#i feel its worth mentioning that when i decided to get back into metal i stumbled upon

[legofemme]

❤️? :P

The Simulation by Seven!

[harmonysanreads]

sunday with a singer! darling, one who had escaped from him almost seven years ago, and disappeared off the face of the galaxy. imagine his reaction when he gets word of a famous belobogian band on the radio soon after it’s connections to the IPC were restored, comprised of a woman named serval landau, and a *very* familiar young woman, with an even more familiar voice.

- (…could i be ✨ anon?)

Curtain Call

yandere!sunday x reader

cw(s) : yandere, written before 2.2

wc : 2.6k

You have the power of democracy by your side ✨ anon and I have no choice but to adhere to public demand :] Even though you mentioned a female!reader, the direction of the narrative didn't necessitate that specification, so the reader is gender-neutral! But they have been called ‘babygirl’ once.

“How can the bird that is born for joy

Sit in a cage and sing?”

— William Blake

You've avoided all shades of white and blue since the dawn of this day.

Serval regarded your pertinacity with a voiceless breadth of intrigue, before yielding with little to no resistance. A smidgen of guilt had briefly permeated your consciousness upon the vague shadow of a pout on her face, you recalled her enthusiasm passed through plans of matching outfits on your debutante from days now labeled as the near past. She picked herself up quickly though, her free-spirited ideals would not be compromised by some mere color choice.

It was difficult to not admire her. Lamentably, it is much easier to cradle the preachings of an unrestrained life than to actually act upon them — and by doing so, shouldering the frigid reality that came with such a life. As a child of frozen terrains although, frigidity must be Serval's playground, you eventually conclude. That is hardly the case for you, but you'd rather swallow whole chunks of ice than pin the blame on yourself alone for that apparent incapability.

You aren't at fault for your paranoia in embracing freedom, but you are resolved enough to try breaking away from its clutches. But just as tattoos sink deep beneath skin, that anxiety stubbornly clings to your psyche and the memories of the past nurture and allow it to fester. Which is why, you must avoid any shades of white and blue, at least until the dawn of tomorrow graces Belobog. Be it a superstition with no rational ground or scientific explanation, you decide to believe firmly in your gut.

The walls of the makeshift back-room muffle the chorus of the crowd outside, but it is enough to comfort you that your long held wish did come true. The single light bulb hanging beyond the door of the room serves as the sole source of luminescence, although it is barely helpful, the light bounces off from your back and reflects a scarcely tangible silhouette in the mirror of the dressing table. Glitters of dust floating around are illuminated by that light, abandoned furniture peek beneath their veils from your peripheral — they exclaim what this room's previous purpose had been.

Neither the modest setting nor the small trinkets spread across the dressing table come close to what you had a taste of ; glimmering surfaces, brands of beauty products worth a man's life savings and silks of no contender would mock this shack, if they could. But your heart soaks in solace whenever that irritatingly bright light flickers and mellowed cheers of the crowd permeate the room's thin walls, not because you lack taste in life, but because you recognize the futility of vanity.

“You did amazing there, babygirl!”

Your vision stutters at the impact of firm touch, you feel arms rest atop your decolletage, a shadow cloaks your reflection in the mirror. The cool touch of metal upon your left shoulder and a distinct streak of blue masquerading among blond locks of hair draw out a breath of relief from your lungs. But a faint twist engulfs your gut the very next second, you recall asking for a moment of quietude vividly.

“I don't think my performance was as great as you say, Serval. And whatever I achieved, it wouldn't have been possible without you guys.” your fingers twiddle with your sleeves, your eyes find interest in an abandoned nail polish.

You peek up in time to meet the rockstar's stare through the mirror, with some wrestling with the light, her disapproval shines through to your eyes.

“Nonsense, you were the star of today's show. Give yourself some credit, would ya?” your cheek soaks in the pinch before your brain can decode her words, you muffle a whine in protest.

“Okay, okay! I'm sorry.” your hand quickly soothes over the tempered skin when her fingers retreat, that's the extent of ‘retaliation’ you offer Serval, having accustomed yourself to her spontaneity in the interim of your stay under her care.

“I saw you look... pretty unnerved after the performance, so I came to check.” you scratch your cheek, eyes darting upwards to find her face shielded by your hair. You cannot pinpoint why, but for a second it seemed like she struggled to find footing with her phrasing of words. You've never heard her falter, at least in speech, but the waves of conversation swallow that momentary observation just as quickly.

Instead of being candid, you take a different turn, “You know, I wasn't lying about being grateful to you all. To perform on a stage without any rules was a long held dream of mine,” you feel gooseflesh bloom across your arms as tip-toeing touch descends to your sides, something within tempts you to curl in on yourself but you force your breath to finish. “If it hadn't been for your help, I would never succeed in fulfilling it.”

Serval hums in understanding, the timbres of it traverses from your skull and extends to your nerves. Her arms rest snuggly around your waist and you swallow dryly. Serval always wrapped her arms around your shoulders whenever she felt the need to and the fact that it made your head nearly spiral with questions didn't require to be stated. Only now do you reckon the slumbering atmosphere, without the jeer and cheer of the audience, you felt Belobog's cold biting into the tips of your fingers. You told everyone to not disturb you — your mind echoes without clarification.

“Is it because of that husband of yours?”

Your shoulders tense and for a litany of reasons, most obscure enough to be dismissed as misnomers produced by your instincts, none but one potent enough to be addressed. “Well yes… I told you about a man, but I don't remember specifying that it was a ‘husband’ responsible for my situation.”

Your words materialize as half confused and half laden with caution, you'd told Serval a few things about your predicament — nothing groundbreakingly detailed, just enough to earn a portion of her empathy. It kills you to follow tactics that enticed you to your doom, but what is life, if not a series of trial and error? It's best to apply the teachings of a manipulator than to continue being manipulated for eternity. But of course, you'll admit, such carefully taken steps still don't lessen the likelihood of meeting a dead-end to zero. How unfortunate.

It's Serval's turn to tense, but it's so quick you're left questioning whether it really happened. “Ah, but there was a ring on your right ring finger when you first came here! And the ‘man’ in your stories didn't seem to be different persons. So, I took a guess…”

An awkward chuckle leaves the rockstar's lips and you blink. She's right, you were still wearing your wedding ring when you came here ; an amateur mistake, you should've left it at some abstruse corner of the Dewlight Pavilion. You glance up at your reflections on the mirror, Serval was now mimicking your previous antics, a painted nail against her cheek albeit, the opposing light veiled her expression from recognition. One of her arms was still around your waist, loosely this time.

“I didn't say anything offending, did I?” the mechanic mutters tentatively. You take a deep breath and exhale, vacillating between the multitude of scenarios conjured by your lingering paranoia. But if it's Serval, you give it more thought, there was no tangible reason as to why she of all people would bring this up with malicious intent — or at least, none that you could come up with. She was likely merely concerned for your well-being, a big sister's instincts perhaps.

“Not at all,” the three words are uttered with more difficulty than needed but the effort is proved worth it when she relaxes and returns to embrace you with gusto.

This time you can feel her touch vividly across the bare skin of your midriff, a reminder of your present dress up automatically causes blood to rush to your face. The matching crop-top with Serval was hardly the most revealing thing someone had worn in this universe, but it was the boldest you'd been with your attire. You think you saw her gaze tilting at the sight but the only way to affirm it would make things further awkward. As you melt upon recalling that you'd sung your lungs out with this on in front of a crowd, the rockstar chimes in again.

“Ah right, I almost forgot why I actually came here. I have a gift for you!” you blink out of your stupor to hear shuffles, a bottle of hairspray is knocked to the ground due to her movements. The object clamors down and rolls a few feet away but Serval pays it no attention, you quirk a brow at her sudden briskness. “Close your eyes.” she lulls sweetly, you obey despite your state of disorientation.

You feel the faint brushes of her fingers first, then a noticeable weight around your neck, fastened a little too tightly. After she beckons you to open your eyes, you scrutinize the object through your reflection on the mirror and recognize it to be… a choker. It's heavier than what you recall chokers to be, its body is painted in baby blue and when you turn your head the light bounces off its surface to reveal golden outlinings. Three small wings curl around the white tassel hanging from the middle, you find the wings to be unnervingly soft when your fingers brush across them.

The choker looked expensive, despite its somewhat gaudy appearance and it didn't seem like something aligning with Serval's tastes. But most importantly, there's blue and white in it — the two colors you'd been stubbornly avoiding. Your mind spirals, you clearly remember telling Serval that you didn't want to see those two colors today — or, did you? Perhaps it was your mind weaving its own narratives in the flurry of adrenaline? A chill rears its grotesque head, a panic you can't quite push down despite your mind adapting to give her the benefit of the doubt, your breaths lapse unevenly.

“For being such a darling member of Mechanical Fever, a token of our friendship. I didn't know how else to thank you, so I got this instead.” Serval's voice yanks you from the edge of a panic attack, you force yourself to breathe deeply. You turn around when you notice the absence of her shadow, finding her retreating into the shadow of the half ajar door.

You remain seated on the juncture between light and shadow, returning to face the mirror after the rockstar settles on a stool. “I should be the one saying that and… you didn't have to give me this, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.” your thumb and index fingers twiddle with the pure white tassel.

Her words seem to make you forget about your earlier paranoia, nostalgia cascades down your soul as you recall the fond memories inherent to Belobog. Destiny's game is truly difficult to comprehend, to think you'd find an actual home so far from your supposed one.

You add without waiting for her reply, “When I first came here, I was so scared and paranoid. I couldn't sleep the first night and I wanted nothing more than to flee the next morning. I really mean it when I say I couldn't make it without your and the others' help.”

Your palm cradles the beat of your existence, the thin fabric of the crop top does little to muffle your heart's clamorous prance.

“Thank you, thank you so much for everything.” your pour as much gratitude from the river coursing through the recesses of your soul in those words. Your chest constricts as you sigh, you remember all the faces that are now known as familiar and random instances buried deep in your memories. Perhaps it's the naturally cold weather of this planet that plays a part, but you furrow your brows as inexplicable sorrow engulfs your heart.

“I, too, hope that you've had a wonderful experience on this planet.”

A much younger you used to judge the victims of stories for choosing to freeze than to flee in the face of candid danger, vowing to not follow in their footsteps should you meet such a predicament one day. Your heart would shatter to incorrigible bits if it hadn't been so viciously twisted, you realize how futile promises are at the thin line separating life and death.

Your body flinches from its hunched position to meet watchful golden eyes, shielded by the door's shadow. You blink a multitude of times, as if that'd make his poised presence disappear, as if that'd affirm that you were simply in the grips of anxiety and Serval would return to reprimand you back to reality.

The warmth drains from your body when he's still there, sitting in front of you with a mocking serenity — you've never hated the vice grip he maintains on his composure more than this moment. Why, how, when and what conjoins his name to frame a myriad of questions, each being answered by none other than you the very next second. Your ears twitch when you catch voices at the end of the hallway, the actual Serval and others must be retreating. You might be a deer inches away from the tiger's jaw, but you'll not go down without a fight, at least.

“If you're planning to scream, I'd advise against that.” Sunday calmly states, your breath catches in your throat. “The choker on your neck has a shock mechanism and it can be activated in various ways. Namely, any time you raise your voice above the coded decibels and the voltage will increase the louder you scream.”

Your hand flies upwards towards the cursed choker and you wrestle a breath in disbelief, you were made a fool of and quite exquisitely. You realize you should've listened to your gut instincts when you still had the choice. Sunday raises a gloved palm when you restlessly tug at the thing, “Don’t bother, it can only be taken off with a password.”

A password only he knows, you conclude. It was not news to you that his sanity is loose from the hinges of his soul, but never would you have expected him to go this far. You glare at your husband, though it looks more like a gazelle's helpless stare as it struggles in the jaws of a predator. The voices from the hallway disappear entirely, you'd told them not to look for you so they'll not return, you feel your eyes moisten as you realize you're stuck alone with Sunday.

“Why—” you choke.

“I understand that you must have a lot of questions,” his words are half resignation and half cheap empathy. “But it is not your turn to speak, for there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Sunday stands up, brows scrunching at the dust floating around the room. “The matter of your possible unfaithfulness is one thing,” his hand grips the handle of the door and you flinch. “But performing in front of so many people without any consideration of how far it'll spread, or choice of attire,” your body erupts in shudders upon feeling his pointed stare, the expanse of your exposure finally registering.

“Truly unbefitting of my spouse.”

But it's not his judging gaze that has your nerves frayed, it's the hints of genuine disappointment that borders on anger leaking through his words that makes you feel parched, makes you want the earth split in half and take you from this situation. Your experience with Sunday has taught you that he has the patience of a saint, but none of those memories reassure you that it's boundless. You realize that you've never actually seen his face contorted in ire, no matter how defiant you'd been. Aeons, you wish it stayed that way forever.

As the shadow of the closing door engulfs your form and leaves the rest to interpretation, the last thing you see are his darkened golden eyes — you're certain that, that was the instance the last spirited part of you died.

rest in peace i guess

[kingkatsuki]

— will you love me till it hurts? (never leave me at my worst)

Kaji hates himself when he gets like this, but luckily for him he has you to bring him back from the brink.

Pairing: Kaji Ren x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, exhibitionism, public sex, dirty talk, spanking, choking, blood!mention, fingering, creampie.

Word Count: 4.6k.

Kaji hates it when he gets like this.

The anger and frustration of the world work to tear every inch of the resolve he’s built around himself brick by brick. Demolishing the wall to leave him surrounded in the rubble of his destruction as he’s back to worn foundations and forced to try and find himself again.

He was already running late to meet you, something that had regret swimming in his chest at the thought of you waiting outside pothos looking all pretty while he made his way through the town. Deciding to cut through a back alley to avoid going through the market street to avoid any early evening crowds he managed to run into a group of four guys who were hunched in a circle.

He tried to ignore them, he really did— with absolutely no intention of ruining your date night again. But the taller one out of the four just had to say something. The only word he was able to make out over his music was Furin, as Kaji’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Exhaling softly, he turns his headphones up, drowning out the asshole with heavy metal. Kaji palms his jeans pocket and groans when he feels no chupa chups inside the denim.

Fuck.

He heaves a sigh as he shoves his hands inside his grey hoodie pocket in tight fists. Trying to resist the deep-seated urge inside him to throw hands as icy blue eyes darken and he continues forward, deliberately stepping around the asshole guys in front of him— but of course, they just had to try and cause problems. Stepping in front of Kaji the taller guys shoulders barged into him roughly, knocking him sideways as the anger continued to surge through his veins.

Kaji thinks of your face, and it helps, but this one guy in the group just won’t stop fucking yapping. He can’t hear it over his headphones, but he can see his big fucking mouth moving— and when there’s a pause in loud music to change tracks it’s all he can hear.

“—fuckin’ pussy.”

“What was that?” Kaji pulls his headphones down, any chance of backing out long gone.

“I said. These Furin guys like to act hard but you look like a fuckin’ pussy.” He enunciated the final words and that was it— all Kaji saw was red.

Nothing can stop his fist from swinging, a mean rear uppercut that has the guy raised from the ground before losing his footing and tumbling down like a tree in the forest. Kaji feels the satisfaction shoot through his veins as he narrowly dodges a punch to the side of his head, knocking his headphones off as he prays the crack he heard wasn’t the plastic breaking. He’s quick to land another punch as two guys take him on at once, swinging his leg to boot someone back as he hates that he can’t bring himself to stop.

Another crude crack sounds as his fist collides with a guy's nose, a hit that has blood running down his chin and onto the brick beneath him as the damage has the guy running. His friends gathered with fists raised as if deciding whether the fight was still worth it— there was always strength in numbers, but somehow Furin strength seemed to defy that simple logic.

Kaji is about to make their choice for them as the raging hatred still ebbs through his veins, unable to discern the difference between his opponent’s as he swings for whoever’s closer— feeling a rough hit to his eye, enough to draw blood against his brow as warm crimson trickles down his temple.

“Ren!” A voice shouts, and it permeates the monster that’s reared its ugly head inside him, but not enough for him to keep swinging, “Ren!”

“You should keep that mouth shut and those legs spread, doll.” Another one of the guys sneers, but it’s enough to have Kaji’s attention now— if they so much as touched a single hair on your head he’s certain he’d kill for you, “That’s all you’re good for.”

Kaji takes the chance to lead uppercut the guy distracted by you, knocking his jaw and he’s certain he hears you call his name again. But his vision blurs as pure ferocious anger takes over as he continues hitting the guy for saying anything about you.

“I’d happily break one of Furin’s whores.” It was like this man was trying to push Kanji even further into becoming a beast, as you fought to keep him where he stands.

“Ren, don’t!” You winced as you heard the shlick sound of fists colliding with cartilidge as the guy cried out in pain, positive Kaji had broken his nose.

“If you guys don’t fuck off I’ll scream so loud half of Furin will be here in five fucking minutes.” You bluff, close enough to pothos that it could work as truth. There was always at least one member of Furin in there at any given time, it was at least something.

“Yeah, yeah. He ain’t fuckin’ worth it—” He sneers, holding his nose. Thankful that his friends decided to break off into a run before the lead guy turned to leave, “You’re with a fucking wild animal, doll.”

You bolted towards to Kaji as they left, who still stood at the corner of the street. Tentatively reaching up to palm his cheek as you pushed yourself up on tiptoes to assess the damage from the cut oozing blood on his brow.

“Ren, what the fuck happ—” You begin, but he’s quick to cut you off with a fierce kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. Unforgiving and and relentless he forces his tongue between your lips as they part with surprise, swallowing your objections with his mouth as he pushes you against the nearest wall.

You taste the sharp metallic tang of his blood on your tongue as you moan against his lips, your palms splayed across his chest to push him back with worry as you search his eyes for answers.

“Ren, what happened?” You murmur, but Kaji doesn’t respond. Instead, he crashes his lips back against yours with far more insistently this time. His hand cups the base of your skull to keep you pressed against him as he tongues the roof of your mouth, pressing his toned body against yours as he pins you to the wall, firm and insistent.

He pours everything into the kiss, calloused fingers dig into your skin roughly as you find yourself moaning into his mouth in a mixture of pain and pleasure. It’s hard to keep up with Kaji when he’s like this, his movements frantic and rugged. His nose bumps yours as he tilts his head slightly, his palm moves from the back of your neck to circle your throat as he squeezes. The lack of air leaves you lightheaded as your eyes roll back, fingers pawing at his hoodie to keep him close as he bullies a thigh between your legs to keep you firm against him.

“Fuck,” You whine against his lips when you feel rough denim graze your panties, creating a salacious friction that has you shamelessly grinding down against him.

Kaji’s hand tightens against your neck to press you down harder against his thigh as he pulls more pretty sounds from the back of your throat. The sounds you make work to slay the fierce beast that rages inside him, now replaced with a new monster as he seeks to devour you whole.

Your hands are persistent as you card soothing hands through his hair, tugging slightly at the root as you rip more pretty sounds from deep in his chest.

“Ren.” You chance his name again, the sound paired with the heat from your touch scorches him as Kaji feels you slowly bring him back to himself.

“Don’t leave me—” The hand around your throat loosens as blue-grey eyes begin to soften, his chest heaving as he lays his forehead against your own, regret begins to ebb away at him when he notices his blood dried against your skin.

“What the fuck happened?” You hum softly, fingers stroking through his undercut as your nails scratch at his scalp, “You had me so worried.”

“Fuckin’ pricks,” He shakes his head, pushing some of his hair away from his forehead as his chest continues to heave.

