollable. Whatever Shinichiro did, you tagged along.

☆ As you grew older, the both of you were definitely calmer, outgrowing that childish recklessness the both of you had always shared.

☆ It was love. Not romantically, but it was love. The kind of love that Shinichiro was sure that in some other universe, the two of you were together as well.

☆ When someone tried insinuating that the two of you could start dating each other, the response was instant.

“With this asshole?” “With this bitch?”

☆ Shinichiro wonders if the reason why he’s always getting rejected by girls is because you’re always with him. You scoffed.

“Trust me, it’s not me. They just don’t like you.” “I have a great personality!” “Well your face isn’t that great.”

☆ Once Shin introduced you to his family, it was all over.

☆ Mikey had no reaction to your presence in the house at the start, blatantly ignoring you, giving you dead-eyes. You coddled on him, to his chagrin.

☆ Emma, on the other hand, adored you. To the point that Shinichiro and Manjiro wondered if this was really their sister.

☆ You managed to bribe Mikey with sweets. Not that you needed to because when he saw you picking on Shinichiro, he loved you already.

☆ As much as they want you to be a part of the family officially, they begged you not to marry their brother.

“Honestly, you can do better, Y/n-nee.” “Yeah. Shinichiro isn’t worth it.” “I’m right here?!” “We know.”

☆ Shinichiro thinks that they love you more than they love him. He doesn’t quite mind.

☆ Keisuke is Manjiro’s… friend, if you can even call him that. Mikey beats him up for fun. (In his defense, Baji asks for it.)

☆ It was only when you saw Manjiro literally kick a guy twice his size on the face, knocking them out cold, did you realize that this kid could literally kill you.

“Is Manjiro safe?” “Why are you saying that as if he’s some dog?”

☆ You love the kid, either way.

☆ You’d defend him from whatever happens. But if it’s a fight, you’re dropping out. Fuck no. Mikey can fight for himself. (If anything, you’re the one getting beat up.)

“Y/n-nee, Shinichiro hit me!” “Shin, don’t hit him! That was too hard.” “Why are you taking his side?!” “He brought home snacks for me and you’ve been pissing me off lately.”

☆ It does weird you out how he laughs at horror movies when the four of you watch at home, though. Everyone is screaming. You don’t know if he’s laughing at the gory scene on the television or at everyone’s reaction.

☆ Movie nights with the Sano family start during the afternoon because everyone wants a chance to pick a movie. 

☆ Sometimes, you get suspicious of Shinichiro disappearing randomly. He doesn’t answer your calls, nor his siblings’. When he comes back and you ask him to explain, he just grins at you and ruffles your hair. Asshole.

“It’s a secret.”

☆ MALL DATES WITH THE SANO FAMILY !!!

☆ It was supposed to be shopping with Emma but three people were tagging along, acting as if it was a coincidence, because they wanted attention from you as well.

☆ It would be a bloodbath. Emma wants to go shopping, Shinichiro wants to go to the arcade, Mikey wants to go home, Keisuke wants to go to a pet shop. 

☆ You want to go to the movies. That’s impossible because you’d never get to pick the movie you want to watch.

☆ When you get home, everyone is knocked out tired. After a whole day of complaining and fighting, you didn’t expect anything else. (You were also half-dead on the couch after all.)

☆ You stay over so much at Sano's house that you’re basically a member of that household. Their grandfather doesn’t quite mind.

☆ Their grandfather appreciates your presence in the house. It seems as if it has been livelier with you around. He doesn’t mind the noise.

☆ He  doesn’t quite understand how you can stand his grandchildren. For one, his eldest, Sano Shinichiro is running around, creating a gang and picking fights and getting his ass handed to him. Manjiro started calling himself some name, is addicted to fights, and refuses to learn anything else because apparently he’s going to take over Tokyo or something. Emma is… Well, that child seems to hate everyone. Then, there’s also Mikey’s friend, Keisuke. He doesn’t even have to say anything about that kid.

☆ He finally understood when he saw you laughing as you watched Keisuke and Manjiro get chased by wild dogs.

“She’s just as insane as them.”

☆ He says all of that but he loves all four of his grandchildren.

☆ Sometimes, it felt like you lived in that house more than your own. Shinichiro’s room is yours. (He did not agree to this. You sleep on his bed anyway.)

☆ Emma loves playing with your hair and styling it. She complains that her brothers’ hairs are too short. (That’s part of the reason why Mikey grew his out.)

☆ She also learned cooking from you. Honestly, you don’t know how they survived this long. The only thing Shinichiro can cook is curry and it’s shit.

“Shinichiro’s cooking sucks.” “You brat! Try starving!” “Instead of eating your food? Gladly.”

☆ Shinichiro annoys you to teach him how to cook better as well. Emma told him to get out of her kitchen.

☆ Mikey has this habit of judging people. He will blackmail you even before he learns the word blackmail. Be careful.

☆ Emma also has a bit of judging people, specifically her brothers. More specifically, Shinichiro’s sense of style and Manjiro’s inability to eat anything that isn’t sweet. She says that’s why he’s so stupid, his brain is filled with sugar.