You bring him back. He starts to feel the ache from his knuckles and the persistent throb against his brow. Letting you cup his cheeks in soft palms as you assess the damage with a worried frown, lips curled into such a pretty pout that Kaji has to restrain himself from kissing you again.

“Tried jumping me when I was coming to meet you,” He continued, taking the opportunity to lean down and bury his face in the curve of your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply, “Started talking shit about Furin.”

“So why didn’t you ignore them?” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the base of his jaw as he curled into you.

“Couldn’t.” It was then you realised the lack of sucker between his lips as it all started to make sense, “And then he said shit about you and I—”

“That doesn’t matter,” You whisper, pecking his lips, “Whatever they say doesn’t matter.”

“But it’s always you comin’ to protect me when I should be the one protectin’ you.” You can feel the sadness in his voice as you shake your head, shrugging your shoulder slightly to garner his attention.

“Don’t say that shit, Ren. I know you could’ve handled that, and you did,” You continued, holding his cheeks in your hands as he stared down at you with cold eyes, “But you would’ve hated yourself if I’d let you continue, and I would’ve hated myself too—”

You stroked the tender skin along the apple of his cheek, giving him a regretful look when he winced beneath your ministrations.

“You’re way too good for me.” He muttered as you shook your head.

“Shut up,” You smiled gently, pressing another kiss to his lips, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“It’s true, though.” He sighed.

He was nothing like Hiragi or Umemiya. He couldn’t treat you as well as they probably could— You deserved far better than him, someone who could look after you, protect you—

“You deserve better.”

You really did— and you looked far too pretty today all dressed up for your date together.

“Okay, now I’m convinced the lollipops are to stop you saying dumb shit.” You scrunched your nose in irritation, reaching into your jacket pocket to pull out a wrapped cherry chupa chups, “Let me shut you up again.”

Of course, you always carried around spare suckers for him.

Kaji watched as you began to pull at the base of the wrapper before his fists wrapped around your wrists tightly, holding you firm to stop you from unravelling it.

“Yeah— make me.” Kaji rasped huskily as the seams of his lips curled into a slight grin. Catching you off guard as the sucker dropped to the floor between your bodies and he pressed a sultry kiss to your glossy lips.

“Ren, you’re hurt.” You chance, wondering if he can even hear you as you feel his fingers flex around your throat in acknowledgement. His palm strokes against your clavicle, venturing lower to palm one of your breasts through your thin shirt before reaching down to palm the fat of your ass.

Using his grip to pull you against him so you could feel his need against your tummy, hard and pulsing through thick denim.

“Stop talkin’.” His lips press against the curve of your jaw, teeth grazing the soft skin as he reaches out to cup your warm sex between your thighs.

He makes it difficult for you to think, surrounded by the comforting scent of him as you breathe in the honeyed scent of candy mixed with the musky sandalwood that feels like home. Ignoring the fact that anyone could walk by and catch you in such a compromising position as you seek out your pleasure. Leaning into his touch his fingers brush the soaked crotch of your panties, pressing down on your fluttering hole through the fabric as he teases you with two fingers.

It’s pathetic really, how easily he has you like this. Debauched and needy in public no less, your clit throbbing with neglect as you shamelessly rolled your hips into his touch.

“Ren, someone could see—” You chance; but it’s futile.

“Let them.” He doesn’t mean it, not really. Every single part of you should be for his eyes only— he’d lock you away in a concrete castle and throw away the key if it meant that no one would so much as glance in your direction again or be the savage dragon that guards its entrance and protects the princess as he becomes a monster in order to keep you safe.

Your hips jolt when you feel him push your panties to the side, dragging two calloused fingers through your drooling slit as he pressed the wetness to your puffy clit. Delighting in the needy whine you made as he circled it slowly, half-lidded eyes focused on your face as he worked you with calm precision.

He was going far too slow for a man that had you pinned against a wall like this in public. The risk of anyone walking by and catching you was high enough as it is, but the fact that this was one of Furin’s patrol routes made it even worse— Any one of his team could walk by and see you like this at any given moment.

“Ren—” His name fell on deaf ears as he plunged two digits inside your tight heat, watching your head roll back against the cold brick as he began to pump them inside you with intent. Marvelling at the way your velvety walls pulsed around him, desperately trying to coax him deeper.

Kaji paused his movements, stilling his wrist to watch as you unabashedly fucked yourself against his fingers. He deliberately curled them towards the spot inside you he knew like the back of his hand as you keened at his touch. Clinging to his broad shoulders as you rocked yourself into his touch, thankful for his body pinning you to the wall, otherwise you were certain your legs would give way and you’d end up on the floor. You ground yourself against him, trapping his palm between you and his thigh as he pressed his leg firmer against you.

“That's it, pretty girl,” He rasped softly, reaching his thumb up to press sloppy circles against your clit, “You get yours.”

You leaned into his touch, greedily using him for your release. Rolling your hips to press his fingers against that same spot inside you as you felt the telltale signs of your impending climax.

“Oh, fuck, baby—” You whined, Kaji’s other hand was quick to slip between the back of your head and the wall. His sore bruised knuckles brushed against the tough brick to prevent your head from knocking against the hard surface as you found your bliss.

Kaji began to move his fingers with purpose as you met your end, taking over from your hips as he fucked you through your release. Pulling more airy sounds from between your pretty lips as he pressed lingering kisses against the corner of your lips.

“That’s it—” Kaji murmured, his persistent fingers prolonging your release as you writhed against him, “My good girl.”

His words had that same heat blooming inside you, from the tips of your ears down to your toes as your mind was shrouded in a lusty haze. Whining when he pulled his digits from your cunt to press them against your glossy lips, watching you take them inside your mouth as you sucked them clean. Tasting yourself on your tongue as he pressed down on the hot muscle, feeling your moans vibrate at the back of your throat.

“Stop teasing me,” You whined around his fingers as Kaji languidly pulled them from your warm, wet mouth. Dragging down on your bottom lip as he moved to dry them off against his pants.

You bit your lower lip between your teeth as you reached out to palm him through his skinny jeans. Annoyed that the rough denim had little give as you pathetically tried to wrap your palm around him, barely able to grip it between your fingers and yet it was enough to have Kaji’s hips jerking roughly. He grunted low and gravelly as he pulled his slick-soaked fingers from your core, busying himself with the button on his jeans as he tugged the zipper. Letting the denim hang around the curve of his ass, just enough to free his aching cock.

The length of it drooped towards the ground, hot and heavy as you immediately reached out to wrap slender fingers around it. Collecting the bead of pre that glistened against his leaking tip to smooth it down his length Kaji hissed through gritted teeth, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed thickly. Smiling coyly at his reaction, moving your hand back up to thumb his slit, collecting more fresh pre as you wrapped him back in a firm fist.

“Who’s teasin’ now?” He huffed, placing his palm on top of yours to tighten your hand around his cock. Holding it steady as Kaji began to fuck himself into your fist, rutting his hips as you let out a salacious whine at the sight.

“Look who’s talking,” You gasped when he moved his other hand to the back of your thigh, propping it up on his hip as your skirt bunched at your waist.

“Oh, fuck.” You practically whimpered when you felt the swollen tip of his cock nudge your clit as he dragged it through your folds. Coating himself with your slick as he gave a tentative jerk of his hips, his lips pressed against your ear as you felt the vibration in his tone when he caught against your tight hole.

Kaji moved his hand away from his cock in favour of leaning back to watch as you guided him towards your entrance with your fingers, pressing down on the thick, bulging veins as he felt the resistance of your fluttering hole. Seeking out your warmth as he slowly began to press himself inside you, immediately groaning when he felt the heat engulf him. Certain he’d never tire of the sensation, no matter how many times he had you like this.

You made it difficult to think— to breathe sometimes. Stealing every conscious thought as you shrouded his very being, plaguing him with thoughts of you that he was so certain there was nothing else in this life worth having if he didn’t have you.

“Ren, hurry up,” You brought him back from his thoughts with a jerk of your hips, “We don’t have time, someone could see—”

Kaji was positive that he didn’t even give a fuck if the whole of Furin saw once he was buried inside your warm, wet cunt. The overwhelming pleasure etched away at him as he could only think of you—

“Let them see.” He snarled brazenly, flashing his sharp fangs and gums.

“Ren.” You whined back.

“So fuckin’ needy.” Each word was enunciated by a sharp rut of his hips as he set a rough, fast pace.

Kaji hissed, feeling your cunt clamp down around him from his crude tone. Your hands clinging to his shoulders as he eased his hips back before surging forward. His skin was coated in a thin sheen of sweat beneath his hoodie as he felt the heat practically radiate from your warm body.

His balls slapped against the curve of your ass as the sound of skin against skin filled the alleyway. It wasn’t exactly a public path, but you knew many people liked to make the shortcut towards pothos through here, so the thought of being caught sent a discomfiting heat straight to your pelvis.

But Kaji fucked into you with purpose, settling on a desperate pace that had him willing you towards your climax hard and fast. The material of his hoodie was too thick to feel his body through, as you moved your hands to the back of his skull to feel skin against skin as you delighted in the sticky tack of his sweaty body against yours.

The rough brick scraped against your back with each sharp thrust, certain to leave marks behind as you tried your best to meet his movements from your precarious position.

“You’re always so good to me, pretty girl,” He rambled, his blunt cockhead grazing against your cervix with each forward motion, “So perfect.”

Kaji’s love is like a tsunami— indiscriminate, ferocious and all-consuming in its power. His waves crash down to encompass you, and carry you out to sea. It’s pure, unbridled power and it terrifies you sometimes quite how much you love him in return.

“Oi,” He smacks the curve of your ass playfully before gripping it hard, fingertips dip into the plush skin as he changes the angle of his thrusts, “What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

“You.” You answer truthfully, as though there could ever be another answer.

Kaji’s lips curl into a small, genuine grin at your answer. Unable to stop himself from leaning forward to bring you into a sloppy kiss, drowning out your moans of pleasure as he continued to pound his cock into your dripping cunt.

You were positive you wouldn’t last much longer, especially with the way his cock moulded you into the shape of him. The prominent veins dragging against your inner walls with each cant of his hips, paired with the way the hairs at the base of his cock gave a delicious friction to your puffy clit every time he buried himself inside you the hilt had you racing towards your impending climax and you weren’t going to last much longer.

“I know you’re close,” He rasped gruffly, teeth nipping at your pulse point, “I can feel you clamping down around me.”

“Fuck, Ren.” Your lips parted in a near-constant groan when Kaji slipped a hand between your connected bodies to press his thumb against your clit, rubbing messy figures of eight against the sensitive nub as he pushed you towards your end.

Your lashes fluttered as you felt him bite down against your jugular, his tongue salving the mark as your walls clenched in response. Teetering on the precipice of bliss you continued to moan from each messy rut of his hips inside your wet heat before you found yourself falling into euphoria.

“Oh, shit.” You gasped as you felt your climax flow through you in harsh waves, your hips jerking as you came undone against him with a jumbled cry of his name. Your nails dug into the back of his neck as your thighs shook with pleasure, feeling Kaji continue to fuck you through your release as his thumb kept consistent against your clit. It was all too much and not enough at the same time as your walls continued to pulse around him, trying to milk his cock of his spend as you rode out your release.

“Ren.” Your lips parted in a constant pant as you tried desperately to remember to breathe, tongue almost lolling out from between glossy lips as Kaji adjusted your thigh on his hip. Holding you tight as he began to use your body for his own pleasure, fucking into you with haste as he searched for his end. His balls were heady and swollen with cum as they begged to spill into your eager hole, “I wanna make you cum too,”

“You don’t even have to fuckin’ try.” He grunted, your walls clung to him even tighter since your release. Increasing the pleasurable sensation as his pace became languid and desperate, messily thrusting his lips into you as he cherished the way your walls were squeezing around his cock, “I’m gonna—”

“Do it inside.” You barely managed to rasp out breathlessly as Kaji let out a sinful groan in response. Your nails digging into the back of his neck only heightened the pleasure as he gave a few more sloppy thrusts before spilling his spunk inside you with a debauched groan.

“Fu-uck.” Kaji’s hips pressed snugly against yours to the hilt as he emptied his heavy balls inside you. Shooting streams of whited, hot cum inside your water walls as your cunt continued to clench around him in satisfaction.

“Take it.” He whispered gruffly, pressing a kiss to the seam of your parted lips as you continued to pant, pathetically trying to capture your breath back.

You basked together in the afterglow as Kaji indulged in you for a moment longer, delighting in the fact you were pumped full of his release as you reached up to push his sweaty fringe away from his face, exposing his forehead as you gave the gash on his brow another frown. The blood now caked and cracked against his skin as Kaji snorted at your face.

“Don’t look at me like that after we just had sex.” He pouts, as you playfully push your finger against his lips to try and push them back down.

“Your cuts gonna get infected— ahh,” You broke off into a whine when Kaji began to pull his softening cock from your tightness, his wound immediately forgotten as he moved his focus to the mess now seeping out of your trembling hole and drooling down your inner thighs. Kaji was quick to save the moisture as he collected it on his two fingers, dragging it back up to your abused sex to push it back inside you as you gasped in surprise. He was quick to move your panties back into place as you grimaced at the sensation of your combined essence soaking the fabric.

“I’ll be fine.” He teased when you gave his wound another look, “I’ve been through worse.”

“That’s not the point.” You deadpanned, watching as Kaji moved back slightly to tuck his softening cock back inside his skinny jeans. Your head rested back against the brick wall as you held onto his arms to prevent your legs from giving out and collapsing to the floor. His touch was gentle as he smoothed your skirt back down your thighs and adjusted your top that had ridden up during the tryst. Unable to stop himself from stealing another kiss from your pouty lips.

“How could I not be fine when I have you to look after me.” Kaji grinned as he bent down in front of you to pick the fallen sucker up from the ground, fingers working at tugging the wrapper off before shoving the stick between his lips.

“Yeah, well you owe me another date night.” You pouted as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders to lead you towards the local konbini. Practically feeling the warmth still radiating from him as he pulled you against his side.

“What’s wrong with going out now?” You turned your head to look up at him in exasperation as you scrunched your nose.

“You’re ridiculous— you realise you’re covered in blood and I’m now full of you,” You huffed, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks at the smug smirk Kaji gave you as you jabbed his chest with a firm finger, “We’re gonna grab some supplies from the konbini and I’m taking you home to fix it.”

“Sounds good, I need to pick up some more suckers—” He smiled, ignoring the throb that still ebbed through his head from the hits he’d endured barely an hour ago as he squeezed your shoulder playfully.

“Kaji!” You glared at the man beside you.

“Don’t call me that when I was just balls deep inside you five minutes ago, sweetheart.”

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Part one

Previously; You heard Eddie say that you weren't his type, you're devastated and decide to distance yourself, Eddie notices this and realises how much he misses you...and how much he likes you 💞

Part two warnings, Eddie making a fool of himself, the boy has a serious crush. Mutual pining, idiots to lovers.

💞💌

Now that Eddie has noticed you, it's like he can't stop. He looks out for you in the hallways, secretly hoping that you'll talk to him like you used to.

"Dude, would you go and speak to her instead of gawking at her like an idiot" Gareth snaps, Eddie throws him a dark look and looks away from you.

You're chatting to Robin animatedly and you're just mesmerising. You never opened up like that around Eddie, he's worried he's unknowingly made you nervous around him.

Gareth mentioned about the crush you had on him, was that still the case? He's frustrated because he wants to talk to you, but he feels flustered and unsure what to say.

A rarity for him according to the rest of Hellfire. Assholes. They were right though, he could run his mouth about Jason and his band of buttheads, talk for hours about D&D and heavy metal.

But how is he feeling right now around you? Well this was different. He could be shy if he was attracted to someone but he always knew what to say, even if it was some inane babbling.

Around you though he drew a blank, babbled and blushed much to the rest of the gang's amusement. Fuck they would never let their fierce dungeon master forget that you turned him to absolute mush.

If he could have one proper conversation with you before the week is out then he would be a happy man.

Seeing you being so open around Steve doesn't help either, envy claws at his insides and he feels irrationality jealous of Steve Harrington.

Gareth takes pity on Eddie's failing to talk to you and mentions about the drawings you had done for Hellfire.

"She's really good dude, maybe you could start the conversation with that" this perks Eddie up and he decides to just go for it and speak to you.

He walks over to you as you're chatting to Robin as Eddie approaches you peer up at him and smile. "Oh hi Eddie"

"Uh, hi sweetheart, Gareth says you had some drawings for Hellfire. Would you like to show me them. If you want?" He asks you. Crosses his fingers behind his back.

To his delight you agree. "Sure, I was meant to show you a little while back but uh I was busy, I'd love to show you" he gestures to you to follow him and the two of you head to the drama room where Hellfire is hosted.

Carefully you lay out your drawings on the table, you feel like your whole body is buzzing with nerves as he leans over you to take a look. His fingers caress over the drawings and he lets out a soft gasp of surprise.

Your drawings are amazing and he tells you and you beam at him, pleased that he likes them. Eddie pauses as he shifts one of the pictures away and his eyes widen, "Is that me?" he takes in the photo and you move it away mortified.

The drawing was of Eddie as the Dungeon Master but exaggerated with certain D&D elements and bats that represented one of his tattoos.

"That's an incredible drawing sweetheart" you duck your head to avoid his gaze, that familiar shyness you feel around him, coming back tenfold.

"Thanks" you murmur and you swear your heart might beat out of its chest when he moves closer to you, his breath almost tickles your neck.

"Can I keep this?" He asks and you nod feeling delighted that he likes it so much. You're still confused why he's talking to you so intently and with interest now but you put it out of your mind.

Maybe the two of you could at least be friends? It might help you finally get over him. It wasn't a foolproof plan and you could end up falling even more for him but it was worth a shot.

...

To your surprise Eddie comes over to chat to you all week at school and in Family Video, sometimes you feel like he's making excuses just to talk to you. "Someone's got a crush" Robin teases and Steve doesn't look happy as you help Robin unpack new stock.

"Took him long enough to realise it" you shake your head and ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the thought of Eddie liking you. It couldn't be true though could it?

"He doesn't, he's just interested in my drawings" you explain and you feel the brief hope you had slipping away.

"Yeah...that's totally why he's staring at you like a lovesick puppy, your drawings" Robin subtly nods over to Eddie who nearly knocks several videos over when you catch his eye. There's a sweet goofy grin on his face and a pink tingle to his cheeks.

You had never seen Eddie blush before, he was usually so confident, the blush was endearing. Wait why was he blushing? Surely it couldn't be because of you could it?

No don't be silly. He likes Megan, you're not his type. "He doesn't have a crush on me" you shake your head refusing to believe it.

Robin brightens then gently nudges you to the front of the counter. "Well, he's coming this way, so..." You smile as Eddie walks over to you and is quiet for a few seconds before he blurts out the question he's been dying to speak to you in private.

Curious at what he's going to say, you decide to take your break a little early since the store is quiet for now, you follow him outside and can't help notice how jittery he is. Why was he nervous? Did you make him nervous? The thought was a tiny bit thrilling.

Eddie seems to be struggling with what to say, you wait patiently as he takes a deep breath then it all comes out in a mumbled rush.

"Sorry, what was that Eddie?" you move closer to him, confused at what he's saying, it was all jumbled and quiet. He flushes a little bit then steels himself instantly looking determined.

"Gareth said you had a crush on me and I'm wondering if that's still true?" He blurts out and you freeze. Ah shit.

"Does it matter? You don't like me that way, I'm not your type" you wince at the sadness that colours your tone.

"You're wrong" his voice turns impossibly soft and you stare at him puzzled. You heard him say that you weren't his type.

"I heard what you said to Gareth and you were hoping Megan noticed you" you point out to him, he blushes and nods, not denying it.

"Yeah I was a dumbass, when you weren't around I missed you like crazy and realised how much I really do like you and I'm not interested in Megan, not anymore" Unbelievable, you shake your head torn between amusement and being completely stunned.

"You sure do take your time Eddie Munson" you eventually reply to him and he gives you a heartmelting smile and on an impulse you kiss his cheek, then at that moment Steve yells that your break is almost done. Great, just great.

Picking up your bag, you wave goodbye to Eddie and rush to get back inside, Eddie touches his cheek where you kissed it and a big smile breaks across his face. He's dazed and happy for a few seconds, then he comes to. "Hey, princess. Will you let me take you on a date sometime?" He yells over to you.

You peer up at Eddie through your lashes, "Sure...definitely sometime" you smile at him then turn away, try to control the fact you want to squeal out loud. You're trying to act cool and nonchalant.

Eddie who has no compunction about expressing how he feels practically struts his way back to his van. You stifle a giggle and know the sometime date will be soon, very soon.

❤️🫶

[bettyfrommars]

Call From a Payphone at the End of the World

Eddie Munson x Reader

18+ONLY, mention of smut, yearning, gender neutral reader but a few pet names are used, alcohol consumption, angst, no Vecna, new crush, star-crossed lovers, strange things happen. Reader and Eddie are over 21.

word count: 1.6k

This a mix of several fic ideas that all blended together somehow. One being a road trip fic where Eddie falls for an older reader that I hope to finish one day, plus something for the Stranger Prompts list. Several of the prompts are used in this, but I wanted to keep them a secret. I wouldn't say this is a hurt/no comfort fic, but there will be a hint of that. It is a hopeful, star-crossed lovers story at its core.

------

After Eddie pumped a few bucks worth of gas into the tank, he couldn’t get across the parking lot to the payphone fast enough.  He was sure his heart would explode if he couldn’t talk to you again as the few hours of highway seemed to roll out for an eternity. 

He punched numbers into the metal key pad and then held a hand over his heart, waiting.  Just after the second ring, there you were with that voice he’d come to adore with every fiber of his being.

“Hey you,” his smile was so big it made his cheeks hurt. “It’s Eddie. Wanted to check in, you know, make sure you made it home okay.”

At the other end, butterflies exploded in your stomach.  “Hey there stranger,” you ached to reach out and hold him.  “I was hoping it would be you.”

He played with the metal cord attaching the receiver to the phone box, tucking his chin so that his next words were mumbled.  “What would you say if I told you I missed you already?”

He felt as if he no longer existed in this reality, as if time and space and whatever the hell else didn’t matter as long as he was connected to you somehow, as long as you were real.  The words kept bubbling up in his chest, and if he didn’t let them out and tell you how he felt, he might suffocate.  

You put down the stack of mail you were holding and sat on the nearby chair to calm your buzzing head.  “I’d say you got it bad for me, Munson.”

“I think you might be onto something there,” he chuckled, turning his head to make sure no one from the isolated gas station was lurking nearby.  “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“I wish we could do more than that,” you said, grinning. 

“Glad I’m not the only one,” he pinched the front of his Megadeth shirt and brought it to his nose. “I’m never gonna wash this shirt ever again, just so you know.  It smells like you.”

“I almost kept it,” you started to doodle spirals on the pad in front of you with a red pen. 

“I would’ve let you,” he smirked, remembering the way you straddled him in nothing but that shirt in the back of his van for one final quickie before parting ways.  The feeling of being inside of you, that sense of completion and connection, would be his main masturbation fodder for the foreseeable future.  

Holy shit, he was crazy about you.

Having such intense feelings for someone after barely 24 hours of knowing them was not reasonable, he knew that, but he also didn’t care.  

He’d been on his way home from visiting his friend Ronnie when the storm hit, and some of the roads were blocked off due to flooding.  The rain crashed down all night, lightning cracked the sky, and all he could think of as your bodies writhed tangled and sweaty, was that he could die a happy man.  

He called Gareth that night, told him he wouldn’t make it to practice, and decided to slink into a dark bar for a beer.  There you were, looking all sorts of futuristic and out of place.  You had a device in your hand that resembled something out of Star Trek, but you said it didn’t work, that it was “dead” and you couldn’t find your “charger”.  You fascinated the fuck out of him.  He asked if you were an alien, and without missing a beat, you responded, “would that be a problem?”

Not at all, sweetheart.  Not. At. All.

“I kinda want to get in my car and race back to you,” you spoke softly.

Eddie tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Man, that’s all I could think about the whole way was turning around. I feel like I left my heart on the road back there.”

“I’ll keep it safe,” you whispered, making his entire body shiver with longing.

“When can I see you again? I mean, when do you think…should I come to you or—”

The automatic operator’s voice cut him off, asking him to deposit 25 cents.

“Are you calling me from a payphone?” You sounded astonished.  “I didn’t even know those things existed anymore.”

“They’re all over the place, sweetheart,” he huffed, distracted with searching his denim pockets for change.  “Not all of us have strange little pocket calculator things we speak into.”

“I love an old school man.”

Hearing the word “love” roll off your tongue in relation to him made him want to reach out and take you in his arms so bad he could scream.  

“Hey, I left all my change in the van, this is going to cut me off, but I’ll call you when I get home, yeah?”

“Please do, I don’t care how late it is.”

“Okay I will, and also—”

But then the line went dead.

You pulled your iPhone away from your cheek and stared at the screen with a sad frown.  You hoped that one day he’d let you bring him up to speed with the age of technology.  Until then, you found it charming as fuck that he didn’t own a cellphone, and loved to act oblivious to anything involving computers. 

You had your cell charging on the countertop when one of your friends texted you a few minutes later, demanding the details of the mystery man who’d swept you off your feet in some dive bar out in the boonies.  

Usually, you avoided one night stands at all costs.  You had to care very deeply about someone in order to be intimate with them, and for some reason, you felt bonded to Eddie after the first hour.  It was thrilling, but also scary and uncomfortable all at once. 

“What happened to the dude you were supposed to meet there?” Your friend Tina asked.  “The one from the dating app?”

“Oh, he never showed,” you chuckled, thinking that you’d totally forgotten why you’d driven almost two hours away to another town in the first place. “But it was for the best.  If he hadn’t ghosted, I never would have met Eddie.”

“What was the name of the bar again?” She asked after you dished all of the details on your new crush.

“Wait, I think I have one of their matchbooks in my bag—” you dug around, finally holding it out in front of you.  “I guess it’s called The Upside Down? Never heard of it before, but the address was correct, I’m sure of it. My GPS was acting weird, so who knows.”

The bar hadn’t been updated since the 70’s, it seemed.  Wood paneling, sticky tables, peanut shells on the floor, and one of those vintage jukeboxes that played nothing but oldies.  Eddie remarked that it reminded him a lot of one of the bars he did gigs at with his band.

Corroded Coffin, you doodled the name down, reminding yourself to google it later. Eddie said he wasn’t on social media, and pretended not to know what it even was.  Just one more quirk of his that charmed you to death and made you smile to yourself.

You fell asleep on the couch that night with the phone on your chest, and woke up the next morning with a kink in your neck and a dry mouth.

Nothing from Eddie, not even a missed call.  

Maybe he got in late and didn’t want to wake you.  It was almost 9:00 in the morning when you tried the number he’d given you for his uncle’s place.  

The number had been disconnected or was no longer in service.  

Panic swelling in your throat, you scrolled back to the number of the payphone he’d called you from. 

Also not in service.

Glassy eyed, you sat up and stared at the wall for a long time.

Soon after, you wiped away frustrated tears and got on the internet to search.

“That can’t be right,” you whispered at the screen, looking at a photo of Corroded Coffin at a bar called The Hideout in 1985.  Eddie Munson, graduate of Hawkins High in 1986.

You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

Zooming in on the few photos you found, you couldn’t help but notice the insane similarities between your Eddie, and 1980’s Eddie.  The one you knew was maybe a few years older, but that was definitely him.

Could it be a relative? No.

All of the odd conversations you’d had that night began to click together.  Had his perplexity with the idea of you carrying a phone been legit? You figured he was just being silly.  

There wasn’t much you could find about him, but one final news snippet caught your eye:

“....Hawkins native and Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson has not been seen or heard from since the fall of ‘89 after leaving a cryptic note for his uncle, Wayne Munson.  “He had a bunch of letters he wanted me to pass out to his friends,” Wayne explained. “He said he hoped that he would be able to come back to Hawkins, but he wasn’t sure how it all “worked”. That he loved me, but he had to go and find someone.”

You gulped, tears rolling hot down your cheeks.

“He went back,” you sniffed, choking on a sob. “He went back to find me, he…”

You trailed off, looking up at the clock, and then over to your car keys on the table.

What if Eddie circled back to find you and you weren’t there? What if that bar you’d met at never even existed?

But Eddie, he was real, and he was coming for you.

You left a note too, texted Tina, and then you were on the road again.

Pedal to the metal into the gathering storm.  

—-

Thank you for reading, I love you.

[lewkwoodnco]

the tortured poets department - george karim x reader

George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.

a/n - HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH thats it thats the a/n also happy birthday to ali hadji-hesmati ia m NOT late shut up

tropes/warnings - slight nsfw towards the end (idk tho??), angst (what else is new lmao), tw slight mention of suicide, ft locklyle wedding (a bit) happy ending tho, i am very sick wrote this entirely on my phone and cannot be held accountable for any of this

word count - 3.7k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Who uses typewriters anyway?

That was what she had mouthed at her friend from across the Fittes office. They were brand new hires; scribes assigned to different researchers under an apprenticeship programme. Things were off to a rougher start than she had expected. From what she could see, her friend had been assigned to a perfectly normal-looking researcher who, now that introductions were complete, was explaining his filing system to her.

On the other hand, the first thing her oddly intense researcher had asked was if she knew how to use a typewriter. She had laughed, thinking it was a joke, before very quickly realising that he was being perfectly serious. He started explaining how the contraption worked far too quickly for her to catch anything, and she had taken the chance to shoot her friend a look.

“L/N?”

She whipped her head back around, immediately apologetic. “Sorry. I think I get how it works now.” Really, it was just bad luck that she had gotten the short end of the stick.

The next thing she learnt, over many months, was how to pick up on and decrypt George’s nonverbal cues. Namely, knowing what his every sigh, muttering or frown meant. While it had felt frustrating similar to banging her head against a wall in the beginning, he started to grow on her. Learning how George Karim ticked was like figuring out an intriguing puzzle all on her own. Besides, he wasn’t unkind. He could be understanding, so long as he had the patience for it on that particular day.

But there were times when she decided that no, he wasn’t all that compassionate of a coworker. Particularly on nights when he’d have her write up chapters worth of research summarised from his scrawled notes. And woe betide her should she make one too many mistakes.

Who the hell uses typewriters anyway?

"Do you ever think about leaving Fittes?"

Her typing stopped abruptly, her flickering train of thought completely demolished by George's appalling suggestion. They were sitting at their adjacent desks at the Fittes office, her typing up the previous night's case report while George twiddled his thumbs and fiddled with a pen in increasingly creative ways.

"Leave? And go where?"

She followed the line of his hateful stare towards one of the thick metal doors along the corridor which led to a more restricted part of the offices. Like most others, she felt no pressing inclination to snoop around and stumble upon information she would rather not find. But for someone like George, she could practically see how it gnawed at him - libraries of secrets just begging to be known.

Her gaze flitted anxiously between his face and the door. It was both a frightening and thrilling thing when George decided to put his mind to something, using his brain at its full capacity in some sincerely earnest hunt for knowledge. It was also the thing that was going to get him killed sooner or later, mesmerising as he was. It. Mesmerising as it was.

"Start our own agency. Play by our rules."

She laughed nervously, too artificial even for her own ears as she wrung her stiff hands. George's voice had a distant quality to it that told her he was on the way to making some very bad decisions if she didn't step in soon. "Oh, George, you say the…the darnedest things. You're no Tom Rotwell, you know."

"You're not Marissa Fittes yourself, either."

"Rude."

His gaze flickered to her at that, the barest hint of a smile ghosting his lips as the tension in his shoulders dissolved. She visibly relaxed as well, satisfied that it would be a decent while before he once again latched onto this bizarre notion.

Which was why his abrupt switch in employment to some small, crumbling agency had left her more than shell-shocked. Coming into work on a normal, gloomy Monday and seeing George's desk cleared out and painfully sterile of the ideas and theories he buzzed with left her feeling lost at sea in the worst way. And he didn't bother to reach out to her either - not a call, not a letter, not a visit.

That is, not a visit until he turned up at her door in the middle of the night, pale as the Visitors that skulked outside her door.

"Sorry.”

For one stupidly miraculous moment, she thought he might be apologising for a month’s worth of grey days and sleepless nights.

“I know it’s late, but I think I left my typewriter here."

She felt stupidly disappointed.

"You're making a mess of my - what are you doing?"

George had located his otherwise untouched typewriter positioned at one corner of her dining table and was now furiously typing away, a sickly, pallid sheen to his forehead.

"Don't worry, I'll be qui -"

"Karim."

His typing faltered, and for once he had the decency to look marginally embarrassed.

“Sit down. Start from the beginning.”

So he did. He told her everything about some Type Two case at 62 Sheen Road, short of coming out and saying that he had put his associates' lives in danger, but she could hear it in his voice. It was an almost welcome return to the old days of picking out the relevant parts while his mind ran ahead at the speed of light; so much to think and agonise over. When his voice finally started to run thin, she fetched him a cup of tea, taking a moment to process it all.

"Okay, so, if I have this right, none of this is your fault. No - don't argue with me. Drink your tea. You told him to wait, that you needed more time.“

He mumbled something incoherent as he pulled off his glasses, dragging a hand across his eyes, looking far too young and worn. He glanced up to meet her gaze, the look on his face as much of a wreck as the rest of him. He looked down again, staring at his hands splayed on her dining table. George never was one for letting his feelings show, let alone hysterics, and it rubbed at something raw to see him spiralling this badly.

“They’d be better off with a researcher who could actually do his job.”

She suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

“Oh, please, this has nothing to do with being altruistic. This is just you trying to punish yourself over something that isn’t even your fault.”

He showed no sign of having heard her. She sighed and slid into the seat next to his, her fingers nearly brushing his.

“Look - what's done is done. Possibly the worst thing you could do now is leave them in the lurch like this. Of course, it's not going to be smooth sailing throughout, but you made a commitment, so for the love of God keep your head up and stick it through.” She reached out to loosely cover his wrist. “Okay?”

George stayed silent but glanced up at her. Okay. She pulled her hand away. He finished the last of his tea and stood.

“I should get going, I suppose.”

She looked out the window, eyeing the eerie green glow of the ghost lamps critically. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think? Not very safe.”

“I have my rapier on me.”

The corners of her mouth tightened.

“I’d feel better if you left in the morning.”

And so they ended up in her living room, him sitting on the floor and her sitting on the couch, dragging her fingers through his soft curls. They talked about everything and nothing, like the recent layoffs at Rotwell’s and what George’s new associates were like. He made them sound marvellous. It was obvious why he’d leave Fittes. Why he’d leave her.

“The three of us…we live at 35 Portland Row.”

“Mhm.”

“And there’s this doughnut shop down the street from there.”

She lightly scraped his scalp teasingly.

“So that’s why you left.”

She could feel him smile despite himself.

“We should go, someday. You’d love it.”

A vision trickled into her imagination - she and George standing at the end of some empty cobblestoned road with soft, pillowy doughnuts dripping sugar down their knuckles, sprinkles melting into their fingerprints. It’s evening, and the sun is almost painfully intense, beating down a lovely glow over the scene. She’s distantly aware of the impending danger of the rapidly approaching nighttime, but for now, George is standing in front of her in a soft shirt, the edges of his face kind and blunt, the almost permanent furrow of his brow melted away in the liquid sun, reaching out to swipe a thumb at the corner of her mouth -

“Get some rest.” Her voice was thick with a longing for such golden yet treacherously illusory days. George leaned back, resting his head on the couch with half-lidded eyes, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. She gently slipped her fingers out of his hair. She gently pulled his glasses off but before she could put them someplace safe, she was out like a light herself.

She had a fitful sleep and blearily woke up a few hours later, George’s head an oddly comforting weight against her knee. She groggily pulled herself up and tossed a blanket at the figure slumped against her couch before fetching a glass of water and some paracetamol.

Shortly after, George lurched awake like he was sweating out a fever, heart thudding and eyes restless. He groaned, no doubt wincing at the pounding behind his eyes. He caught sight of the water and medicine placed next to him but looked away after a moment of consideration. She raised her eyebrows pointedly, knowing only too well the kind of hell his overactive mind was capable of putting him through.

“How’s your head?”

She hadn’t meant to sound that sarcastic, but it was enough for him to get the hint. He relented, taking a sip of water and then one of the pills just for good measure.

"Good. Now go home and get some proper rest, you moron."

She watched him stumble down the road till he turned the corner, trying to hide how shaken she was by his panic. She sighed wearily. Only a month at Lockwood & Co. and already he would be a desperate wreck without them. She turned back inside, trying to ignore how empty her dining table looked without his typewriter and how vacant she felt without that flimsy excuse for him to see her again.

Years passed. She and George somewhat kept in touch, but it had still been extremely startling when Lockwood & Co. reached out to her with plans to expose her employer, Marissa Fittes. Amongst the tragedy of Portland Row being reduced to rubble, Kipps nearly dying and the Skull almost moving on, unemployment was the least of her concerns.

Still, it wasn’t all sad once Lucy had proposed to Lockwood after one too many failed attempts by the latter party. They had planned a relatively intimate affair, only inviting some old friends of the ex-Fittes employees of the group.  

They held it at an inexpensive banquet hall just a few minutes away from Portland Row. Lucy looked gorgeous and glowing with happiness under the gentle warm lighting, and Lockwood looked dashing in a suit not much more formal than his regular one. He spent the majority of the reception denying that he had teared up at the first glimpse of Lucy at the end of the aisle, insisting that his best man was a pathological liar.

After the main event, the guests milled around, having drinks, and occasionally congratulating the happy couple. As expected, Lockwood became very drunk very quickly, enough to pull out some terribly nonsensical yet oddly stirring comment.

“Here’s to the first day of the rest of our lives.”

She glanced across at George. He met her eye. They immediately looked away. She could have sworn she felt a hitch of some breath between them. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Lucy was desperately trying to shut up an overly emotional and hence overly talkative Lockwood who looked ready to launch into a speech no one asked for.

“That’s enough now, or we’ll have Kipps bawling all through dinner.”

It wasn’t exactly a sit-down dinner, though there was appropriate seating. Half of the guests were eating and the other half were having fun with some party games. She was watching Holly struggle at Twister when she felt someone slide into the seat next to hers - namely, the best man, George.

“Hey.”

She grinned, flushed from the champagne she had been sipping all evening. “Hey.”

“Having fun?”

“Lots.”

He couldn’t help but return her smile, looking a little tipsy himself. “I can tell.”

They ate in silence for a while, only the tinny sound of the radio’s strain and cheers from the party games filling the space between them.

“I think I missed you at the bouquet toss earlier.”

She nearly swallowed her spoon. He had noticed? He noticed her? She didn't know how to tell him that she couldn't see herself marrying anyone that wasn't him. How could she wake up every day knowing her better half was somewhere out there miles away, wondering if he wished for someone as moron-shaped as her?

“Oh, well, that’s not really my thing. More of a bridesmaid than a bride.”

She resumed eating, presuming that line of conversation to be over until she noticed he was still looking at her strangely, his cutlery stationary in his hands. Her chewing slowed in an attempt at dignity.