☆ You can tell that the kids love each other so much though. You just hope that they can show that… properly.

☆ Shinichiro loves taking videos of everything, he uses this camcorder that was gifted to him years ago, on his 7th birthday. He has a shelf of tapes in his room. Later down the row, your videos were in the Sano Family Collection.

☆ It’s always noisy at that house. But it’s expected as it is home to five people.

☆ It only became silent when Shinichiro died.

☆ Everything was different after Shinichiro died. 

☆ On the night he died, that was the one night you chose to laugh at him when he asked if you wanted to stay at the shop with him to help fix up Mikey’s birthday gift for tomorrow.

“Hey, Y/n! You better be there for Mikey’s birthday tomorrow.” “How could I not go to my favorite Sano’s birthday?” “I thought that I was your favorite Sano- Don’t laugh!” “Goodnight, Shin.”

☆ Manjiro called you an hour later; that was your last conversation with Shinichiro.

☆ Of course, it hurt you. How could it not? Almost ten years of your life was spent with him, from high school until adulthood. He was family. He was someone. He was Shinichiro.

☆ Sometimes, it felt like a part of you died with him that night.

☆ But you had to be strong. Mikey and Emma were lost, confused, and they were looking at you. How could you show them that you didn’t feel like yourself anymore?

☆ You put on a smile, hardened yourself, and took care of them. They were your kids as much as they were Shinichiro’s.

☆ You spend the nights crying.

☆ Emma refused to leave your side. She cried when you even tried stepping out of the house’s door.

☆ Mikey never left his room the days that followed Shinichiro’s death. He barely ate, the meals you left outside his door barely eaten. You had to beg him to go out of his room on the day of the funeral. He almost didn’t come.

“Mikey, please. Please. Go see your brother before he has to go. Please, Manjiro.”

☆ You cried outside his door that morning. Begging him.

☆ He came out, eyes red, lips pursed.

☆ The funeral was attended by family, friends, members, people whose lives were changed because of Shinichiro. You find that in funerals, you can see how good of a person the deceased is from the people that visit.

☆ You had no tears left to cry during the funeral, even when people came to pat your shoulder and tell you that he was a good person. You knew that. Shinichiro is a good person. They didn’t have to tell you.

☆ You caught a glance of a boy with light hair standing at the very back. You didn’t recognize him but something was pulling you to him. He left before you could approach him.

☆ The first night after Shinichiro was laid down on his final resting place, you found yourself on the couch in the living room.

☆ That night was the hardest you ever cried for Sano Shinichiro.

☆ The silence was unbearable. 

☆ It took so long to finally stop shedding tears over the dead. When you realized that you stopped crying for him, it made you break down even more.

☆ You couldn’t understand how Mikey and Emma manage to go about their day as if nothing was wrong. How they declined therapy, or seeing someone. 

☆ You never knew that it was because you were right there. They could act as if nothing was wrong because you were still there.

☆ Sometimes, you just want to run away and never look back. To forget about Shinichiro, about Mikey, Emma, their whole bloodline. It was heavy. It was so heavy. But you didn’t.

☆ That was love.

☆ But it was Mikey and Emma who insisted that you take the job offer overseas.

“We’ll be fine here, Y/n-nee.” “Yeah, we’re not babies. We can take care of ourselves just fine.” “Well, I can. Mikey can’t.” “Hey!”

☆ Your eyes were teary when you packed your bags and left, promising them that it would only be for a while, that you’d come back soon.

“They’re at their little meeting.”

You feel the breeze caress your skin, like an old friend greeting you home. Shibuya never changed in the years that you were gone. From their grandfather’s words, it seemed like the Sano siblings didn’t change as well. Seriously, why is the meeting still at night?

You just came back to Japan and the very first place that you went was, of course, home. The Sano Household. Only to find out that the two kids that you were planning to surprise weren't even there.

Their grandfather had welcomed you warmly like you were his own grandchild, telling you that as usual, they were out having a little meeting. You thanked him, leaving your bags, before finding yourself in the cold once more.

You were unofficially officially tasked to drag them home.

Mikey you can understand, but Emma? Why in the world is she hanging out with her brother? In her brother’s meeting? In her brother’s gang meeting? You wondered if starting or being in gangs was in the bloodline. It’s as if the Sano Siblings were destined to trouble, as if they’d get sick if they aren’t fighting something.

You adjust the plastic bag on your wrist. You bought some ingredients for dorayaki, planning on spending the night to make some with the siblings because you know that Manjiro wouldn’t be able to wait until tomorrow.

God, I love these kids too much.

The silence of the night was peaceful.

The silence of the night was broken by bellowing. 

“Who in the world is screaming in the dead of the night?”

You sighed, starting your trek up the steps of Musashi shrine. It wasn’t until midway did you finally start to recognize that voice. “Manjiro?” What the fuck.

Hurrying to the top, the shrine was crowded by rows of black uniforms, young teens in lines looking up at the shrine where the familiar strands of blond stood. You blink.

For a second, you saw Black Dragon. 

For a second, you saw Sano Shinichiro.

You couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips, unheard in the midst of one Sano Manjiro’s yelling. Last you heard, there were barely 10 guys in the Tokyo Manji Gang. To think that that snotty brat who refused to eat anything that isn’t sweet is leading such a huge group, is succeeding in his once little dream.

Manjiro looked like Shinichiro, you realize, standing at the very back.

You shook yourself out of your stupor. No. You refuse to let yourself walk backwards, to let yourself see things that aren’t there, to remember moments long past.

Emma is standing off to the side with a cute girl beside her. At least she didn’t seem to be a part of the gang, wearing civilian clothes that you hoped was keeping her warm. You don’t want her getting sick. You march forward, ignoring the looks sent your way by the members as they try to stop you.

Without a pause, you start matching Manjiro’s screaming just as Emma starts, “Y/n-nee!-”

“Shut the hell up, Sano Manjiro!”

The silence of the night returns.

Wide obsidian eyes stare into your as you stand at the very front, at the bottom of the stairs where Mikey stood. “It is eleven in the fucking evening. Everyone is asleep. None of your members are talking. So tell me, why the fuck are you screaming?!”

There were murmurs behind you. He doesn’t seem to mind, a grin splitting his face, the cold mask he was wearing breaking as he jumps down, skipping steps. “Y/n-nee!”

“We’re going home!”

You step to the side, letting him land on the space where you once were, knowing that you were going to get tackled if you hadn’t dodge. Mikey is unnerved, simply turning around and jumping on you, arm hitting your throat.

Draken looked exasperated, knowing that the President wasn’t going to go back to whatever he was saying and it was up to him to adjourn for the night.

“You’re back!” He looks at the plastic bag. “ARE THOSE FOR DORAYAKI?!”

“Nuh-uh! Go back up there and finish your little club meeting.”

“But Ken-chin-”

“No!”

Mikey pouts as he gets pushed off of you. Ken gives you a thankful look as if you were an angel sent by the heavens to rein their spontaneous boss back. “Let’s go, Emma,” you call to the girl already hurrying over.

“Y/n-”

“No.”

You turn your back to Mikey, grabbing Emma’s hand as she looks at you with wide eyes, a growing smile on her lips. Seriously, screaming at 11 in the evening at a shrine where no one is talking? You worry for Mikey sometimes. 

“Keisuke, you’re invited as well,” you tell the boy in passing, glancing at the blond beside him. “Bring your pretty friend over as well.”

“Y/n-nee, when did you come back?”

You smile at her. “Just now.”

“And you headed straight here?”

Technically, no. You headed home. “Where else would I go if not to you and Mikey?”

It's just that your home is the Sano Family.

[glasskey]

Season 6 Chaos Theory Sample Mix

So we’ve finally received some S6 tasters in the form of trailers and press releases and having read and seen these I feel like a good old fashioned rant is in order. I’ll stick mostly to the Nick, June and Luke thing, because well that’s what most of you came for. Be warned, this will be absolutely brutal. If you haven’t seen the press releases or read The Testaments then just note there are spoilers in here. The first thing I want people to remember is that while the writers of this show have done a great job of setting up the transition to The Testaments, but in my time I have seen writers take a LOT of license with their source material. In this particular case, the show has been consulting closely with the author so that might lend some hope to the fact that it’s been respected. Atwood’s been a little intentionally obscure in parts of both texts, and it’s given the writers the ability to get creative. The Testaments DOES make mention of Nick and June (we CAN assume this regardless of the lack of names, as they’re referred to as the actual parents of baby Nicole), and one passage in particular where Elijah says to Daisy about her parents “They’re still alive. Or they were yesterday”. So either Elijah saw them both the day before TOGETHER, or he’s been running back and forth over the border. However, later on Nick’s referred to as maybe still being in Gilead, so yeah confusing. Apparently both of Daisy’s parents are “lucky to be alive” in The Testaments so I’m going to go out on a limb and say Nick escapes by the skin of his teeth. Having said that I didn’t like that sneaky “our baby” shit Luke pulled at the end of last season and writers may try to use it as some kind of weird assed loophole.

The end note in The Testaments does include him so it would be a huge violation to the actual text to kill him off. It all seems out of step with all the other elements that have been carefully laid out true to text as well. It IS mentioned in The Handmaids Tale that Nick was associated with Mayday and the trailers for previous seasons included him in the whole “we are Mayday” section, so I’m disappointed to see that show runners / writers SEEM to have back tracked here. Just be mindful that from day one we’ve seen Mayday agents, drivers and guards die; the manifestations of Nick in his many forms through the seasons. Characters often end up embodying the fates that they warn others of; Beth warned him that involving himself with a handmaid was a good way to end up on the wall (and we all know what happened to Beth). Nick told June TWICE that she could and WOULD die in Gilead. So maybe a few chants in the prayer circle for our young commander couldn’t hurt. Lets be crystal clear ALL of this is just speculation because well, as of yet just like everyone else, I haven't seen a single episode. The whole “shadow of death” phrase accompanied with a shot of Nick gives pause for thought. He’s been kicking around Gilead as the resident angel of Death for some time and make no mistake this particular shot was included to symbolize the threat of death, in particular to the rebellion. Once again, disappointing.