“…what?”

He lifted her right hand off her knife, making her heart thud dangerously. Wordlessly, he pulled off the sapphire ring on her middle finger and oh-so-delicately slid it onto her ring finger instead.

“I think you’d make a wonderful bride.”

She stared at the ring, speechless. It wasn’t a proposal, but it wasn’t nothing either. Maybe…maybe this was a second chance at something. Maybe he wouldn’t screw this up this time.

He almost reluctantly relinquished his grip on her hand. She didn’t dare meet his eye. Even his voice, quiet yet slightly rough, felt unbearable to hear.

“Were you mad? When I left without telling you?”

She had waited months to hear those words.

“I wished you'd talked to me about it first. Just...just to make sure your head was screwed on straight.”

He nodded, and they returned to their food, the silence a lot less giddily amicable now.

“So, would you have - “

“Absolutely not. God, no. I would have told you to stay ten feet away from Anthony Lockwood at all times.”

They looked over to where Lucy was helping Lockwood sit down, having unfortunately thrown his back out at Limbo. She winced. “He’s such a wild card.”

“I suppose I am too.”

She turned, curious, and he looked as though he regretted letting that slip out. Her voice dropped, taking on a softer edge.

“Not to me. Not when it’s you.”

He stared at her like there was something bloodied and hungry behind his eyes. She felt this twinge of something in her chest. Oh, how could she bear this? How could she bear him?

Sometimes, part of her wished she were a book - one completely enthralling and riveting, chock-full of secrets eager to slip out and lose themselves in thin air. Perhaps that was just a manifestation of her paralysing desire to be known and to be known by him.

“I should go,” George was saying as he finished up the last of his food. He stood, wiping his mouth, wandering off to find his coat. Maybe it was the liquor or the unfamiliar buzz of hope in the air tonight, but there was some odd tone of finality to his voice. She watched him leave, chewing her food thoughtfully, not feeling very hungry anymore.

As the minutes trickled by, it began to feel exhausting to be surrounded by so many happy couples, happy people, all that revolting joy and merriment. Only a short while after George had left, she located her own coat and weeded Lucy out of a throng of people doing the Macarena.

“I think I might head out now. Congratulations once again, Luce.”

“You too? Aww, thanks. Have you decided about the job offer from Madison?”

“I haven’t written back yet, but I think I’m going to turn them down. I was thinking about talking to Lockwood someday to see if he could take on one more employee. Plus, Madison’s a bit far out, and I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”

“Good. George might have just offed himself if it weren’t for his course at Edinburgh. I mean,” Lucy tripped over her words over the stunned look on her face, “I’m sure he was just kidding.”

“Hang on. Edinburgh?”

“Yeah. For his supervisor training. Did he not tell you? I thought for sure he…”

Lucy’s words muffled into oblivion and bled into some horrible ringing sound. Her mouth felt painfully dry. No. This couldn’t be happening.

“…he wanted to wait till after the wedding to tell Lockwood. Didn’t want to put a damper on things. Don’t get me wrong - I’m just as cut up about it, but…” They looked over to where Lockwood was watching the limbo game from afar with a forlorn expression. “…you know Lockwood.”

“What the hell, George.”

He jumped, freezing with his hand buried deep in his pocket, tediously hunting for his keys. She had managed to catch him at the front porch of Portland Row, looking especially guilty under the tepid glow of the ghost lamps.

“You’re training to become a supervisor?”

His face briefly twisted in annoyance. The audacity. “I told Lucy in confidence -“

“When were you going to tell me, Karim? Or were you just going to let me find out all on my own, like last time?” She wanted to laugh cruelly. There was nothing merciful about this knife in her chest. “I mean, why do this? Why lead me on and make me feel things and give me hope?”

“When have I ever led you on?”

“Then what was all that with my ring? Huh?” Tears sprang to her eyes once again, hot and shameful, stinging like a caustic disinfectant to an open wound. She felt so, so stupid.

“You said you didn’t care.”

“I did care!” she snapped. “Of course I fucking cared. I don’t think I could have stopped myself from caring, not when I know you like the back of my hand.”

“But you don’t care. No - tomorrow you’re going to board a train and move out of my reach and meet someone new to soothe the turmoil in your head and you won’t feel my heart bleeding for you. And if you’re very, very lucky, you might find some semblance of happiness -“

“I weigh you down!” The tirade died at her lips. Fury lined every shadow, every crevice of George’s face. He spat his words out with such venom, utter distaste. “I weigh you down…like a child. You pick me up when I fall down and kiss it better because that’s the kind of person you are. I can’t sentence you to a lifetime of running around trying to save me. I won’t do it. I’ll find someone else.”

A burden. He looked through her eyes and all he saw was a shrivelled excuse of a companion, dragging her into his depths of despair. She’d be lying if she said she never felt suffocated by his baggage. But there were some burdens you didn’t mind shouldering, not when you loved them so tenderly.

After all, who was going to unravel his every pause, stutter, sigh, and ache as she did?

“But who else is going to decode you like I do?”

George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.

There was a brooding, resigned look in his eye as if whatever he had been running from had finally caught up to him. He bowed his head and their foreheads touched. Her arms nervously reached around his neck, his hands on her waist steadying her as if to keep their balance on whatever strand of peace the moment had proffered them.

Her lips hovered over his shoulder, clavicle and jaw. She felt him reflexively tighten and loosen his grip, restless fingers fiddling with the folds of her dress and how they wrapped around her body. She brushed against the shell of his ear and felt a shiver run up his spine.

“Who else is going to hold you…like me?”

He turned a fraction and she briefly registered the lack of hesitation in his dark eyes before he finally closed the last of the gap between them. He pressed his lips to hers, soft yet intentional. He tasted like champagne and smoke and promises long-forgotten yet unbroken. It was a dizzying sort of relief to feel that years-old desperate want coiled inside finally melt through arms and fingertips buzzing with curiosity.

After that first touch, it felt as though they couldn’t get close enough, let alone pull themselves apart and have the brisk evening air rush in and nip at sensitive skin. She heard the doorknob rattle as George fumbled with it. After a short struggle, they stumbled into a nearly pitch-dark Portland Row, urgently shucking off each other’s coats and scarves. Her mind was running a mile a minute, her scalp tingling with electricity; white noise over the scrape of his teeth against her skittering pulse.

Her thoughts fragmented. At Fittes. In his room. In her apartment. His typewriter sitting glossy, polished, untouched, maddening -

George Karim was the most affected prick she had the misfortune of knowing. It was bad, bad luck that she was so irrevocably tied to him.

TAGLIST: @cielooci @mohinithoughts @neewtmas @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @ahead-fullofdreams @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mischivana @mitskiswift99

[absurdthirst]

Ration Cards {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Post apocalyptic setting, drugs mention, drug usage, prostitution, sex for ration cards, protected sex, slightly rough handling, derogatory language (whore)

Comments: You know Joel Miller has ration cards and you need to save up. To get out of the city so you can find your sister. Willing to get them at any price, you offer Joel something he could possibly want in exchange for a few.

A/N: So how about that first episode???? The THOTs are rampant and Joel is hot AF.

**Not technically a spoiler, but whatever. Beware.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList ||

gif by @magnusedom

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

He couldn’t say how it started. Maybe it was the pills, or the pills and the booze. Something to quiet the sounds of her panicked, gasping breathing that led to this. Not that he cares. Not that you care either. Both of you are getting something out of this, that’s all that matters now. What he can do for you, what you can do for him. He doesn’t care what that makes him, what people think. Even if the thin walls are barely containing the sound of your moans. Joel hisses, slapping his hand over your mouth when you get too loud, his hips punching against your ass. “Shut the fuck up, kitten.” He growls, that rasp pitched down, trying to keep quiet as his cock spears up into your hot cunt.

You cry into his palm, tears stinging in your eyes from how good he’s making you feel. No one else fucks you like this. Only Joel. The condom wrapper glistens on the side table from the sun coming into the room and you close your eyes, so close to your orgasm when he pushes deep inside of you. You’re not sure how you got to this point with Joel. You only know that you need what he can give you, no matter what it costs. 

**** 

“Please. I just - I need some more ration sheets.” You beg Joel, leaning against the metal fence while he crosses his arms, glancing around the area for any signs of danger. 

“I haven’t got any.” He huffs and you shake your head, “I know that’s not true. You have plenty. I need a few. I - I need them so I can store up. I want to get the fuck out of here. Find my sister. Please, I need the extras. I can - I can give you whatever you want.” You plead and he shakes his head, uncrossing his arms and you admire his profile for a brief moment. Wondering what he looked like before the stress of this entire situation took its toll on the population. He’s handsome now, you can only imagine how handsome he would’ve been without the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“I said no. Okay? Fuck off.” He hisses and stomps off, making you huff and lean against the fence a little more. You roll your eyes and stomp off to your room, deciding to figure out a way to get Joel to give you what you want. 

**** 

After a lot of deliberation, you decided to offer what most men in the QZ, fuck, the world, wants: sex. You clear your throat, making your way to his building, avoiding eye contact as you keep the coat wrapped around your body. Nothing underneath it and you’re suffering the effects of the cold wind but it will be worth it. You knock on his door, holding your breath for him to be in

Knocks on a door are always met with suspicion, but Joel yanks the door open without a weapon in his hand. Guns inside the QZ are forbidden but a handgun isn’t necessary when you can beat a man to death. The scowl on his face slightly only slightly and he hands his head outside the door, looking left and right to see if there’s anyone else with you before he looks back at you. 

“What are you doing here?” He demands roughly. “I told you, I ain’t got ration sheets for you so unless you need something, go the fuck away.” Done with you and ready to pass out after taking the six pills he had just downed with a shot of bathtub liquor, he moves to close the door. 

You stop him, using your strength to keep the door open. “Wait.” You huff and he reluctantly pulls the door open. “I know you have those sheets, Joel. I- I have something I can offer you in exchange for them.” You brace yourself and fumble with the belt of your coat, opening it to display your naked body to those dark brown eyes that seem to burn into your very soul as if he’s trying to figure out your secrets.

His brow scrunches and he stands there for a moment, contemplating what to do. There’s been a lot he’s done since Outbreak, parts of his soul gone and he in no way resembles the man he had been before. He shakes his head and reaches out, grabbing your arm and dragging you closer. “Why are you doin’ this?” He demands. 

“I told you!” You gasp. “My sister is- I need to find her. She’s out there.” 

It’s a plight he understands, his own desperation to find Tommy since he’s gone silent has led to some dealings he wouldn’t normally do. Another couple of seconds pass, staring into your eyes before he lets go of your arm and straights slightly, his own hand moving to his belt buckle. “Turn around.” 

You inhale sharply that he has agreed to this. You are taking a risk, he might not even have the sheets and he’s telling the truth, but you can’t take the chance of not getting them. You are so close to having everything you need. You reach into the pocket before you shrug off the coat, letting it fall to the floor to leave you naked bar your boots. “Use this.” You hold up the silver packet, not even looking over your shoulder at him.

A condom. Joel takes the rubber and stares at it for a minute, trying to remember the last time he saw a condom. He huffs, putting it between his teeth before he starts to unzip, pulling his half hard cock out of his pants and starts pumping himself. You are looking over your shoulder at him and he ignores your slight gasp, concentrating on getting himself hard enough to put the condom on since you want him to wear it. Much better than pulling out so he doesn’t mind it. 

You stare at Joel while he gets himself hard, your stomach twisting from how thick he is. It’s gonna hurt. You’re no way wet enough to take him but you can deal with that. Those ration sheets are worth anything you have to do. Not that you don’t want to have sex with Joel. You’ve always wondered what he would be like in bed. You bite your lip, wiggling your ass as you grow impatient. “Struggling to get it up, old man?” You tease him.

“Fuck off.” He grunts, speaking with the condom still clenched between his teeth. “It's not like you’re sucking my cock.” He finally lets go of himself and reaches up to tear the packet open. “Rub some spit on your cunt.” He orders while he pinches the tip and rolls the rubber down his length. Listening to you spit in your hand while he spits on his own. “So it doesn’t hurt.” 

You roll your eyes, guiding your hand between you, and you rub your clit, trying to work yourself up. You whimper softly at the sensation and don’t notice Joel coming up behind you. He presses on your back and you lean forward, resting both hands on the arm of the tatty sofa. His hands caress your back for a moment until he is gripping his cock, positioning himself at your entrance and you hold your breath while he pushes into you.

He always loves the second that he pushes inside a cunt. The way the lips spread, stretch around him and the fucking heat. He groans quietly, leaning over your back as he keeps pushing until his hips are against your ass. “Fuck.” He rasps out, twitching inside you for the briefest second before he is moving. 

His hot breath hits your back and you shiver, elbows digging into the worn arm of the sofa. “Shit. You’re big.” It’s not a compliment, more of a statement. This is a transaction. You do like the way he curses though, his cock stretching you out as he sets a slow pace and you close your eyes, trying to relax and enjoy this moment of intimacy, even if it’s not even remotely romantic.

It’s not like he has places to be. The sounds inside his head are limited to your soft moans and the steadily slicker slaps of his hips against your ass. The buzz from the pills starting to take hold and his head feels fuzzy, he feels….good. “Fuck.” He grips your hips a little harder, pushing his cock deeper into you when he feels your cunt opening up for him. “You’re- fuck, you’re tight.” 

You like hearing him say that, getting wetter with each rock of his hips until you can easily take his cock inside of you. When he pushes deep against your wall, you let out a moan. Finally, you’re starting to feel pleasure. Joel notices and chuckles, deep and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. “So how often do you whore yourself out for ration sheets?” He asks, tone mocking enough to make you growl. You kick at his calf, pushing him back so his cock falls out of you and you turn to slap him.

“You fucking bastard-” You raise your hand but he grabs your wrist, a mocking smirk on his face, his eyes glassy enough to make you furious.

“Kitten has claws, huh?” He chuckles and you rip your wrist out of his grasp.

“Fuck you, Miller.” You hiss, “I just wanted what you have and I - I had nothing else to offer you. I have no weapons to spare, no drugs or booze. This is all I have left.” You poke his chest, still naked while he stands there with his rubber covered cock out, uncaring of your anger.

He gets it better than he would like to. Understands more than he should. There’s been plenty of people who have nothing to offer, who starve. It’s a life that almost isn’t worth living but you go on for family. Grabbing your arm again, he pushes you towards the bed. “Get on your knees,” he huffs, rolling his eyes at himself. For worrying about someone he shouldn’t. When you don’t move, he grabs you again, hauling you closer to him. “Get of the fucking bed, kitten, or get dressed and get the fuck out.” 

You can’t leave without those ration sheets and honestly? You want him to fuck you. Even if you don’t cum, you’ll get a few moments where your mind is blank to all the bullshit and you can just be. You kneel on the bed, on your hands and knees, the condom wrapper on the side table he tossed it onto and you glance over your shoulder at him. “You gonna fuck me or what?” You want to rile him up, you want him to fuck you hard.

Reaching out, he slaps your ass harshly before he pulls your hips back. “Shut up.” He huffs, pushing back into you with a groan before he starts spearing into you again. His hands are harder this time, squeezing your flesh before he snakes a hand around to pinch your clit hard enough to make you cry out. “Want you to cum for me, kitten.” He groans as he starts rubbing circles on the swollen nub. You’re doing what you have to and you should get something other than a few fucking ration cards for it. 

You moan when he starts to rub your clit, trying a few different motions until you are clenching around his cock. He focuses on that action, working you towards an orgasm, and you pant out his name, unable to stop yourself when you haven’t had pleasure like this in so long. “Oh fuck. Yes. Keep going. Just like that. You feel so good baby.” The nickname slips out, lost in your pleasured haze and for the moment, everything that’s happened to you since outbreak day fades away and you focus on the pleasure, on Joel.

“You like that, kitten?” He groans, working himself into you harder, his cock now throbbing and his entire body starting to feel. “You like my fingers on your clit and my cock in your cunt?” He knows you don’t want him, but it feels good, the wetness of your cunt starting to quelch and he can forget the sounds inside his head for a while. He might even sleep after this. 

“Yes. Oh shit. I love it.” You cry out, head dropping between your shoulders while he pounds into you, the slapping sound filling your ears and fading out the sounds of people outside. “So - so good Joel. Your cock feels so good.” It’s true, you haven’t had sex this good since before the shit hit the fan. Your husband…God rest his soul…was the only other man who made you feel like this. “Fuck. Keep going. Make me cum. You’re gonna make me cum, Joel. Keep going.” You demand loudly, a squeal escaping your lips when his next thrust hits deep.

Joel hisses, slapping his hand over your mouth when you get too loud, his hips punching against your ass. “Shut the fuck up, kitten.” He growls, that rasp pitched down, trying to keep quiet as his cock spears up into your hot cunt. You don’t need to be so loud, his body plastered over your back, one hand over your mouth and the other still working your clit while he fucks you, grunting into your ear. 

You cry into his palm, tears stinging in your eyes from how good he’s making you feel. No one else fucks you like this. Only Joel. The condom wrapper glistens on the side table from the sun coming into the room and you close your eyes, so close to your orgasm when he pushes deep inside of you. Another half dozen thrusts and he sends you over the edge. You shove his fingers into your mouth, moaning his name around them while you clamp down on his cock. You are shaking from the pleasure and you hate that he’s going to take satisfaction in reminding you of that.

Your cunt is tight, making him grit his teeth as he works himself in and out of you. Fingers moving from your clit to your hip, hand around your mouth tightening and he pulls you upright, needing a better hold on you. Now the sounds of his hips slapping against your ass are loud, almost too loud but he doesn’t give a fuck. Chasing his release with every swing of his hips. Thrusting up into you another half dozen times before he breaks. “Kittennnnnn.” He grunts out your new nickname as he pours himself into the condom, hard jarring thrusts as he rides out his high. 

You let him ride his high, short, jagged thrusts as he fills the condom, and you pant, leaning against him. You have a sheen of sweat from the activities and you love it, love the mindless feeling of an orgasm and the following haze. “Joel.” You murmur, turning your head to press your lips to his but he jerks away from you. “I- I’m sorry.” You whisper but he’s already pulling out of you, tying off the condom to toss into the trash by his window. You shuffle off of the bed, legs shaky as you apologize again but he doesn’t hear you. 

Tucking himself away in his pants first, he opens the secret book he keeps on the shelf, uncaring of you seeing where he keeps one part of his stash, and he hands you about twenty ration sheets. “Here you go, kitten, go find your sister.” He rasps out, avoiding your gaze. 

You frown, feeling dirty now that he’s done with you, and you bend down to pick up your coat, tying it around your waist and shoving the sheets into the inside pocket. “So I guess this is it.” You tell him, clearing your throat. You have enough now to get out of the QZ and you know he’s searching for Tommy. 

“Yeah. I guess so.” He still doesn’t look at you. 

“Be safe Joel.” You whisper, making your way to the door, your boots now the only sound in the room. 

“Be safe, kitten.” Joel murmurs just before you close his door. 

You smile against the wood, leaning there for a moment until you get your footing. “This kitten definitely has claws.” You smile to yourself, pleased that you got what you wanted. Now, it’s time to get ready to leave the QZ. What you don’t know is that you’ll be seeing Joel again sooner rather than later.

[greatlydelirious]

𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐈 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

Karl Heisenberg x GN!Reader

wordcount: 1.4k words

warnings: a bunch of angst, mentions of death, fluff

a/n: inspired by the song “Gilded Lily” by Cults

Exhaustion clings to you like a nagging parasite; slowly sucking all the energy from its host with an unquenchable hunger.