The press releases have stated that Blaine betrays June at some point this season but I have to say in terms of viewer acceptance, this is risky. It’s a HUGE vault to take from a character with moral grain with a deep emotional connection to the protagonist; to one that’s decided to throw all in against her, with a fascist regime he’s hated serving. These types of character transitions if not delivered properly are deadly to any sort of audience connection. If they don’t believe they are POSSIBLE, then their disbelief spreads to ALL of the surrounding characters and the entire storyline by default. If they want to 180 this character from “a good man in Gilead” to Voldemort, they currently lack the goods with which to back it up, and they don’t have much time to construct them. Seems like a fairly swift deconstruction of a character, from one who ran to June’s bedside and punched Lawrence in a room full of commanders, to one that would actually betray her. With a press release citing that without the love goggles, June now sees Nick for who he is and what he’s capable of, audiences NEED to understand that in the context of any love story, it’s hard, if not impossible to come back from that. After show runners have almost guaranteed the entire obliteration of his character in her eyes, their relationship may end up as nothing but a smoking wreck. One can only hope that love does truly keep no record of wrongs.

As always watch for character placement on screen, Blaine’s usually positioned to her right side to indicate worship, succession and the sharing of power. When he starts shifting, you’ll know the dynamics are starting to change. Minghella cited his relationship with Rose as a factor in his waning patience with June, and as somewhat of an innocent I can see her being sacrificed, to incite Blaine’s rage in the context of the story line. But the idea that he’d somehow be transformed into a cold dead eyed monster defies belief. Is this the SAME Blaine that smuggled letters? That cried over a dead handmaid? That brought her Fred? That ran to her bedside? Too often audiences simply swallow content they’re fed without question, well this season I’ll be expecting some plausible explanations. I have to wonder about the timing of daddy dearest showing up IMMEDIATLEY after Blaine’s relationship fell apart with Rose. No doubt Rose would have told him that it was Osborne who came between them and daddy may have decided to sever the two once and for all. It is true that Nick’s impressionable and I can see Wharton being cast as the evil presence who tries to break apart the two lovers by exploiting Nick’s desire for guidance. As Blaine once said “some men need to be led.” June is depicted in a red gown striding amongst an army of handmaids, the implication here being that she too is a commander and as such this season will see Nick and June go head to head, with Wharton at the leash. Will Gilead succeed in breaking them apart? Apparently Tuello ends up with only Lawrence as his ally which kind of pisses me off that he’s being rewarded with a redemption arc of kinds while Nick gets cast into the cold. We’ll have to wait and see but that WOULD be a very big fuck you very much, for all the struggles he’s endured to remain moralistically intact in the Hell hole of Lawrence’s making.

Now way, way, way up the back of The Testaments is mention of a handful of plots by commanders to off a bunch of the elite commanders that triggers the purges, and it looks like that’s where we’re going this season. I do think that a sizeable amount of handmaid’s will pay with their lives as a consequence. No revolution comes without sacrifice, it’s just historical fact so get ready for the carnage. It appears they’ve decided to paint Luke as a hero and Nick as a villain this season very possibly to show their ultimate true faces. I can't help but wonder how fair these journeys comparatively EVER were. If Nick was always doomed to fall by spending literally YEARS in the dark prison of Gilead, then how easy is it for Luke to shine having spent all of his time on the couch in a free country? To quote June herself “Gilead turns you into a bit of a cunt.” How fair has this comparison EVER been when one came from poverty and the other lived a comfortable life? While Nick has been damned for his choice to join the SOJ, the choices that Luke’s life initially afforded him, certainly made all the difference. I do wonder how fair it is to paint the vulnerable, targeted poor as ultimately villainous? Now Blaine lives in a large house surrounded by all the comforts that Gilead has ensnared him with, if he throws his lot in with Mayday, he burns his whole life down. In comparison the now transient Luke has literally nothing to lose and everything to gain by joining the Rebellion. Is the destruction of Nick nothing more than a demonstration of the corruptive society he has lived in for so long? By painting him as a villain are we acknowledging his trauma or even the rigged game that spawned him? If their plans are to send her back into the arms of her, up until very recently, sheltered and complacent hubby, I’ll want answers. Revolution can be a comparatively easy act when you don’t live under a regime for over a decade, when the fist doesn’t tighten constantly or corrupt you in increments. To Luke it would seem natural to kick against it, unfortunately for Nick he’s been “groomed” since day one with the final stranglehold of a Gilead wife and kiddy to keep him in line.

After seasons of representing Luke as a homebody who practically had to be extricated from his house in the burbs, even after someone ran over his wife right in front of it, they’ve now decided that Luke has actually been full of gun toting moxy all along. Yep, he’s suddenly going to run rampant all over Gilead with hand grenades and a machine gun….ridiculous. Last season we saw him go from “lets file paperwork” to Mr gimme a gun, in the space of ONE SINGLE episode, simply because Serena gave him some shit about Nick. Had the guy stayed in Canada and rallied with Tuello, I would have believed his character arc, but THIS is a bridge too far. I would have absolutely bought Luke as a Mayday strategist, neck deep in the paperwork he thrives on. I have to say, I am not loving this journey for him at all.

I’ve never before experienced a show try to persistently foist a character on audiences as they have done Luke. Most of the audience didn’t like him, the feedback on social media was pretty loud and the shows response seems to have been to simply include more content with the hopes that sooner or later audiences would relent and embrace him with open arms. Despite their best efforts, to quote the classic “Mean Girls”; “Fetch just isn’t going to happen.” and I don’t think it ever has. To be honest they not only haven’t been able to really endear Luke to the majority of fans, but they’ve had to work flat out over the last season to even remotely level the scores between these two men, basically by marrying Nick off and knocking up his wife. Comparative to Nick and June’s fiery romance, moments of intimacy between Luke and June felt like oatmeal through a feeding tube. Perhaps there’s a reason for this, maybe it’s intentional, like Miller said; June sees their relationship as “work”. Much in the same way they’ve intentionally built Nick and June to be far more romantic in nature, but as we keep being told again and again; it’s not exactly practical. At this point in the journey I don't know how many people are too concerned with practicalities; they've been dangling a bucket of candy in front the audience for seasons now, so the kiddies can hardly be blamed for wanting to stuff their faces.

I guess Nick’s character annihilation would make sense plot wise, because well, Luke’s so fucking boring that SOMETHING had to be done to sabotage Nick’s appeal. Ultimately their solution has been to virtually turn Luke into Nick with Luke sporting Nicks trademark black coats, ala season 1, (like we wouldn’t notice) and roiding him up with a gun and a few hand grenades. Similarly Nicks now in New Bethlehem in some cushy digs with a wife and kiddy on the way. But to quote Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale itself: “They cannot be exchanged, one for the other. They cannot replace each other. Nick for Luke, Luke for Nick.” June wasn't going for it then, and I'm not either.

There’s also the small matter of June’s right to choose. Death or betrayal in a love triangle is actually a violation of the element of choice by our protagonist. It reeks of sabotage. These outcomes subvert any ability by the protagonist to actually CHOOSE and instead determines, at least in part, the outcome for her. Unimpressed. It also calls into question writer intent. What exactly is the message here after 5 seasons of him “trying to stay out of trouble” and then finally growing the spine to stand up to Gilead? Is it to keep your head down and shut up while the fascist regime takes hold? If he betrays her, what’s the lesson here? Never trust anyone? Love is a lie? Evil triumphs in the human spirit? Redemption is impossible? Are audiences to be dragged through 5 and half seasons of heartbreak, just to have their hearts crushed once again? It seems particularly heartless to rope audiences fully back into this “Nick and June” love triangle only to cut it off at the knees. The fact that they’re resurrecting it, simply to butcher it completely speaks to a whole new level of cruelty. It’s all looking a bit Star Wars with Nick as the young Vader, right down to shots where he seems to emanate a red glow (please see below) to symbolize danger. But I do wonder, have they honestly waited until now to visit upon audiences a full demonstration of Gilead’s corruptive influences?

The press releases seem to have made a point several times of mentioning that he was a commander, while that’s true I do wonder how a “why thanks but no thanks” would have gone down when it was originally presented to him. There’s no debating that Nick signed up in the beginning for SOJ, but scripts showed that he was vulnerable, targeted and quickly disgusted by its machinations. So if this ENTIRE plot was designed to be a tragic cautionary tale of a lambs slaughter at the hands of a regime, I’ll be horrified at the lengths to which they’ve drawn it out. These maneuverings all seem so incredibly cruel that an audience could not be blamed for switching off and never coming back for any other trips on the long, slow pain train spin offs. Why would they? The pain of attaching to beloved characters only to have them utterly decimated is not something viewers tend to wish to revisit. Last seasons are tricky, there’s a lot of expectation wrapped up in them as writers attempt to bookend characters and yet leave their journeys open for a possible revisit. A good last episode on a good last season is an even rarer thing, and if the endings not done right, audiences are loathe to even start the journey. A bad last episode is like poison, and the thing that content creators don’t seem to understand is that and audiences don’t actually NEED an amazing battle with explosions and 3 separate endings….they just need good. An ending that can live beyond itself, just an act of redemption, throw in a hint of tomorrow and you’re all good. Seriously, it’s all we want.