Days blended into nights blended into weeks until time wasn’t a concept anymore. The bed you once shared with your estranged lover stays wrinkle-free and covered in a thin layer of dust. “Sleep” isn’t a practice you partake in. You get to rest when your body decides you had enough and you pass out in a chair or on painful occasions, the metal floor. Each time you wake up disoriented in the same spot, the ache in your chest grows.

The factory you live in is tucked far away from the village you use to reside in. It feels like those memories faded away with each second that ticked by. Maybe it was from the lack of nutrients and rest that your mind has become so unreliable. Not just your mind, but everything else. You were gaunt, pale, and your eyes had dark bags that felt heavy with each blink.

Did Heisenberg not notice it or not care? With how long you’ve felt this way it must be both. There was a time when he reminded you to eat and insisted that you take a break. He even would stop what he was doing to check on you just for a quick chat or kiss. Was all the work worth it if you didn’t survive long enough to see it come to fruition?

You don’t know how long you stood there staring at the collage of photos. Faces of people you never met and names you only heard spoken in vain accented with strategically placed strings covered the wall. It was a visual reminder of what you were working against, what was apparently important enough to deteriorate for.

A sudden rush of emotions comes so fast you begin to shake. The more you stare the more you want to scream. Why did Heisenberg have to be so hellbent on revenge that you faded into the background? He swore you were special, a part of his heart that was more important than anything he ever encountered in life.

Bullshit. Actions spoke louder than words and actions told you that you were just another pawn. Free labor that was expendable. Rage comes to the forefront as every bottled-up emotion breaks you apart. Screaming you tear at the source of your anguish. Paper rips and thumbtacks go flying as you grab blindly at the stupid collage.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” You repeat the words over and over. The venom lacing each one wasn’t focused on a single subject. Deep in your heart, you hate yourself more than anything else. You hate yourself for coming here, for falling in love, for being complacent in your misery and ultimate demise.

You cry out when something yanks you from the wall with brutal force. Fingers dig painfully into your shoulder as your whipped around like a weightless rag doll. After seeing nothing but a blur you’re confronted with furious green eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Heisenberg spats while shaking you with such strength it feels like your brain rattles around. No pet name, no careful caress, you feel like a stranger in your own home. Words fail you as you soak in the intensity in his eyes. The man staring back at you is one you’ve never seen before.

Maybe you were a stranger after all.

“Have you lost your mind?” When you continue to stay silent, Heisenberg roughly shakes you again.

“Tell me!”

“Haven’t I given enough?” The question plaguing you finally slips out.

Months’ worth of unshed tears break through the corners of your dimmed eyes. Only two minuscule sparks of hope shimmered in their depths. Ones that used to be lively and bright. Ones that made the man holding you fall in love in the first place.

“I’ve sacrificed my life for you! I pledged devotion to your cause and spent every millisecond of my miserable time working on that damned army you want and how do you repay me?” Wetness coats your face as you clench your teeth to hold back the sobs threatening to capture your words.

“You repay me by acting like I don’t exist. When we’re in the same room it’s like I’m a fucking piece of furniture! What happened to us?” Clouded by overwhelming grief interlaced with the seething anger of betrayal you begin to pound on Heisenberg’s chest to get him away. You might as well be a bird in a cage. No matter how much you pecked, chirped, and scratched, the metal surrounding you would never let you escape.

“You don’t even look at me anymore! I’m falling apart and it’s like you don’t even care. Has my novelty worn off? Haven’t I given you enough?” Painful sobs win the war raging inside you as they finally rake your being. Now that you finally pushed out the words that have been desperate to be heard, you felt cold from emptiness.

Strong arms hold you tight against an impossibly warm chest as you lay in bed. Although you were breathless and drowsy from the wonderful things Heisenberg did to your body you try to stay awake to bask in every moment with him. A kiss is placed on your temple before your lover buries his face in your neck. “Stay with me and I will take good care of you sweetheart. I will make sure you get the life you deserve.”

The memory haunts you instead of comforting you like it used to. Now it only sounded like pillow talk that gave way to broken promises. When did your relationship become as dead as the corpses you forced yourself to aid in revitalizing? Heisenberg promised you a life where you both roamed free; out from the crushing boot of another, yet now you felt like you were under his rather than the beings trapping you here.

The feeling of large hands encompassing either side of your head that makes you close your eyes. Maybe he would grant you mercy by crushing your skull instead of adding you to the collection of mangled bodies that roamed the endless halls of the factory. Letting out a breath you resign yourself to death’s fate.

When warm lips smash against your own, your eyes fly open. The familiar taste of Cuban cigars invades your senses as does the smell of musk and metal that was uniquely Heisenberg. Home. Despite your broken heart and inner turmoil, he feels like home. He feels like quiet mornings, rainy afternoons, soft snowfall, and long nights; all the things you adored and craved to experience again and again.

With dizzying quickness, you’re relinquished of his strong hold. The sudden change in demeanor once again leaves you speechless. Heisenberg’s kiss conveyed the million little things you thought your relationship lost long ago. His breaths come out in ragged succession as he simply stares at you.

Why hasn’t he said anything yet? You want Heisenberg to yell at you, belittle you, go on a monologued rant, something, anything.

Crippling pain hits you before he can utter a word. Your hands dart to clutch your heart to reflexively soothe the hurt. The violent influx of emotions and the months of your health rapidly declining have finally caught up to you. When your name is frantically called out, it sounds like you’re underwater.

Before you know it, the room starts to spin and your body tips sideways. Heisenberg’s obsession to save you has inadvertently killed you slowly. Taking you bit by bit until it was almost too late to sew the pieces back together. Almost.

Instead of slamming against cold metal, you feel warmth all around you. You’re swept into Heisenberg’s arms before you can even protest. Air whooshes across your skin as each stride moves faster than the last. You didn’t know where he was taking you and for once, you didn’t care.

Something about the mixture of his kiss, his embrace, and your fragile condition makes your eyes drift closed. A strange feeling tingles across every inch of your body as the wild thumping in your chest starts to diminish.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump.

Thump.

Then nothing.

Do you fight the darkness clawing at you in the hope of a better tomorrow, or do you let it consume you to run away from the pain?

The questions are yet another you’ll never be able to have the answer to when your limp body is carefully placed on an old examination table surrounded by medical equipment and, more importantly, the key factor of your fate; a twitching organism in the shape of a fetus lying patiently in a jar.

A kiss reminiscent of a love you once shared is placed on your temple, “Come back to me sweetheart. Do that and you’ll have given enough.”

Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated.

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

💙🩷🤎

💙 Blue: What inspires you to finish writing a fanfic, and what makes you quit writing one at any stage in the process?

For Store Playlist, it was the fact that it was part of a big bang and I'd feel gross for not finishing it lol. For Left 2 Chill, it was/is a multi-year labor of love that i wanted to see to the end. And the epilogue will be going up in like 12 days!! So we're nearly there! (Also the deadlines I had in my head of September-October 2023 and April 2024 for a 28 Weeks Later joke/reference kicked my ass into finishing... but good lord i still need to go back and make edits bc spell/grammar check has never been kind to me)

As for what makes me abandon one, the fact of the matter is that I don't seriously start enough fics/story ideas to make them feel.. real?? I've mentioned incomprehensible scribbles in my notes app, which were made either bc I wanted to make a comic for them or just write them down before I forgot them (cough cough royal pains manifesto). So like, it's hard to call them abandoned since they were never really started beyond Vibes (halo au... i can see like three scenes for it and no other story beyond that)

As for actual fics of mine that have been abandoned (one of which has gotten a weird influx of kudos despite not being updated since 2018) were from the era of the infamous Deleted Progress of 2019 from when my old iPod Touch was being a douche about its cloud storage. So many months worth of progress... just gone.. it still makes me sad...

Sooo short answer on reasoning for abandoning fics: not being able to commit or literal outside influence I guess lol

🩷 Pink: Do you find a certain character (or characters) easy to write? More difficult -- and if so, do you avoid writing that character (or those characters) when possible?

Jeremy and Zoe are generally easy bc they're just like me fr (oddly specific familial trauma what whaaat), but it really depends with other characters. I've done very little writing for characters other than the boyfs outside of l2c (which! I! Want! To! Get! Better! About!) so like.. the au versions of the characters are generally easy for me bc. I invented them for the most part lol

I guess it was harder for me to pin down Rich, since he was a "main cast" character whose head I spent about the least time in (next to Jared, but I've already gone on abt the meta reasoning for not getting in his head much, and writing him was less hard and more mentally taxing bc i kept fussing over potential readers Not Seeing The Vision) mainly bc the other characters had more interesting things to going on to pick apart

🤎 Brown: How did you decide to write for (or why are you writing) a certain story? (Asker, feel free to chose a specific story you're curious about. You can also let the answerer choose the story.)

I'm gonna speedrun a few bc I feel like it

Left 2 Chill: started playing Left 4 Dead 2 again. Doodled Jeremy saying one of the most metal lines from the game/trailer. Quarantine happened a month later. "Haha look at me writing an au about a viral outbreak during a viral outbreak I'm sure there's no correlation at all."

Store Playlist: worked at a grocery store and watched over the self checkouts. Fun songs played sometimes that I would dance/lipsync to. Funny customer/manager interactions. ("He's sixteen." "Nuh-uh! I'm fourteen!" — "Want some water? It tastes like roses. [...] Want some roses? They taste like roses." — [The cucumber thing]) "Hmm what if self-indulgent blorbo au?"

[Anything for the Weakness saga (hi becca)]: 5am brain rot, brain rot, gay, what if missing scene, 3am brain rot, gay gay gay hgfgvcgg g a y

[fraener]

1/23/24

christmas came and went. i made a quiche with broccoli and bacon and shallots and h and i made latkes and sausages to go with. i got covid for the first time over break, two days after christmas, essentially unvaccinated since i hadn't gotten this year's shot yet. i was very sick for about 2 weeks and have been coughing since then. luckily im back to my usual level of fatigue. school started quietly and strangely, the days before my night classes erased by my anxiety about needing to conserve energy for school. im riding to the pellar's with a new person who i've decided i like. i have a classmate i want to get to know better. im feeling overwhelmed in so many ways recently and im having such a hard time concentrating and motivating. ive been cooking so much, made sukiyaki and so much miso soup and rice balls. somehow the short grain rice doesnt hurt as much as any other rice, i get a stomach ache from eating gluten free bread and stuff but not from eating japanese short grain rice. the main gallery on campus is already booked through the end of the year so if i want my stuff in there i have to apply and have my work juried by other students and then they decide if i get to be in the group show or not which is pissing me off to no end. im so tired of other people deciding what i deserve/what my worth is when it comes to art. the weather has been very cold, then very dark and wet, and now today there is a weak light shining on everything and the air is warm. i want to go to an east facing beach or somewhere else beautiful like that. im doing ceramics again but i feel divided and distracted from my work in there, disconnected from the clay. im also working in the metals studio on a little copper hoya retusa charm. i switched my work hours to just wednesdays for now, i hope it helps a little. still nothing has gone through the kiln! i think thats part of why i feel a bit stuck. i wish it was easy to let go and let things evolve the way they naturally need to. thinking a lot about my relationship to g this month, i think ill be lonely if we grow apart but i also dont think we should be physically involved anymore, even if that makes me a little lonely. i dont like that things are already so bad with his wife and will only get worse if we continue. its just not really worth it and its not really worth the way h treats me about it. the war goes on, people get sick, i sit in front of the heater in the dark.

ive been thinking a lot about shame the last couple of days. i think this town and the people here have taught me a lot about shame again, and the pandemic has taught me a lot about shame, and being more sexually active has taught me a lot about shame. ive had a mounting sensation of social anxiety that has crawled its way back like it was with me before the pandemic. i feel like ive been taught to be ashamed of myself over and over...like i somehow forget and then each new chapter of my life i walk in shamelessly and someone teaches me that i should be ashamed again. its weird to be taught that by a town full of people who know my name but dont know me personally, and weird to be taught that by the people who do know me personally. its shameful to make something for fun and play, but its good to do something new and everyone is just playing, but you can only be taken seriously if what youre doing is serious under its coat of play. everything has to be right and digestible and good. every interaction i have ive got to make sure i dont say something blunt or personal or unpleasant to think about, but mentioning the weather is boring. if i express dislike for the artistic and social hierarchy of the town it eventually trickles back to the people at the top and another round of stares and whispers surrounds me when i go out. im afraid to connect with the people i have met, im afraid to try and get to know anyone better. often when i try im shot down anyways. no one takes me seriously enough to want to make anything with me because i dont already know exactly what im doing. i cant believe i was ever part of a popular group...i think everyone in town hated them. i feel like it was damaging to my reputation. i dont want to just slink around in corners where no one will see me. i dont want to sit around and try to get the attention of people who have already decided im not worth their time without ever having spoken with me either. im so tired of my shame! im tired of being ashamed of myself. shame was erased for so many people by the pandemic but now we're all pretending like it didn't happen and no one is allowed to put their foot in their mouth anymore and no one is allowed to be honest and no one is allowed to see their fellow community members as accessible equals anymore. and wearing a mask out is shameful and obnoxious and cringy. somehow its considered really embarrassing to talk to people in this town while youre out even if you know them. no matter what theyre up to its a weird intrusion of their privacy because they didnt specifically approach you though some distant means of communication and ask you if you wanted to have an awkward and unfulfilling social interaction. everything is stiff and opaque again. but in the end it requires other people to meet you on the other end if youve given everything you have to connect with them. very little privacy or peace in my life currently and at the same time an enormous sensation of being overlooked or looked down on by everyone in town. people know who i am and are talking about me but it doesnt feel like theyve got anything good to say or anything to say to me at all. lots to think about and work against here.

[laniquill]

Hello, Rotomblr! I actually thought it was kinda nice to post about my new life, so I’m back again.

On the suggestion of some folks after my previous post, I decided to check out what’s around town here in Verdanturf. I had always thought of it as a sleepy place with nothing going on because there isn’t a gym here, but I think that’s my family’s bias talking. When they discussed the various leagues, only those towns with gyms came up. I’d only heard them briefly mention the contest hall with disdain. (“A move’s worth is in its battle effects, not how cute it is!” Yes, they are snobs.)

But apparently my information is old because I found out the old contest hall is a battle tent now. You can bet Scar (Skarmory) perked right up at that! Doing my research, I found that trainers compete with teams of three and the Pokémon themselves decide which moves to use. So, that was a bit of good news and a bit of bad. Eliza (Flygon) is pretty go-with-the-flow, so she was willing to join, but the other three? Not so much. Bubbles (Marill) and Alice (Eevee) were staunchly against, but I managed to talk Cinder (Typhlosion) into giving it a go. That was my first mistake.

I signed us up for a battle a few days later. Scar could hardly keep still in the hours leading up to it; he was so excited. I sent him out first just because I didn’t think I could get him to stay back at the start. The other trainer led with a Breloom, so Scar had a good type advantage and he didn’t mess around. One quick Air Cutter and the Breloom was down for the count. Next up was a Stunky. I thought about calling Scar back and letting Eliza lead for the ground type advantage, but I figured since he has poison immunity, I could let him keep going. That was my second mistake. Scar is fast so he got the first hit in with a solid Steel Wing, but then the Stunky countered with a Flamethrower that really walloped Scar. Scar went for another hit before I could call him back and managed to knock out the Stunky, but I could feel that nervousness that always gets me when my Pokémon take a hard hit. It was always my biggest weakness as a battler and caused me to make even more mistakes.

The other trainer’s last Pokémon was a Frost Rotom. I managed to convince Scar to pull back for that one; he’s not stupid, just over enthusiastic. Given Eliza’s strong ice weakness, Cinder took on the Rotom, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Mistake number three: I’ve been going pokéball-free whenever possible with them lately, so Scar was watching the whole thing. I could tell he was getting frustrated with Cinder. It almost looked like he was going to let the Rotom win, but he got hit with a particularly nasty Shock Wave, which ticked him off. He retaliated with a Lava Plume and that was that. Battle won.

I convinced my heart to slow down, shook the other trainer’s hand, and left. Though he was still upset with Cinder, Scar maintained high spirits after the win. He spent the rest of the afternoon (after a trip to the Pokémon center, of course) sunning himself on top of the chimney. It’s his way of bragging. Have you ever seen a Skarmory sun themselves? They’re impossible to miss: a great, metal bird scattering sunlight rainbows in every direction. I’ve heard people mistake them for Ho-Oh sometimes. But you know any Pokémon that brilliant has to be confident to the point of cocky. Skarmory don’t hide; they can’t. (And I’m pretty sure it would kill their pride to try.)

All in all, I don’t think the battle tent is the solution. I checked the fine print rules later and you can’t compete with borrowed Pokémon nor can you enter with less than three. I think next time I’ll head out to route 117 and see if there are any trainers around looking for a friendly battle. Depending on their type specialties, Scar probably won’t be able to sweep, but perhaps Eliza will be willing to tag along again. In the meantime, I apologized to Cinder for pressuring him to come and to Scar for Cinder being a bad sport, then I made the whole family my famous Poké-friendly cookies. Fingers crossed things go better on our next outing. Hopefully we just need to work out the kinks!

[running-with-kn1ves]

How about a yandere!rich husband x ex-wife?

Like...She wants to get divorced but yandere husband is like NO.

Love your stories and ocs btw! Really fills my craving for yandere relationship dynamics

Not gonna lie.. I absolutely love ideas like this-- it reminds me of the cheater scenarios, which I have a love hate relationship with-- because its so nice to have someone beg and grovel for your forgiveness whilst keeping you captive;; but then again I have extreme distaste for unfaithfulness. :D

Thank you so much!! I am happy to fill that yandere void in exchange for an awesome prompt hehehe

Yandere! Rich Husband X GN Reader

Candles were lit, fireplace burning, dinner gracefully served on porcelain plates. The evening was beautiful-- sun setting just perfectly over the horizon, while you adorned a lovely gold watch and matching ring; a pair you were keen to take off immediately. The gifts were something you had always resented; their superficial purpose causing you regret over the 2 years of marriage. 

That’s all that this was: the unification’s only purpose was to serve those wishing for materialistic items. You couldn’t guess the amount of money your marriage had spurred in the bank accounts of close friends and family; not to mention your own husband’s.

That’s why you decided it was time, time to break off this “business deal.” Your father knew what he was doing when he married you off to the man you now only recognize as a fraud; all you were was a trade. The thought of being worth millions was slightly flattering; until you realized what you’d have to live with until death did you part. 

The sound of the front doors opening and shuffling of feet heightened the anxiety already bubbling in your stomach. Your husband walked in, conversing with several other men. The group laughed at a comment he made, giving the politest of smiles and handshakes. You cleared your throat, loud enough for the group to recognize you standing next to the romantic table. They turned and stared at you, all looking slightly surprised.

“Ah, there you are, I didn’t see you when I walked in,” The man known as your husband walked over to you, pulling you by the arm to the group of men. “Gentlemen, this is my beautiful-” 

You cut him off before he could say the label. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you all.” Shaking each of their hands, you pushed down the appealing idea to abandon your goal. The plan you had been working towards for days didn’t feel so enticing anymore.

“I apologize to have to break off your.. meeting,” You speak with hesitation, avoiding your lover’s eyes. “But we have something important to discuss.”

An awkward silence filled the room, before the men reacted. Hands rubbing the backs of their necks and excuses to get back home to their families quickly filled the air, trying to escape as quickly as possible. Each of the suited lads left where they came, waving short goodbyes to your soon ex-husband. 

Now it was just the two of you; you had requested that any staff in your home to leave for the night, as you wanted the utmost privacy. 