GOT had a notorious fiery trash bag of a last episode and it’s not the only one. Films now run 3 hours long and it seems that somewhere along the way the editor either fell asleep or just went home. In the effort to always be better, bigger, louder and larger, creators will often shoot too high or go too obscure. Go too big and you can fall really hard, go too small and it can feel unfinished, do whatever you want despite audience feedback and they will fucking hate you and avoid any of your future offerings. With the Testaments in play that last one is a particularly bad idea, certainly writer integrity is important but audience engagement is key. It’s interesting to think of Nick and June, at the end of the day, being reduced to dollars and cents. Their audience participation has simply become so large that an unhappy ending between the two will literally cost the studio and streaming services a gazillion dollarinos.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen a couple dictate the direction of a series, determine its success or failure and consequently, the size of a studios profits. It's not unusual to see spinoffs and seasons get cancelled because a deep character connection has been dissolved and the audience has followed suit. I hate to think of one single plot twist poisoning the well of a beautiful and epic 5 season long love story. After watching seasons of painful goodbyes I really don’t have the stomach for another one and I grow weary of season finales that leave audiences hollow and despondent like a depressing 1970’s movie. It's worth keeping in mind that just maybe these show runners and writers NEVER anticipated the type of enthusiasm that they received for the connection between these two characters and they've consequently had to roll with it. Seasons later we have a PR machine cranking overtime, they drop a bit of controversy about this love triangle and sure enough everyone takes the bait. Let's face it, people have lost their ever lovin minds and the folks at PR central must be LOVING it. Nick and June’s romance all seems to have been a bit of a mish mash of Casablanca and Romeo and Juliet from the get go, and both of those ended up in a whole big bunch of fuck you to any hope of real happiness. Casablanca holds its place after 80 years as one of the most timeless tales of love and sacrifice for the greater good, and if these two see any sort of conclusion that doesn’t involve a blade or noose, I suspect that’s what they might be going for here. The fact that it was released around the time of the German invasion shouldn’t be lost on audiences either. It had a lot to say about sacrifice and courage in the face of adversity during war, specifically fascism. Regardless of the life lessons that writers and show runners are attempting to teach, after 6 seasons of drawn out heartbreak, this one is going to feel really, really unkind.

To be brutally honest I’d prefer to watch Blaine die serving Mayday than see him betray June and have their love corrupted. After all the sacrifices he’s made, I’m horrified they couldn’t even afford him that small dignity, and I fucking swear if I have to watch him turn to poison and then die in the dirt, I will burn my TV (season 3 of Severance be damned). Then again, if this is all just a set up for the Battle Royale for his soul, I’ll be absolutely gagging to see June fight for it tooth and nail.

[holylulusworld]

Double the love

Summary: Two for the price of one.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, Mafia!Nick Fowler x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, betrayal, lies, secrets, arguments, kinda kidnapping, a little violence/mentions of violence

Catch up here: Fool me twice & Double the trouble

Back at your apartment, you’re fuming. It could’ve been such a nice day if not for Nick and Bucky ruining it from the start. You didn’t even get the chance to have breakfast in silence. No. They had to grab you and storm out of the diner.

“So, you told your brother to watch over me only for your enemies to find out you both want me?” You cross your arms over your chest and glare at both men. They invaded not only your life but your small apartment too. “Good job, Mr. Barnes. You protected me very well. Not only from getting fucked by a stranger but your enemies too.”

Nick huffs. He expected as much. “Colibri, let us explain.”

“Yeah, explain to me that you led your enemies, stone-cold killers on top of all, straight to my place.” You pout and angrily stomp your foot when Nick dares to grab the ugly bear he won for you at the fair.  “Hey, take your hands off, Mr. Bear!”

“You kept it.” Nick grins while his brother is pacing the room. Bucky is about to just grab you and run. He doesn’t have time to explain that their enemies could strike at any moment.

“It accidentally ended up in my suitcase,” you lie, and look away. Nick doesn’t need to know that you can’t sleep without the ugly bear. “Now give it back!”

“Why?” He holds it above his head and smirks. ��If you don’t want anything reminding you of our time together, we can just throw it away.”

“Give it back.” You jump up, trying the grab the bear. “I’m warning you!” You angrily kick his shin. He yelps and drops the bear. “I warned you.”

Bucky laughs loudly. “You let her kick you?” He snorts. “That’s what you get for messing with her bear.”

“That’s what you get for messing with me, Barnes,” you growl in Bucky’s direction. “Now get out of my apartment!”

“Doll, I told you on our way here that we cannot leave you. One of our enemies knows about you, Y/N. He will hurt you or worse get back at Nick and me. Please don’t put yourself in danger by sending us away.”

If your mom didn’t raise you better, you’d love to yell at Bucky, or at least give him the stinky eye. You pucker your lips instead and glare at Bucky.

“I didn’t put myself in danger!” You raise your voice. “You put me in danger. Why couldn’t you leave me alone? Why pretending to be someone else, and letting that pervert watch over me.”

Nick looks offended at your words. Usually, he’d put you over his lap and spank your ass. He hums and bites his lower lip because he can’t put his hands on you. Not now, and not in front of his brother.

“What do you expect me to do now,” you huff, annoyed because the brothers ruined your fresh start too. “I can’t just drop everything and run. I built a new life in this little town.”

“Baby doll, you don’t have to run,” Bucky softly says while stepping closer to you. He gets closer and closer until he can wrap his arms around your waistline. “Now, Nick. We’ve got no choice.”

“Remember, this was your idea,” Nick grumbles. He gets a syringe out, murmuring an apology as you throw insults at both men. You wiggle in Bucky’s grip and growl at Nick. “Sorry, Colibri. It’s for the best. Rumlow and his allies are on their way here. We only try to protect you.”

“I’ll kill you all,” you grunt and slap the bear in Bucky’s face. “I dare you to poke me with that thing.” You’re furious and try to get away from the syringe. “I hate needles…I hate them.”

“If you agree to come with us, we don’t need the needle,” Bucky purrs your name. He nuzzles his face in your neck, sighing as you try to fend Nick off with the bear. “I know you’re angry at us, but please let us protect you.”

You hold still for a second, eyes darting from Nick to the syringe and Bucky.

“Get away from me with that needle.” Lips pursed you prepare yourself to go for a sprint the moment Bucky releases you. “I’ll let you explain things if you put the needle away.”

Nick looks at his brother. He’d hate to use the syringe. It’s worse enough that you hate him now and won’t even look at him for longer than a moment. “Buck?”

“Okay, doll. I’ll let you go, and we will sit on the sofa and talk. I’m sorry we tried to do it the easy way.” Bucky slowly releases you. He steps away and nods at his brother. “Let’s talk then.”

You flash Nick a smile before you bolt toward the door. Fingertips touching the door handle, you giggle. You tricked them well and will just start anew somewhere else.

“Bad move, Colibri.” This time, Nick wraps his arm around your waistline. “I thought we were making progress. Do you want me to spank your ass for being a bad girl?”

You whimper. “No…”

“Would you look at our great escapist, Nick,” Bucky purrs your name, and steps closer to cup your cheek. “Doll, I’m disappointed.” You curse his name and threaten to cut off his cock. “Now let’s not use these words.” Bucky softly kisses your cheek. “We only want to talk.”

They had to use the syringe on you because you tried to escape more than once. Now you sit in the living room of Bucky’s place, calling them names. With your arms crossed over your chest, you watch them warily.

“Assholes! You used the syringe,” you snap at them. “How could you?”

“You tried to stab me with a cactus,” Nick mutters. “That hurt, Colibri. You didn’t have to poke my ass with it.”

“I hope there are holes in your ass now,” you grin victoriously at Bucky because he didn’t get away easily either. He’s got a black eye, and his hair is missing a few strands. 

“Doll, stop this now,” Bucky raises his voice. He pokes your nose with his index finger, smirking. “We promised to tell you everything, and we will.”

“I hope you’ll get bald.” It’s childish, but you feel like you won because you got the two mobsters good.

Bucky cups your face, thumb running over your lower lip. “You’re dangerous, and not nice. Where is the sweet girl I fell in love with?”

“Maybe she doesn’t like getting tricked, or called girl,” you say, glaring at Bucky. “I only wanted to live my life without getting fucked over by you and your brother. Now you stole that from me too. Just like my dream of the future with you got destroyed. All I got is double the trouble.”

“Baby doll,” Bucky whispers your name and leans closer. “You got double the love too.”

Tags in reblog.

[moondrafts]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Targeted

MODERN AU!

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Killua Zoldyck x fem!reader .ᐟ.ᐟ

Disclaimer!: Mentions of swearing, drugs, violence, explicit language. GON AND KILLUA ARE AGED UP!

⤷ Act I —chapter 1 of the targeted series

chapter summary: In which Killua is assigned to assassinate.. a broke college student..?

“so.. pretty boy am I the target of your affection or your assassination hm?

“shut the hell up idiot.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

note: this is my debut post :D I’m actually so excited to start this series!!

This actually took me like three days to write because I was procrastinating so bad lol

let’s see if I can finish this before my lack of interest finishes me~ happy reading!! <3

…

“she looks like a complete weakling..” The man mumbled as he ran his hand, though his white spiky hair and sighed “you know what my job is correct?” he asked impatiently seemingly already annoyed by how easy the target was.

“assassin, one of the finest out there I wouldn’t call you for no reason..” the old man chuckled it was surprised the guy was still alive. He was in his 70s and still alive and kicking. but to Killua his job was nothing more of a chore. He didn’t enjoy it so why the hell was this old man ordering him to kill a weakling..? she must be important somehow. Killua sighed and crossed his arms, flexing his muscles, through his compression shirt before raising an eyebrow at the old man “bounty?” he asked bluntly. He didn’t sugarcoat things clearly that was evident. “pardon?” the old man gestured for the young man to repeat himself perhaps he was just getting old and more deaf by the second “I said her bounty I assume she has one since you’re the one recommending me to assassinate the poor soul..” Killua explained as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and staring at the old man in the suit with his blue eyes that never faltered even once.

“I believe her bounty.. is about 2.5 billion..” the old man finished with his tone casual. Killua’s eyes widened a little bit he wasn’t surprised at the bounty after all his targets were usually people with huge bounties on their heads, but how can this weakling earn such a bounty as 2.5 billion..? it baffled him. “the hell did she even do?” The young man, inquired his gaze slightly curious he wondered how can such a weakling have such a high bounty, she didn’t look insane. She didn’t look crazy. She didn’t look like she came from a mental facility. She looked normal now that was unusual.