“Please, come sit.” You spoke with a monotonous voice, allowing the man to take a seat across from you. 

“So, what’s all this for?” He asks with genuine curiosity. You hadn’t shown this much romance and detail into the relationship since... since the start of your marriage. It certainly did surprise him.

“Well, like I said, we have an important matter to talk about.”

Swallowing the fear rising into your system you gained courage, remembering the reassurance of your decision mere hours ago. 

“And what would that be?” The man across from you removed his fork from the table, taking several bites from the now cold food. 

“I want a divorce.” 

Your voice doesn’t quiver like you were afraid it would; it brings a newfound resilience and freedom to you. Like maybe... one day you’d be free of the shackles your family and husband had put on you. 

The sound of metal hitting the floor jolted you away from the daydream. Looking up at your husband, you noticed his lack of reaction. You expected immediate shouting, but all he pulled was silence. 

“And why is that?” His voice was near silent, staring you down. 

“You know why..” Your voice was becoming more emotional, causing you to cringe. “ I can’t take this anymore I-- I’m being suffocated. All I do is stay inside this house, following whatever you do like a damn dog-”

“What is it that you want?-” 

You cut him off abruptly. “I want out.”

The lighting of the fire and candles didn’t read romantic departing any longer; it only made you feel more trapped. Nothing was yours in that house.

“Out? Fine, you can go out, leave this house do what ever you want! You know what’ll happen if you do.” His voice steadily grew, growing frustrated and irritated. 

You had never accounted for that before; you assumed he’d be angry at you for leaving, but not for you-- just at the idea of his image being ruined. And he was right; your own reputation would be destroyed without him having to lift a finger, once the divorce became public. 

“You should be lucky I even let you out when I do. I won’t stand for this behavior,” His voice grew low, hand reaching for yours to squeeze. 

“After all I do, after all I provide, its still not enough? You still want to run out with another man?”

Your eyes widened at the accusation. “What? No! I just can’t take being used like an item-- You’re, You’re so controlling! I can’t even have friends anymore!”

 You went silent, your eyes shifting away from his. Pulling your hand away from his touch, you felt a guilty conscience nag at you. 

With a low grunt, the man slammed his fist on the table, looking back at you. 

“Controlling? Oh I’ll show you controlling.” He pushed away from the table, chair falling backwards. You were swiftly pulled up by the wrist, easily getting dragged into the back bedroom.

You yelled at him to let you go; he didn’t. He never listened to your demands or pleas, it’s not like this time would be different. His lack of response angered you, but the tight grip bruising your arm caused you to begrudgingly stay quiet.

With brute force your husband threw you against the bed, your head falling hard onto the mattress. Within seconds he was on top of you-- your hands already being forced above onto the headboard. He was spouting nonsense from atop, giving no attention to your cries and struggle. 

“The things I provide and do.. You think you have the right to embarrass me, and to leave me just like that?”

With ease he made his way to your ankles, trapping them with the same handcuffs as your hands. He mumbled under his breath about how “difficult” you were being. 

You had fallen silent, finding no use in projecting the panic riddling your body despite wanting to cry. Sure, your husband was never the open-minded type, but this deranged behavior was a complete 180.

You sniffled quietly, clenching your teeth; face wet with tears, an excruciating headache was on its way.

Your husband fell silent from the end of the bed, his eyes cast to your limp body on the bed. He sighed heavily, showing as much tire as yourself. The golden handcuffs dug into your wrists; a detail you felt was unnecessary. 

He stroked your bunched up legs slowly, letting just his finger tips tickle the skin. Moving his hands, you noticed the bracelets clasped onto each of your ankles; diamonds shining on the silver chain, which reflected off of dim light. 

“No matter how hard you fight, you’ll always be mine.” Your husband said slowly, pulling your legs toward him. 

You felt his face pressed against your knees, soft lips imprinting on you time and time again. 

“Please just tell me you love me, and this can be over with. Don’t spout such silly nonsense anymore...”

[averagehorrorgirl]

-> I Told You <- Tags: Mention of death, typical star wars violence, swearing Synopsis: Survivor of Order 66 turned bounty hunter finds much more than what you were bargaining for. But fairy tales don’t happen, and now you’re back on the very planet you swore you would never return to with a small green child and a Mandalorian. Except, the past you believed dead has a way of crawling out of the sands of Tatooine.   Author's Note: I loved Boba since the OT when he came back in the Mandalorian I cried lol.

- Flashback - 

You looked at the green armored bounty hunter “Boba...” you begin before he cuts you off with that deep voice you fell in love with all those years ago.

“Y/N, Jabba requested I go on the Sail Barge to watch the prisoners be executed, and well, in case something goes wrong the credits alone that I will get for Solo’s capture will be enough for us to live someone nice.” He looks at you through the t visor of the helmet. 

You inhale a short breath as you rest your head on his breastplate, the cold metal soothed your worry just a bit. The feeling of him in front of you, breathing and heart beating “no amount of credits are worth your life Fett” you mumble as you wrap your arms around his waist.

You feel him shift in front of you as he wraps his armored arms around your frame, one of his hands travel up the back of your neck and into your h/c hair as he gently runs his fingers through the locks. “I’m just a simple man trying to make my way through the universe” he rests his forehead on top of your head.

You snort playfully and flick the exposed skin of his neck lightly “I’m telling you Boba, something doesn’t feel right...” you shrink into yourself as you feel your heart quicken at the thought of him dying, or tortured or whatever could happen out there. 

“I’ll be careful princess don’t worry” he rests his hands on the side of your arms looking at you for your response.

You hug him one last time as you bend down and grab his blaster from its spot upon the ground “come back to me Fett” you hand him the blaster giving him a nod. 

He chuckles “I hear you little one, I’ll be back tonight” 

You nodded and smiled up at him one more time as you wave him goodbye. 

But, he never returned when the sun on Tatooine began to set, and he always returned when he said he would. You tapped your foot radically as you chew at your bottom lip watching the door intently. “Maybe he’s just finishing with Jabba about the credits” you mumble to yourself as you head to your shared room for a sleepless and restless night. 

As the morning sun creeps through the window your eyes remained glued on the spot the famed bounty hunter would sleep only to see an empty cold spot. You sigh as you get up and retrieve the weapon you swore you wouldn’t touch anymore. Your f/c lightsaber. You stare at the cursed thing before you throw it into your satchel and pick up one of his good blasters and holster it at your hip. You begin to wander to the doorway before you stop, you notice one of his cloaks and decided to throw it on adorning the Fett clan symbol as a brooch.

“Time to go to the disgusting palace and see what’s up” you mumble to yourself as you take one last look at your home before you head towards Jabba’s Palace.

 You wander inside the palace and the horrendous smell hits your nose as you grunge at it before tugging onwards towards the throne room. Many of the other bounty hunters knew you, as well as Jabba, and his translator Bib Fortuna. He learned the hard way not to fuck with you. But he still creeped you out, with those pink eyes and sharpened teeth. However as you looked around the darkened palace you noticed the slug was nowhere to be seen, nor was Boba. On the throne instead was Bib. Your face frowns at the sight as your heart drops to your stomach as you approach the throne.

“Where’s Jabba Bib?” you snarl towards him snapping him out of his partying trance

“Jabba? Jabba is dead, the Sail Barge was destroyed by the prisoners” he looks at you with some fright as he swallows the words that bubbled on his tongue 

Your breath quickens as your finger tips become cold and fire spreads through your veins as you look at him. Your hand twitches with a familiar power that you shoved away a long time ago. “And Fett?” you hiss towards him your aggressive tone made the throne room deathly silent as they all stared at you many of the slave girls yanked on their chains that wouldn’t break no matter how much they pulled.

He chuckled nervously as he adjusted himself upon the throne of the Hutts as he looks around “Y/N come on, he went out there willingly it isn’t my-” he was cut off by the sounds of him choking as he brings his hands to his throat giving you a pleading look as you use the force to tighten your grip around his throat. Your eyes held anger and furry in them as your body remain calm, your right hand merely raised a bit causing Bib his issues.

“I asked. What. About. Fett. Bib, if you thought feeding the slave girls to the Rancor was a horrible death I will make it infinitely worse....slower, I will make sure you feel ever single cut, and I’ll pluck your eyes out and shove them down your throat so you can watch me tear your heart out.”

He gasps for air in the spots he can as he continues to choke on nothingness “Boba..” he gasps “Boba is dead” the male twi’lek continued to gasp for air as you blink rapidly before you drop Bib as you rest your hand on your forehead coming to terms you will never ever see the man you love ever again.

‘dead...’

- End of Flashback -

You stare out of the window inside the cockpit of the Razor Crest as you return to the one planet you swore to never come back to. Tatooine. You let the child crawl around your lap as he looks around, occasionally making coo’s towards Din to get his attention. The beskar wearing Mandalorian turns his head to look at you as he begins the landing sequence, “why do you hate this planet so much Y/N? I recall you saying such when we found The Child” 

You try to ignore him as you eyes remained peeled on the window that shown the grand desert of Taooine “I lost the most important thing in my life on this dust rock” you mumble as you give Din a glance “this planet is just a taunting nightmare of that echoing pain” you mumble as The Child coos up at you grasping at your hair before the familiar feeling of the ship landing drives you to pick up the small creature and hand him to Din. “It is a story I do not wish to talk about. Let’s find that contact of yours” you mumble as you throw on the all familiar cloak as you walk down the ramp of the Razor Crest. Your skin instantly hit with the heat of Tatooine as your boots crunch the sand with every step. 

You look around the spot Din landed as he begins to talk to the lady who you don’t quite remember her name and you chuckle when the droids work at his ship before your attention is drawn into their conversation “Where is Mos Pelgo? I’m told there is one there.” Din says. 

You stride towards your armored companion and join in on the conversation, “that’s impossible, the last mandolorian died here years ago when the Empire was still around” you say as your heart quickens as you put your hood up to hide your head from the beating of the suns

The women looks at you before she glances at the brooch on the cloak “it’s true there’s one living there. The marshal of the town. He wears a symbol just like that one” she points at the brooch before you instintfully smack her hand away. 

Your throat tightens as your eyes narrow as your hands twitch with a familiar power before your turn around and cover your mouth to get control over your breathing ‘no that’s impossible, I went to the explosion myself there was no survivors’ you think to yourself. Din watches your behavior closely but continues his conversation as he discovers the location of Mos Pelgo. 

You hated sand, you hated the trip to this forsaken town, and you hated being on this planet. It brought out the darkness within you, the powers you try so hard to cut yourself off from everyday. You look around as everyone stares at Din and you as you park your sand speeder beside his, “I don’t see a Mandalorian Din” you mumble as you walk into the bar with him. 

He just glances at you before he approaches the Weequay behind the bar “can I help you?” the Weequay asks as he continues to clean the glasses but not without sparing a glance at your hooded frame. 

“I’m looking for a Mandalorian” Din replies, 

“Well, we don’t get many visitors in these parts, can you describe him?” the Weequay says. You sigh as you remove your hood allowing your h/c to flow down your shoulders and you take a seat at one of the nearby tables.

Din takes a moment before he responds “someone who looks like me.”

The Weequay looks Mando up and down before he says “mmm, you mean the Marshal?” You look up at the pair at this statement, ‘is it possible?’ you thought to yourself as you listen to them more intently. 

“Your Marshal wears Mandalorian armor?” Din asks curiously before the Weequay glances at the doorway of the bar with a grunt,

“see for yourself”

You stand up and find yourself at Din’s side as your pulse quickens, your hand finds your f/c saber that is hidden away in your satchel. Your heart is in your throat as you see the familiar green armor but your senses told you it wasn’t him. Were your eyes deceiving you? Was this some short of illusion from this cursed rock. “B-Boba?” You say in barely a whisper but not without Din catching it as you stare at the man in shock, your e/c eyes wide in horror. 

The man in the familiar armor approaches the two of you “what brings you two here strangers?” The voice, the voice wasn’t the same. Your lips curl into a snarl as you feel anger coursing through your veins as Din replies to the question.

“I’ve been searching for your for many parsecs”

Your hand twitches on the familiar saber in your bag as you glare at the man as he approaches the bar “well, now, you found me. Weequay three snorts of spotchka”

‘That’s the wrong drink he knows I hate the stuff’ you think to yourself as your mind tries to wrap itself around the fact the armor is familiar and looks unharmed by any explosion. The man grabs the shot glasses as well as the bottle as he walks over to the nearest table “why don’t you join me for a drink”

You continue to glare at him watching his every move as he takes a seat and removes the helmet your lover wore all those years ago revealing a silver fox man as he smirks at the two of you “I’ve never met a real Mandalorian”

You see red as you draw out your f/c light saber and igniting it faster then anymore could blink holding the dangerous blade close to his skin “where did you get the armor?! Where did you get the fucking armor?! It doesn’t belong to you! You slimy dirtfish I will gut you right here and peel that armor off your cold corpse!” You shout at him before Din stands between you and him giving you a glare through the helmet.

You glare at the marshal as your saber still points at his throat before you retract the deadly weapon before scoffing at the man as you lean your back against the bar not once taking your eyes off him. 

The man swallows and chuckles “heard stories. I know you’re good at killing.”

“You bet your life I’m good at killing” you sneer towards him with Din giving you a glance to knock it off before he returns his attention back towards the man in armor who proceeds to pour the shots,

“Probably none too happy to see me wearing this hardware. I figure only one of us is walking out of here, or two. But then I see the little guy...and I think, maybe I pegged you wrong” he continues speaking. 

Every nerve in your body was in overdrive as your hand remained clenching the saber as you desired nothing more then to end his life and take back what belongs to you, or the last fragment of the man you love. 

Din looks at you before he returns to the armor stealing thief “who are you?” he questions

“I’m Cobb Vanth, marshal of Mos Pelgo”

You snort as you point to him “more like slimy romp rat you armor thieving prick” you hiss towards him in anger before Din raises a hand towards you to calm down.

“Where did you get the armor?”

“Bought it off some Jawas” Cobb quickly answers which only further fanned the flames of anger within you.

“Bullshit! No Jawas go that far north! Tell me the truth!” you shout towards him.

Cobb watches you “easy my lightsaber wielding friend-” he was cut off by Din

“Hand it over.”

Cobb looks between the two of you as he puts the shot glass down, “look, pal, I’m sure you call the shot where you guys come from, but ‘round here, I’m the one tells folks what to do”

You raise your hand the familiar feeling returning to you as Cobb slowly begins to choke on nothingness but still had the ability to talk “how about this. Marshal.” you say as venom drips off your tongue “I won’t kill you, I won’t crush your windpipe like a fucking twig if you hand over the armor. Plain. Simple. It belongs to me” you hiss at him as you approach him slowly before Din steps forward.

“Do what Y/N says. Take it off or I’ll let her finish the job” you glance at Din before you release the marshal of the force but remain at Din’s side

Cobb points to The Child “we gonna do this in front o’ the kid?” to which he coos from his spot by the pot in front of the bar.

Din replies with “he’s seen worse”

Cobb shrugs as he looks between the two of you “right here then?”

You and Din both say in unison “right here”

Cobb sighs as he stands up his hand hovering over his blaster to which you ignite the saber as you watch the man closely, sensing the air around you the tension thick as the guts of a rancor. The tension was cut short as the ground begins to shake. The three of you walk to the entrance of the bar as you sheath your saber and put it back in your bag as you observe people running to their homes and in the distance the sand becoming disturbed and turning almost into water with how it moved as the unground dwelling beast swam through town before it strikes out of the sand and it’s massive jaws take a whole Bantha down with it.

“Maybe we can work something out” Cobb says defeated as you roll your eyes before you walk into the bar and pick up The Child from his bowl that he was hiding in before you catch up with the boys. “That creature’s been terrorizing these parts since long before Mos Pelgo was established. Thanks to this armor, I’ve been able to protect this town from bandits and sand people. They look at me to protect ‘em. But a krayt dragon is to much for me to take on alone.” Cobb stops and rests his arm on a post as he looks at you and Din “help me kill it, I’ll give you the armor”

You glare at him even though he gives you kind eyes as Din thinks for a moment before replying “deal. I’ll ride back to the ship and blow it out of the sand from the sky” 

You shake your head “no no Din you can’t it feels the vibration it won’t surface if you fly over, plus the only weak point on a krayt dragon is it’s belly” you mumble as the two boys listen to you. 

Cobb nods towards you “she’s right but I know where it lives it’s not far come on” 

You soon found yourself on the cursed sand speeder again riding beside Din and Cobb as he begins to speak “you don’t know what it was like, the town was on it’s last legs. It started after we got news of the Death Star blowing up. The second one that is.” 

You zoned out of the conversation. You didn’t care. Your mind was tormented with how Boba’s armor looked untouched by an explosion but yet a stranger wore it and Boba never came home. He had to be dead there was no other explanation. The three of you begin approaching the canyons before you look over at Cobb “you will never be the man who wore that armor before you. You were a coward and ran. You disgrace the armor every second you wear it” you say but not without the tone of heartbreak seething through your aggressive one before you become quiet again. 

Cobb sighs as he looks at you as he looks he wants to say something to you before the sound of the Tusken hounds cuts him off. The two boys ready their blasters as you remain seated on your speeder. Din gets off once he sees the scale covered dogs and shouts in Tusken. You had no idea what he was saying but you watched the scene before you. But you felt distant. Like you were apart from your body, and the old aching feeling that was buried so deep returned to your heart and you soon found yourself around a campfire surrounded by sand people as Mando continues to speak with them. Cobb nudges your arm as he looks at you. “I am not the man you expected behind the helmet am I?” he questions.

You remain quiet as you continue throwing small pieces of splinters into the fire from the stick you were playing with as Cobb continues 

“he’s dead I’m guessing?” You freeze at his statement as you e/c eyes move from the fire to his face. “And you are what? A jedi? Sith?” he continues to ask. 

You sigh as you return to throwing splinters into the fire “the armor doesn’t belong to you. You have no business knowing how, or what I am. Let’s leave it at that” you mumble as you wipe a stray tear that falls onto your cheek. 

- Time Skip -

You watch the Tusken Raider as they busy themselves within the corpse of the krayt dragon as Cobb approaches you and your sand speeder with Boba’s armor taken off and nicely packed together as he gives you a smile which you returned “back to it’s rightful owner, I hope our paths cross again” he looks at you as Boba’s helmet lands in your hands. 

Your fingers caressing the visor and the familiar dent on the right as you look up at him, “as do I. With less hostile conditions” you offer a small smile towards him.

He chuckles “oh believe me I don’t wanna find myself at the wrong end of that saber....now” he looks at you curiously. “I gotta ask. What are you? Sith? Jedi?”

You give a sad smile as you look down at Boba’s helmet “I was a padawan when the purge happened. As time went on.... I was neither. It’s the best answer I can give” you look up at him again to see him nod

“I understand. Be safe” he waves to you as you get onto your speeder and follow Din back to where the ship was landed.

The two of you begin loading stuff up onto the ship, Boba’s armor was the last part to be loaded as you tuck the pieces under your bed as you hold the helmet in your hands as you crawl into your bed and stare at the t visor. Silent tears roll down your face as a quiet sniffle is emitted from your form. 

Din stares at your form with many questions that danced around in his head but he decided against asking you currently as he turns around and sets the ship on its next course through space.

You lost track of time with the memories of Boba and you flashing through your head as your hand ran over the all to familiar armor. Your fingers becoming familiar with each dent, each flake of paint and to what puzzled you no signs of an explosion. Your thoughts and memories were interrupted by the sound of Din’s armor as he approaches your form. You wipe the remaining tears on your cheeks as you sit up placing Boba helmet in your lap as you look up at your companion. “Ah, sorry, what is it?” you sniffle as you compose yourself quickly,

“we need to talk” he says straight forward as he leans his back against the table across from you as he looks at you. 