“did some crimes here and there, but I have my own reasons why I want her dead…” the old man replied with a sudden pale look he didn’t bother telling the young assassin. The reasons why he wanted her dead in the first place Killua chuckles idiotically “you piss me off old man you aren’t telling me what the reason is aren’t you?” he questioned irritatingly. He was desperately curious to why the hell such a weakling had such a high bounty on her head. “isn’t it obvious? Respect your elders” the old man glared at him This young man was such a fine assassin, but he was an actual headache. Killua rolled his eyes slightly for a 19-year-old He was acting like a kid. “do we have a deal Killua..?” the old man questioned though the young man looked uninterested and bored the old man sighed “I’ll offer you twice the bounty..” Killua’s expression, never faltered, though he tilted his head to the side “ 4.5 billion..? Eh? Make make it 8..” he requested as he yawned seemingly bored the old man could only shake his head in exasperation before nodding

“i’ll have the girl assassinated soon..”

He declared pushing himself off the wall before walking away steps, light and calculated, stuffing his hand in his pocket to grab a cigarette bud, as well as a lighter out of his sweats before lighting it the flame igniting, and smoke rushing out of the cigarette as he walked down the alley.

“tsk stupid old man.. asking me to kill a weakling..”

He muttered as he looked at the screen monitor. There was multiple screens, with a total of four screens. One monitor was open towards Instagram. He wasn’t active. He was barely active on social media. He wasn’t really a social person nor a people person, and of course he had to be stalking her.

He was going to kill her. How else was he supposed to assess his target? (Name) ivory.

He opened up Instagram, his mouse clicking on the profile, The screen lit up with her profile picture and various photos with a following of 5K. And his eyes landed on the various amount of photos she had taken of her smile he momentarily froze in his chair his eyes softened ever so slightly as a red tint spread across his cheeks..

if he wasn’t an assassin, and if he wasn’t out to kill her he would admit she was so pretty no… not the right word beautiful her smile was so warm She had a the most perfect silhouette and her beautiful crimson eyes in his eyes she was perfect no perfect for him—wait no he wasn’t supposed to admire his target. “Ah fuck me..” he mumbled as he held his red blushing face. His ears were red. he felt like his face was burning up with a fever. His heart was pounding uncontrollably what was happening to him? He never thought he could feel these feelings for anyone. Her smile was just so adorable..

Wait, why was he blushing over a weakling?

He shook off those thoughts as he tried to maintain composure again,thus failing to do so therefore he had to click off of Instagram because that’s how bad this weakling was affecting him… he hated it

…

“so why the hell are you guys getting another roommate again?” Killua asked in sudden curiosity as he continued to sip his coffee everybody that knows this kid’s family is filthy rich to even be on school grounds so safe to say— why the hell was he on a university campus? To visit his best friend, and two weirdos at least one of them is a weirdo.

“Well.. that’s because someone can’t afford to pay the dorm fees, isn’t that right?” The blonde glared that the male across from him in an expensive set of scrubs his tone more like passive aggressiveness than anything. “KURAPIKA!! I’m not that broke..! I’m just in very deep debt..! the guy with scrubs yelled an irk mark appearing on his forehead. He was about to get gray hairs from these aggravating little shits especially those two not the Revelette he was a sweetheart sometimes.. “will you two just act civil for once?” the Revelette Gon warned the two. He shook his head in exasperation. These two were no better than actual high school students he was surprised they both even made it to college at least Leorio with his attitude. “ just give it up Gon those two haven’t changed since high school and we all know that..” Killua snickered he was telling the truth he remembered the day when they first all met, it was his sophomore year. He really wasn’t aiming to make any sort of friends honestly it wasn’t until he met Gon and these two weirdos at least one of them in his perspective. “so.. have you guys met somebody who would be willing to keep up with your asses besides me?” Killua asked abruptly. Gon looked at him, almost offended, but he was used to it. He couldn’t help whatever came out of the albino mouth. “HEY!! who the hell are you calling an ass?” Leorio yelled angrily. While the others ignored him. “ yeah we did meet somebody… I’m surprised somebody was actually willing to take up that room. It really isn’t much for a university student you know?” Kurapika expressed his curiosity for the new roommate they were getting. “All that matters is that we found someone who could help pay for the dorm” Gon sighed in relief. They had spent over two weeks, trying to find somebody who could fill that spot and they were thankful they found one. “actually I invited her here with us today because she hasn’t met Kurapika or Leorio and I guess she’ll meet you since you’re here Killua.” Gon said awfully being awfully cheerful about this situation She? She’s female? I wonder how she’ll react living in the dorm with a few guys especially these ones. Killua thought

It wasn’t until he heard the café door swing open, and he got a glimpse of those crimson eyes before hearing heels, tapping onto the floorboards of the café.

Shit.. are you really serious right now?

“it’s nice to meet you all. I’ll be your new roommate for the next semester I’m (name) ivory..”

The female introduced herself and then their eyes met his cold icey, blue eyes crashing with her blood, red crimson eyes that’s when Killua knew, he was probably going to fuck this up so bad..

©𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒔 2025 ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