You nod, you knew you would have this conversation with him eventually “what is it you desire to know?”

“What are you? Jedi? Why can’t you train the child? Who does the armor belong to? Were you part of a clan?” He fires off question after question as he points to the lightsaber on your pillow “is that yours? Did you kill someone for it?”

You take a deep breath as you look at him with your e/c eyes as your h/c hair flows down your chest as you lean forward. “I am no Jedi, I was a Padawan, well...even that is a stretch. I was assigned my master at the age of 8, extremely young for a Padawan most are still younglings at that age but they saw potential in me” you scoff as you feel tears slowly form in your eyes as you continue to tell your story. “I was assigned Master Plo Koon. Leader of the Wolf Squadron also known as the 104th Battalion. I was with him for three years. Then....the purge came. We were in our starfighters and our clones fired upon us. My friends, my clones tried to kill me!” you voice raises slightly as the painful memories resurface slowly. “It was the battle of Cato Neimoidia and then out of the blue all of our clones turn on us and shoot my master and I out of the sky. His starfighter crashed killing him instantly, they shot me down as well but I survived the crash. Well, barely I was gravely wounded” You move some fabric around your ribs exposing the scars the deeply imprinted your flesh before you point to your lightsaber “as did my weapon. But the clones....” you chuckle darkly “if it’s one thing they knew was how to take down a Jedi. They hunted me for days before being called back to Coruscant. Those men I called friends...” you mumble sadly. “I had no one. I was barely trained, I knew how to use the weapon but the force? Only a fragment to that of a fully trained Jedi. So...I tried...to sever my connection with the force. It was the thing that kept me on the radar of the empire but it failed time and time again. So I fled to the one planet those assholes wouldn’t find me. Tatooine.” You look at Din intently, “I cannot train the child because I wasn’t trained myself, and my connection to the force is...damaged, or tainted. As you saw with Cobb he was choking, that was me. The dark side of me, of the force I will not pass that onto the child.” You see Din nod slowly as you continue. “I became a bounty hunter, to stay hidden right under the noses of the empire, and-” you chuckle as you run your hand over Boba’s helmet that remained in your lap. “Him and I were on the same bounty and it was loads of credits, so naturally we competed for it. He won of course but that night....” you smile happily “that night was heaven, his touch was like lightning sending shock waves through me. And so, every bounty became a competition, and he would win most of them, sometimes I let him win because every night led to the same. The same fire. This went on for.....um, almost a year before he was laying in the bed and I was getting dressed like I always did and he...” you sniffle “he told me to stay. It was an unspoken bond, an unspoken acceptance of the relationship. Life for once...was good he never questioned me about the purge, about me being a Jedi. He accepted me for me. Then.....the day came” you mumble as you look down at his helmet and hug it tightly against your chest. 

“What day?” Din asks softly, 

“The day he died...” you mumble “he wanted us to live somewhere nice. Not some dust planet in the outter rim. We wanted to start a family so he went after the highest bounty in the galaxy. Han Solo. He did catch him and he was supposed to be given the credits but Jabba asked him for one more favor. To watch over the execution of Solo and his companions. But he never returned and after I gently asked around I discovered he died along with Jabba on the explosion of Sail Barge. I went there myself and everything was ash. There was no survivors.” You mumble as a tear slips down your cheek and lands on the helmet. “The cloak is his, the brooch is his clan, Fett.” You look up at the Mandalorian waiting for him to say something.

He glances at the armor, the saber, then back towards you as he stands as put both hands on your arms much like Boba did to calm your nerves. “I am truly, truly sorry Y/N” he says before he stands and wanders back into the cockpit allowing you to be alone with your thoughts and memories once again.

- Time Skip -

You smile down at the child as he coos at you as Din wanders around and talking of levers or an activation switch. You chuckled to yourself at his actions before you step in his way of his wandering and gently place your hands at his arms to stop him in his tracks. “Din, everything will be fine, the force is strong here the child knows what to do you have to stop moving” you chuckle as you look up at him. You sensed him relax under your touch which was rare for the armored Mandalorian before the two of you glance up at the sound of ship entering the atmosphere. The two of you jogged to the edge of the cliff as you place your hand over your mouth as your breath quickens and your stomach ties in knots. “No no no, that’s impossible” you say as you watch the familiar Slave-1 land.

“What’s impossible?” Din asks,

you glance up at your companion “that’s Boba’s ship. Din, I have to know. I’ll meet you back at the ship I promise” You grab your f/c lightsaber from your bag at your side as you prepare to jump down the cliff before Din grabs your arm.

“Be careful...” he glances to the kid who was surrounded by a blue mystical pillar “I’ll meet you down there shortly”

You stare at him for a moment before giving him a warm smile before you hop down the cliff and slithering your way through the many different rock faces towards the all familiar Slave-1. Your heart was in your throat as you twirl the hilt of your saber in your hand you were feeling the rage fill up within you like a pitcher. You wanted blood. You wanted to smell the burning of flesh as your saber would sink into whoever stole the ship. The sound of footsteps cause you to crouch down near a circular boulder, you feel the rough surface against your back and palm as you place your hand on the rock as you peak your head around. You see two figures, a hooded man and a masked women. Something felt...familiar with one of them but you couldn’t exactly pinpoint which one you carefully analyzed their weapons, snipers and one of those odd sticks the sand people used. You rolled your eyes as you continued to watch the pair as you glance at the Slave-1 just a bit beyond them, the man instructed the women to head to the rock face and position herself to aim at the child ‘not a chance if I can help it’ you think to yourself as you take a deep breath as you already feel adrenaline coursing through your veins as you put your hood up hiding any features about yourself as you emerge from your hiding spot as you continue to twirl the hilt to keep your anger in check. 

The two of them turn to face you as the women aims her gun at you but with a simple swipe of your hand her weapon was knocked away from her. “Now now, we don’t kill children. I however, will kill you and take what rightfully belongs to me” you glare at the two of them as you motion to the ship off in the distance. 

The two studied you for a moment before the man spoke “the ship belonged to my father, it is rightfully mine” the deep draw of his voice it shook you to your core, it was so familiar, so warm, so...forgotten about. You momentarily lower your aggressive stance from shock as you stare at the hooded man, you saw his jawline and a few specks of scars but nothing familiar but within the force you felt something pulling you towards him. Something familiar, something from your past tugging at your heartstrings. Your moment was interrupted when you felt the wind knocked out of you as the women tackled you onto the rocky ground your saber knocked out of your hand as she begins to land punches into your jaw. You wrap your legs around her waist and easily flip her over as your hand grabs ahold of her helmet as you begin to smash it into the ground with all your strength over and over again. The hooded man quickly comes to his companions aid as he swings the staff towards your body to knock you off her, you felt the staff connect with your ribs as you fly off her but you quickly recover and jump to your feet just as the man came at you again with the staff. You grab it mid swing and with the aid of the force you pick the man up and throw him against one of the larger rocks, not enough to kill him. The women groans as she slowly crawls to her gun as you look for your saber amongst the rocks, the man groans in pain as he uses the staff to aid his body upright as he circles you. You keep your eyes on him as you mimic his movements as you see the gleam of your saber from the blaring sun. You suddenly feel a hot burning pain in the upper part of your chest as a sniper bolt goes through the upper part of your collarbone. You glare behind you and see the women swaying back and forth with the sniper as you turn your attention back towards the man and your saber as your hand finds the wound. ‘Maybe I’ll be able to see Boba soon’ you think to yourself as you taunt the man to attack you, listening carefully for the women to take aim towards you again. Click you hear the familiar sound as you reach out and summon the familiar weapon into your hands igniting it and projecting the bolt back towards her, to which she barely dodged out of the way from. The man swung his staff at your legs but your heightened abilities due to the blaster bolt made your reactions quicker as you cut the staff in half as the women makes her way to your back in an attempt to strike you with a vibroblade in which you swung around your saber around your body with elegance but strength as you hit the blade with such force with your own its knocked out of her hand. You reach towards her with your saber free hand and begin to force choke her to keep her in place as she hovers a few inches off the ground. You point the saber at the neck of the hooded man. "The ship belonged to someone I held dear. It belongs to me" you snarl in heavy breaths as the wound begins to seep blood onto your clothes.

The hooded man stared at you with his own labored breaths, "there is only one women in the entire galaxy I know who fights like you do" he mumbles.

You inch the saber closer to his skin. Your strength slowly faltering from using the force so much. The man slowly reaches for his hood as he reveals himself. Beautiful tanned skin, the familiar scars the you used to trace after each bounty and the hardened eyes. His beautiful golden brown eyes stared at you as they cracked. Like they always did when he saw you. But this was different like he saw you rise from the dead. Your breath quickened as your ribs tighten around your lungs to the point it feels like they'll pop. It was Boba. Your lover. Your missing heart. He was alive, this whole time. You felt a wave of guilt rush over you as you drop the women and your saber as you rip your hood off your head allowing the sun to pierce your skin on your neck as you collapse to your knees in front of him as you weakly reach for him "Boba....."

[falcqns]

You’re Worth It

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x College Student!Reader

Summary: You visit Bucky’s apartment for the first time, and assure him that he's worth so much more than he thinks. 

Warnings: SMUT! age gap but its legal, very insecure Bucky, oral (f receiving).

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

You stood outside Bucky’s apartment door, watching your boyfriend dig his keys out of his skinny jeans, his other hand on a bag of groceries that contained your soon-to-be dinner. He pulled them out and located the door key, before turning to you. “Are you sure you want to stay here tonight, doll? I’m more than okay staying at your apartment.” He said, his eyes not leaving the ground in front of him.

You smiled, and placed your backpack on the ground beside you before turning and grabbing his stubbly face in your hands. “Baby. I want to stay here with you. I don’t care what it looks like. Whether it’s dirty or clean, the cutest apartment in the world, or the ugliest. It’s yours, and I want to see it.” You said, and he smiled before nodding. “Okay.” He said. He put the key in the door, and unlocked it. You followed him into the small apartment, and was immediately surrounded by the smell that was undeniably Bucky. 

You loved the way he smelled, you always had. He smelled like a field of lavender flowers on a beach, with a hint of salt water. He dropped his keys on the table, and turned around to face you. You placed your backpack on the floor again, this time by the table and looked around. There wasn't much, but he had a small chair and a side table, and a small tv stand where his tv sat. There was a chair in the corner by the kitchen island, and that was it. Your eyes ran over the pile of blankets on the floor, and you could feel your heart break.

He slept on the floor. 

He chuckled as you looked around. “Sad, huh?” He said, walking into the kitchen with the food in hand. “No.” You said, and followed him to the kitchen. “Like I said outside. It's you. You are building a life after a lot of suffering. Nothing about this is sad.” He shook his head as he took out the carrots and potatoes from the bag. 

“I couldn't even afford a full couch.” He said. You dropped your phone on the counter gently, and wrapped your arms around his waist. You rested your head in between his shoulder blades, and inhaled his smell. 

“Baby, it’s okay. You were gone for 5 years. So was half the world. Before that, you were living in Wakanda, where you didn't have to deal with the stresses of regular life. And, before that, you were trapped within someone who wasn't you. Don’t blame yourself for any of this. I love you for who you are.” You said, and Bucky turned around, his arms circling your waist. 

“How did I get so lucky?” he mumbled into your hair. You giggled, and lifted your head. “By saving my life,” You said, before pressing a kiss to his lips. He kissed back immediately, and pulled you closer. 

You pulled away when the need for oxygen became dire, and you smiled at them again. “All I did was pull you out of the way of a car that was out of control, doll.” He said, and ran his hand down your arm as you pulled out of the hug. “I would’ve gotten hit if you didn't. I’m not a super soldier like you are, its highly unlikely I would have survived if it weren't for my hero,” You mentioned, as you walked over to your backpack and pulling out your laptop.

Bucky chuckled, and watched as you sat down in the chair across from the tv. You tucked your feet under yourself, and sat your laptop on the arm before powering it on.

Bucky began to move about the kitchen and make the two of you dinner. No matter what you said, he couldn't stop feeling guilty about the state of his apartment. He could have at least bought a blow up mattress for you to sleep on, so you wouldn't be stuck sleeping on the hard wood floor with him. Better yet, he could have bought a bed. He had a bedroom, but he didn't feel comfortable in there. He glanced over at you while he washed the carrots in the sink and saw how you stretched your back before returning to your homework.

It wasn't an unusual occurrence for him to hang out with you while you do homework. He actually enjoyed watching you do school work. he could barely remember school, and he never got to go to college. Between working and taking care of Steve, he both didn't have time and couldn't afford it. Then the war started, and he thought about going after, but his capture by HYDRA kinda ruined that one. During his time in Wakanda, he had thought about going to college, but at that point he was still a wanted criminal and that was out of the question. He had been thinking about it more recently, and had decided to wait until he was finished making his amends to enrol somewhere. 

Mainly, he was just happy that you were getting an education. He planned on staying with you forever, marrying you, having kids with you, and growing old(er) with you, and he knew your future children would benefit from at least one of their parents having up-to-date school education. And, by up to date school education, he meant a curriculum that was developed this century.

He stirred the potatoes in the pot and smiled as he heard your fingers tapping on the keyboard. God, he loved you. You loved him for who he was, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you didn't blame him for anything that happened. He hadn't been expecting to be so open with you about his past when he asked you out on a date, but you knew who he was instantly, and thanked him for saving your life. He may have physically saved your life that day, but he felt that you saved his life in every other way by just being yourself. 

He continued to listen to you tapping on the keyboard, the clicking of your knuckles as you cracked them, and the slow but rhythmic breathing as you focused on your work. 

Dinner was finished a few minutes later, and you closed your laptop just as Bucky was plating the veggies. You placed your laptop back in the bag, and joined Bucky on the ground to eat. 

“Did you finish your homework?” He asked, and you nodded. You swallowed before speaking. “Yeah. I can't submit it yet, but it’s finished and ready to go,” You said. 

The two of you continued making small talk throughout the night, and Bucky tried to find a way to convince you that the two of you should sleep at your apartment instead, but he knew that it wouldn't work. He tried to bite back the tears while you were in the showers and he laid out the blankets and pillows on the floor for the night. They almost fell again when he walked out of the bathroom from having his shower and saw you snuggled up on the ground, scrolling on TikTok. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he got a cup of water for himself and for you. He thought he had a handle on his emotions by the time he had settled next to you, but the dam broke when he laid down and your had found its way to your chest as it usually did. 

Your head shot up when you heard his shaky breathing and his sniffling, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck. “What’s wrong, Buck?” you whispered, and his arms wrapped themselves around your waist before he answered. 

“You deserve to be sleeping on a bed.” he whispered, and you shook your head. 

“No. Don’t do that to yourself. I know how weird it is for you to sleep in a bed, and that's okay. I’ve been camping before, and I’m perfectly fine with sleeping on the ground. I’m fine, baby.” You whispered, but Bucky still shook his head. 

“I should be able to afford a bed,” He said, and you sat up. “Stop. Don’t think that. You’re doing the best you can with what you have. You can barely afford the bills you have already because of what the government is paying you, which is way less than you should be. You’re doing great with what you have.” You reminded him, and he nodded.

“I know. But, I probably should have spent the little money I did have on a bed rather than a TV, but if I don't have the TV on, my mind runs to places I don't want it to. I know that’s not healthy, but neither is reliving everything I did for those years. I wasn't really thinking about having anyone to share my nights with during that time, so a bed didn't seem important. But, I should have bought a mattress when we started dating. Everything is just way too expensive compared to when I was growing up.” He said, a slight chuckle in his voice. You smiled, and pushed him back by the chest. 

He smiled suggestively when you straddled his waist, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “Lets not talk about it anymore, okay? Maybe me riding you will help you forget it.” You said, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips that were red and slightly swollen from his tears. He didn't say anything in return, but kissed you back while running your hands up your back and under your sleep shirt. He moaned when he felt that you weren't wearing a bra. 

“Naughty girl, not wearing a bra,” He whispered, as you kissed down his neck. He grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it up, leaving you in only your underwear. You moaned at his husky voice and ground your hips down on him. He moaned, and grasped your hips in his hands. 

He let you grind on him a little more, thoroughly enjoying it, before flipping you over. He trailed his hands down to your underwear, hooking his thumbs into the straps, before pulling them down your legs. 

He moaned when you were completely exposed to him. You looked at him with lust filled eyes, as he spread your legs, and settled himself on his stomach in between them.

He lifted your legs over his shoulders, and pressed kisses up your slit, making eye contact with you. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” he said, before diving into you. 

He swiped his tongue over your clit a few times, before attaching his mouth to it and sucking. You jolted slightly when you felt the cold metal of his pointer finger slowly push inside of you. He pushed it to the hilt, and then arched up to rub up against your g spot. 

You cried out suddenly and tangled your hands in his hair when his finger started vibrating right up against your g spot, causing you to fall over the edge into orgasm almost instantly. 

Bucky pulled off of you with a pop, and grinned, still moving his finger in and out while you rode out your orgasm. Once your breathing slowed, he pulled his finger out, and put it into his mouth, sucking your juices off of it. He laid on his back, and guided you with his hands until you were on top again. 

You began to shimmy down his body, but Bucky shook his head, and pulled you back up. “No. If you do that, I won't last, and I want to cum in your pussy not your mouth,” He said, and you bit your lip, and nodded.

His hands gripped your hips while you reached down for his now leaking cock, and gave it a few firm strokes, before lining it up at your entrance. You leaned forward and gripped your hands on his shoulder, before sliding down on him slowly.

“Fuck, doll. Always feels so damn good,” Bucky moaned, his hands tightening on your hips. You threw your head back and moaned as you began to move your hips, with Bucky’s help.

“Love seein’ you like this, babydoll.” Bucky rasped out, hit hips thrusting up to meet your movements. “Love how needy you get when you’re on top.” His words made you clench around him, and Bucky grasped your hips tighter to pull you down on his cock harder and faster each time. 

You could feel the pressure building in your abdomen, and you knew Bucky was close as well based on the movements of his hips. You ground your hips into his before continuing to bounce on him.

“F-fuck,” Bucky grunted as he was used over the edge, and released inside of you. You threw your head back as you felt Bucky’s cum smash against your walls, which sent you over the edge, and you shook as you came. 

A few minutes later, Bucky has cleaned both you and him up, and was coming back from tossing the wash cloth in the laundry hamper when he saw you sound asleep on the ground where he left you. He smiled slightly and carried you into the bedroom, along with the blankets and pillows. 

He laid you down and straightened out the blankets, and put your pillow under your head, before laying down next to you, and pulling you into his arms. He drifted off to sleep seconds later with the plan on looking for a second hand bed in the morning. You deserved to sleep on a bed, and so did he, he realized. 

At least the plush carpeting is softer than the hard wood. 

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that�� as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[blzzrdstryr]

Prima materia

Yandere!Kaeya & Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount: 4156

CW: Yandere themes, mentions of violence, death and NSFW

An angel.

That’s what Kaeya thinks when he sees you - he’s far from being a religious person, yet this word appears in his mind, vivid and burning, pushing out any other thought away. He stands here, starstruck and unsure what to do, devouring your visage with his eye alone.

Your first meeting is incidental - he walks around the Mondstadt, looking for the leads for the recent mass disappearance case. An alarming number of people went missing right before the Windrise festival. All are destitute alcoholics with no real importance, all except one - Javier Lawrence, who in this case is a rich alcoholic, and a reason why investigation even started. Mondstadt may be a nation of freedom, yet money and status still dominate most of its social dynamics.

Kaeya goes to Eula first - Javier was her twice removed cousin after all, she ought to know something. The spindrift knight is restrained in her speech, careful not to insult her missing relative, despite the deepening frown. She says almost nothing new, stating that Javier had a passion for drinking and wasting his days away, she also mentions his favourite places to wander while drunk - gardens, plaza and the forest outside the city.

Visits to the first two bear no fruits - Kaeya doesn’t find any eyewitnesses, but hears tons upon the tons of complaints and insults directed at the missing, so he heads for the forest, expecting to find the mangled body among the heaps of green leaves - being drunk in the forest deep is never a good idea, yet he finds none. He stumbles upon you instead.

You sit among the wild flowers and bitter herbs, head bowed, closely inspecting the plants in your hands and humming a light tune as you do so. There’s a certain serenity about you, some kind of magical elegance radiating off of every movement, it’s deliberate, yet relaxed. You remind him of the forest nymph from the paintings he saw - celestial and seductive, and totally unaware of the effect you have on him.

This feeling is further exacerbated by the simple white shirt you're wearing - the material is thin and half-transparent, already revealing the outline of your torso. Kaeya gulps when he imagines it getting wet and clinging to your body, your skin and nipples showing through the flimsy fabric. The only thing that spoils this otherwise perfect sight are small dark bruises both hands, blooming like two ominous roses.

“Hello”, he finally suppresses lustful urges and steps closer, distracting you from the herb picking. “My name’s Kaeya Alberich, I am the cavalry captain of the Knight of Favonius, and I want you to answer a couple of my questions”.

You turn unnaturally still upon hearing his voice, hands squeezing the plants, even your breathing is impossible to hear. You are terrified. Kaeya turns his head to the side at this picture, eyebrows raised - this is… a very interesting reaction.

“I am sorry, I am not allowed to talk to strangers”, you say, finally collecting yourself and raising your head to meet his eye, and Kaeya finds himself struck again.

Stars.

You have star-shaped pupils. Just like him.

He makes a step again, back this time, as his chest starts to rise and fall faster, breathing accelerating. Why do you have these eyes? He thought he was the only one left…

“Sir Kaeya, what brings you here?”he hears a familiar voice. Albedo comes from the forest deep, quickly striding to him and then stopping between you and the cavalry captain. Alchemist's face remains indifferent and his tone impassive, yet through the haze of confusion and shock Kaeya still notes how he protectively put himself between you two, as if shielding you from his gaze.

“Investigation. I thought asking… this lovely person a couple of questions might help solve the case”, he flashes one of his most charming smiles to Albedo, who predictably remains apathetic towards such displays. You, on the other hand, still sit on the forest ground and have your eyes shifting between Kaeya and Albedo, with fear and hope respectively.

“I am afraid you won’t find any answers here. They are under my care, and they don’t know anything about whatever your case is”. Albedo’s voice still remains polite, but Kaeya can taste the hidden hostility, he almost backs off from surprise.

“Well, that’s unfortunate”, he admits defeat and puts on a smile again - it’s a colder one this time, less genuine - and turns on his heels, throwing “have a nice day” as the afterthought, insides burning with the strange mix of disappointment and resentment.

He almost leaves the forest, as he hears Albedo talking to you: “It’s alright, [First], I won't punish you for speaking to him, he asked you first”. You reply something, but Kaeya is too far to make out any of your lovely voice, yet the things he witnessed today are enough to spawn a horde of questions.

Why does Albedo act so possessive? Why do you allow him to do so? What connects you two together? And most importantly: Who are you?

Thousand different theories fleet through his mind, as he mulls over new information. He doesn’t come back to that place, despite his curiosity nagging him to do so, he can’t - Kaeya is now acutely aware of the power Albedo seems to hold over you and returning might anger the alchemist.

Cavalry captain returns to the case of missing people, yet his mind continues to wander off, thought returning to your face and voice and body and the colossal mystery cloaking you.

***

Investigation progresses unbelievably slowly - if he was a gullible person, Kaeya would’ve thought that all of the missing just vanished into thin air - no leads, no traces, not a single clue of what might have happened, leaving the knights with nothing but straws to grasp at. To add to the severity of the situation after a week of receiving the case from Jean, Kaeya is notified about the new disappearance of two other people - Joachim and Luckas. They’re also a pair of alcoholics, the first one was last seen around the Angel’s Share, the second one was heading for the Dragonspine.

Kaeya goes to the said tavern - at first he just talks with the patrons, effortlessly fishing out the information about the missing person, which brings nothing new (again), then he gets a bit bored with drunk-interrogating others and decides to ask Diluc what he might’ve seen. And that also reveals nothing new (again) - Joachim has visited the tavern, ordered some wine and after a couple of bottles downed, left. Nothing extraordinary or groundbreaking, just a day of another Mondstadtian drunkard.

It seems that he isn’t destined to find whatever spirited Joachim away, so Kaeya leaves the city heading for the snowy mountain in the distance. He asks around the adventurers camp near the ruined tower, only to hear that Luckas was seen around the mountain.

Kaeya walks to the Dragonspine, already feeling the chill at the foot of the mountain, and his determination slowly melts - Dragonspine is one big freezing hellhole, full of monsters and Fatuis who for some reason decided to reside here, yet one particular face appears in his mind. Seeing you again might be worth the whole trouble - he noticed you a couple of times, always in the company of the certain alchemist, so if Albedo is in his camp, then you’re most likely there too.

Now inspired Kaeya quickly traverses the mountain, skillfully avoiding the hilichurl tribes and skirmishes altogether. After a short, yet frankly gruelling travel he finds himself finally arriving at the camp, your figure seen from the entrance. You sit near the alchemical device, tightly bundled up in layers upon layers of warm clothes, a book in your hands with no Albedo in sight. The alchemical apparatus is on, dyeing the whole room into scarlet shades, something red boiling inside of it, filling the air with the strange metallic scent. “Recent history of Teyvat”, Kaeya reads the cover and takes a step in. You remain still, too engrossed in reading to hear his footsteps, which he uses to take another good look at you.

Your face still looks lovely as it was on that day, yet there’s now a strong aura of frailness present - a greyish undertone of the skin, dry, chapped lips, pinkish-red rims blooming on your eyes, duller hair, even the fingers holding the books appear to be thinner. You look emaciated and exhausted, you must be sick.

“Hello”, Kaeya decides to pop the bubble of tranquility again - you quickly lift your head to look at him and almost drop the book: “We met before, in the forest, remember? I am here because of an investigation”.

“I am sorry, but I don’t think I can be of any help and I am still not allowed to talk to strangers”, you say and return to reading, pretending that he isn’t here.

“Well, that means we can introduce ourselves, so we won’t be strangers anymore and you will be able to talk to me without breaking any rules, right? Hello! I am Kaeya Alberich and I work as cavalry captain in the Knights of Favonius, pleased to meet you!”, he puts on his warmest smile and outstretches his hand to shake yours.

“I am not sure that this is a good idea, Albedo warned me to avoid outsiders”, you say, looking uneasy, as you throw a quick glance, past Kaeya, to the entrance of the camp.

“Albedo and I are coworkers, we both even had to work on some missions together, sure he doesn’t think of me as some outsider”.

“If you say so”, you sigh and cave in, your palm finally touching his. Kaeya feels the corners of his lips creeping up at the sensation, his heart skipping a beat or two: “I am [First} and I am… Albedo’s ward, pleased to meet you too”

“Now with introductions done, can I ask you a question?”, he takes another step and you nod - a step more and he might feel the warmth radiating off of your body, or hear your faint breathing, or smell your scent.

“Where are you from?”, your eyes widen at that. Kaeya finds himself almost hypnotized by this sight: the stars in your eyes shine with a renewed strength, the pale sunlight bringing out their warmth and radiance.

“I don’t really remember”, you admit, voice quiet and small: “Albedo says he found…”

“I discovered [First] in the heart of the mountain”, alchemist ends it for you, standing at the entrance of his camp with both of his assistants by the side, hands occupied by the local flora.

“Timaeus, sort and prepare ingredients”, he hands the herbs to the man: “Sucrose, you check up on [First] and give them.. the medicine, don’t worry I’ll just talk to sir Kaeya there”, Timaeus and Sucrose rush to the assigned task, with the latter taking out a red vial from the alchemical drawer, the liquid inside shimmering and glowing with an unnatural glitter. The last part is said to you, as alchemist gestures for the cavalry captain to go outside, quickly leaving the room.

Kaeya follows him as they both leave the camp - Albedo walks unusually quickly, not looking around even once to check if he’s still behind, and only when the both of them leave the camp far enough - so far that you, Timaeus and Sucrose turn into a small dots does he stop.

“What do you need? Why did you interrogate [First]?”, Albedo says, skipping all of the courtesies. His voice remains neutral, but Kaeya can feel the displeasure - it radiates off of his pose and faster speech, how Kreideprinz’s disinterested eyes suddenly turned cold and piercing.

“Easy, easy”, Kaeya half-laughs, raising his hands in mock defence: “interrogate is a strong word here, we two just had a friendly chat”.

Teal eyes narrow at this whimsical answer and alchemist’s face sours: “Leave [First] alone”, he voices, darkly and angrily - Kaeya almost backs off from surprise - it’s quite unusual to see Albedo express his disdain so freely and openly, yet he replies in the same carefree tone:

“I won’t, not until you say where they’re from at least. [First] has star-shaped pupils, we both know what it means”.

“I already have said that - I found [First] deep underneath the mountain, completely frozen. Cold must have trapped them in the ice and preserved their body for all these years, yet it also damaged their memory. They seem to be unaware of what happened to your homeland five hundred years ago, nor do they have any idea of the present world". Kaeya intently observes Albedo as he says that - alchemist is certainly hiding something.

"That's how.. Well, I wish [First] good luck in retrieving their memories", he decides not to press further - Albedo is already in a bad mood and won't tolerate him fishing for more information, nor will the alchemist agree to share what he hides. Kaeya asks him a couple of questions pertaining to the missing person and he gets the expected answer - Luckas wasn't seen by Albedo or any of his assistants either. Alchemist says it a bit quicker than he usually talks, Kaeya chalks it up to annoyance.

***

The first useful lead appears after the third disappearance this month - Masha Haedle, who was characterized as hardworking and passionate, yet troubled by her alcohol addiction, vanished on the way to her job. Her employer sent one letter after another, demanding her to visit her workplace, lest she will be fired. Haedle didn’t answer any of the messages, nor was she spotted anywhere in the next few days.

It was her concerned neighbours who notified the knights, who quickly connected her disappearance to the series of other missing cases and Kaeya was dispatched again - he decided to start by investigating her house and he was right in doing so.

Her place is barren, but tidy, Haedle's diligence and financial issues shining through the simple interior. Kaeya strides among the neatly cleaned house until he enters a small bedroom.

Unlike the rest of the place, the bed here is undone, sheets lay messily across the nightstand and floor, with a couple of plant pots knocked over, dry soil sprawled everywhere. He comes closer to this picture, taking in the small details - there's a trace of fingernails on the wood, as if the victim was latching onto the furniture as she was dragged back, a part of the sheets is actually burnt, with a small candle crushed on the floor - it could be knocked down when kidnapper attacked Masha, and the most glaring piece - an orange dimly glowing crystal.

It crumbles and disintegrates the same second Kaeya picks it up, but this short moment is enough to feel the warmth radiating off of it - it's a geo crystal, formed by the reaction with pyro.

Whoever attacked miss Haedle was using a geo vision to put out the fire, and might also be the reason of other disappearances. After all, a vision user kidnapping the drunkards is just as nonsensical as said drunks just vanishing into thin air, leaving nothing behind.

***

Mondstadt embraces the Windrise festival with the same warmth it always did, as citizens of all sorts start to prepare for the coming festivities. Some decorate their houses with dried and paper flowers that they consider anemones, others stock up on both sweets and wine, no doubt for a celebratory dinner, bards recite the new songs, praising the anemo archon and caroling the freedom that Barbatos gave them, and knights, both high and low ranks alike are piled with even more work.

Kaeya finds himself temporarily dispatched from the dead-end investigation, tasked to look out for any suspicious persons and possible lawbreakers, as a horde of tourists and traders flooded the city. He spends the entire day working, and catches a breather once the sun starts to set. This break, however, is swiftly interrupted, when Jean summons him, asking to deliver some messages to Albedo for the lack of workforce.

Unsurprisingly, the alchemist spends his time outside of the city in a temporary camp, preferring the fresh air and forest landscape to the human loudness and cheer. He finds you alone again, with Albedo nowhere to be seen. Seems that whatever disease has plagued you started to back off - your tone is still far from healthy, yet it stopped being so ashy and grey like the first time, and your starry eyes no longer look like you’ve cried all night non-stop.

You stand near the table, slowly sorting the alchemical compounds, with both sleeves rolled up, exposing the delicate, elegant wrists and the old bruising on the forearms. The setting sun almost lights your visage on fire - you look brighter, more vivid, than you did under the pale Dragonspine sun or the cool shadow of the forest. You look like you glow too.

Even with the fatigue, he still smiles - ah, you’re so easy on the eyes, he rests just by looking at you..

“Hello”, he approaches, distracting you from your task for the third time: “is Albedo here?”.

“He left some time ago, he wanted to sketch hilichurl tribe. Said it’s too dangerous for me, so I am just standing here, waiting for him”, Kaeya can sense a mild disappointment coming from you, which is not surprising - spending your time in the wilderness, while the city before you is set ablaze in the celebration can frustrate anyone. He gets an idea.

“I see you want to see the Windrise for yourself, am I right?”, your affirmative nod, “How about I accompany you to Mondstadt and we both have some fun?”.

“I would really want to, but Albedo asked me to stay here. I don’t want to disappoint him”, you reply, the hesitation in your voice clear as day.

“And you won't!”Kaeya retorts: “I will take all the blame, say that I spirited you away with my persuasion skills”, he adds dramatically and outstretches his palm in a theatrical gesture. You giggle at that, obviously entertained by his antics.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me”, you take his hand, before asking: “this is why you came? To invite me to a festival?”

Oh, he forgot about messages.

Kaeya leaves them in the secure box you pointed to, before taking your hand again and almost running back to Monstadt. Something tells him that Albedo will be livid once he returns to the now empty camp.

***

“Oh gods”, you gasp, looking at the burst of colors exploding in the night sky - some travelers have brought fireworks from Liyue and Inazuma and decided to set them off, creating a breathtaking scenery. Kaeya even forgets how to breathe, but not because of the fireworks, but you - you look so excited and amazed, and all kinds of colours reflect from your eyes, the stars in them resembling two large diamonds. He’s ready to kill for this sight.

The next half an hour are spent with him following you, as you excitedly run from one thing or another - turns out Albedo didn’t allow you much outside time, so even the main streets of Mondstadt are novelty to you. He drinks in your reactions, all the faces and sounds you make are stored away in his memory as you get amazed by the simplest things.

In the end, he decides to take you to the Angel’s Share, you’re already so cute and he can���t imagine how much more adorable you’ll become all drunk and giggly. He orders a bottle of a young wine for you two - made from the spring dandelions, it’s taste is perfect for the atmosphere of Windrise - it tastes of freedom and adventure, the spirit of Mondstadt encapsulated into a beverage.

“It tastes nice”, you comment, taking a small sip, “it’s sweet but not too sweet”, before your face suddenly contorts from pain and you bend in half, hands clutching your abdomen.

“[First]? What’s happening, [First]?”Kaeya rushes to you, his hands stopping your fall. You mumble something incoherent, before going limp in his hold - you are unconscious. He shakes your form to wake you up, yet you don’t respond, inner panic slowly rising - what to do, what to do, what to do?

“Did you give alcohol to [First]?!”, suddenly someone hisses near him. It’s Albedo again and it’s the first time Kaeya sees him so angry. “We need to get [First] to my lab quickly. Every second counts”, Albedo helps him to lift you up and almost runs out from the tavern, pushing others away to make way for Kaeya and you in his hands.

“Put them here”, alchemist point to the big wooden table, quickly knocking over all empty flasks down, uncaring of the equipment he might break, as he rushes into the further part of the room, taking out the already on alchemical apparatus from the depths of his cabinets.

The strange red liquid slushes inside, as Albedo swiftly opens the top and adds some hideous mix of blood and pieces of flesh into the device, the reek of blood and alcohol permeating the air.

Kaeya wants to gag. “What’s this?”, he asks, not bothering to hide his disgust.

“Medicine”, Albedo quickly replies, teal eyes shifting from the mix to your sick face.

Over time the stench subsides, and apparatus starts to glow and shimmer with that scarlet radiance Kaeya saw in the Dragonspine camp, replacing the stink with the same strange coppery scent. Albedo takes out a glass vial from his pocket and connects it to the faucet of the apparatus, collecting the fat drops of the produced liquid.

Kaeya takes a good look at the product, mesmerized by the strange glitter and shimmer - it looks alive, and then suddenly everything clicks - the origin of medicine, the smell of alcohol coming from meat and even the disappearances of the drunkards. He remembers the tales his father used to tell him, about khemia and the wonders and horrors it could unleash - artificial humans, endless gold and…

“Philosopher’s stone”, he breathes out, utterly shocked by his revelation.

“How? How did you know”, Albedo looks at him with scared eyes, almost dropping the vial with “medicine”.

“Why?! Why did you do that?!”Kaeya yells instead of answering the question, still shocked and horrified, a taste of bile appearing on his tongue.

Alchemist seems unsure and totally lost for a good minute, as his usually calm face rapidly shifts between different emotions: sadness, shock, horror, shame and even anger, until finally resulting into the expression of total defeat: “It’s for [First]’s sake”, he tiredly admits the dark secret: “The frost has severely damaged their internal organs. I’ve been trying to heal them, but to no avail”.

“So you decided to break alchemical laws and create the elixir of life”, Kaeya grimly concludes, face scrunching up from disgust.

“Yes”, an unsettling lips makes its way onto the alchemist's lips as he lifts his head and looks captain right in the eye: “I’ve broken the laws, killed people and used their bodies. All to save [First]. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same, I’ve seen how you stare at [First] and I know what you want to do with them”.

.Was he that obvious?

“I see”, Kaeya replies, sensing the growing headache and rubbing his temples: “I won’t tell others of what you’ve done”. He can’t just imprison Albedo and doom you to a slow, agonizing death.

“I knew you would agree with me”, alchemist sighs “[First] is getting healthier, they won’t need… medicine as often, yet their organs will never be in a top condition”.

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many people per year?”

Albedo turns quiet again, the creepy smile vanishing as quickly as it appeared, as his eyes adopt that contemplating look again.

“No more than three people. Once I fix that liver damage you gave [First] with your wine, they won’t need no more than three transfusions”, he says his verdict and Kaeya weighs his words - three missing people per year is a miniscule number.

“I make at most philosopher’s stones per year and you cover my tracks in exchange for time with [First]. Deal?”, Albedo extends his hand for a handshake and Kaeya takes it, yet doesn’t shake it, asking instead:

“Can I get to taste [First]?”, he smiles, remembering your face and imagining your body.

“If [First] consents to that, then yes”, Albedo becomes that inexpressive again, yet he can still feel the displeasure and indignation coming from alchemist’s answer.

“I am sure they will, I think they like me”, he finally shakes the other’s arm.

They sit in a silence for a while, before the vial gets completely filled by the “medicine” - Albedo takes out a syringe and injects the mixture into your bloodstream through the veins on the hands. Kaeya smiles even wider, looking how a healthy colour returns to your face - he can’t wait to reap the fruits of this agreement.