#i just can’t handle that level of concentration right now

[james-p-sullivan]

where’s the love for the writers out there writing your heart out for a fandom of three and a half people i love you

[paulyenvol6]

Against All Odds (Chapter 1)

Contains: no smut but mentions of hearing two people having sex and some fighting

Masterlist of this story

y/n’s POV

She hated him so much. His arrogant attitude and how he looked at everyone as if they were not half as good as he was. They just knew each other for a week and she was already so annoyed by this piece of shit.               

She had just stormed out of the rehearsel room after Harry wanted to explain to her how to play the riff at one point of Adore You. He was the singer, she was the guitarist! What the hell was he thinking? He always acted like he could do everything better and knew everything better.

She heared steps behind her. It was Sarah, she always wanted to make sure everything was fine and she really hated bad vibes. „Come on, y/n, he didn’t mean to hurt you.“ „I’m not hurt.“, y/n shouted, immediately feeling sorry. It was not Sarahs fault that Harry and her were not able to keep their private problems out of the band’s rehearsels.

She felt Sarah’s hand on her shoulder, turning her around. „Please, we need to practice now. I know Harry can be annoying but just ignore it. And maybe it really was meant in a nice way. Maybe he just wanted to help you.“ Y/n rolled her eyes. „C’mon.“, Sarah begged. She sighed. „Ok, I’m coming. But if he says one more disrespectful thing, I’mma-“ „Yes, it’s ok.“, Sarah said fastly and brought her back in the room.                                                                                                         

When y/n saw Harry standing at the microphone with this smugly look she could’ve gone mad again. „Hello ladies.“, he said overly friendly, but y/n just ignored him and went to her guitar. „Ok, guys.“, Harry chuckled. „After our little break, I guess we should start from the beginning again.“

The rest of the rehearsel went ok. There was still some negative tension between them and Harry couldn’t stop teasing her now and then, which made y/n extremely angry but she was able to not say something back.  Until the rehearsel was over. Y/n was just about to pass the door, when Harry, the last one in the room shouted: „Aw, are you better, sweetie?“ She froze on the move and turned around, only to find him with this arrogant smile.

„Fuck you.“, she whispered. It was loud enough for Harry to hear it but he just laughed and came closer to her. „Honestly, you behaved like a child today. As soon as someone critizises you on a factual level you freak out and just can’t handle it. God, how old are you again?“

Y/n pushed him away from her and hissed at him: „What happened to you, that made you feel so self confident and arrogant? You think that noone is as good as you, but wake up. Stop telling me what to do, stop treating everyone like they’re underneath.“ Harry laughed and put his hands in his pockets. „You’re pride really must be hurt. ME telling YOU how to play that riff. But it’s alright honey. I’m glad to help.“ „Stop calling me honey.“, y/n said and turned away. She didn’t want him to see how angry he had gotten her. She decided it was best to leave now and eventually walked out the door. The last thing she heard was him chuckling.

Y/n was very angry at herself. If she looked back at the conversation, or better the arguement they had, she had to admit that he was the one who stayed cool. She was just all angry and full of emotions. Now she was sitting in her room, trying to read a book but she was still too upset to concentrate.                                                                            

They were at a hotel in the Netherlands right now and tomorrow they’d play in Amsterdam. Y/n unfortunately had the room right next to Harry and the first thing she had seen that morning was his face. He had already been working out and when she stepped out of the door she almost ran into him.                                         The day had been pretty relaxing. Besides the rehearsals the band could rest from the concert night before.

Now, it was 9pm, the band had already had dinner and they just did what everyone wanted to do. While the others wanted to do something and have some fun, y/n told that she’d go to her room. They were suprised but wished her a good night. She closed her book. There was nothing she could do, there was just too much going on in her head. It was still early for her so she needed some time to get tired.

When she finally closed her eyes and felt that her thoughts started to fade away, she heared a noise. She opened her eyes and tried to identify it. Everything was quiet, until there it was again. It sounded like someone whimpering. She wondered what it could be until suddenly it made sense to her.

God, Harry’s room was next to her and he clearly had sex with someone at this moment. Y/n pressed the pillow onto her face and cried out. Why??? Why today, when she had decided to stay in her room?! She already had changed her clothes and really didn’t feel like going out of her room again this evening. But she also didn’t want to hear Harry’s hook up screaming his name through the wall. Y/n sighed and turned to her stomach. She reached out to grab her book again but it was even more difficult to concentrate now.

Harry’s date had seemed to just started. She heared her sigh, moan and eventually actually cry out Harry’s name. Not that y/n was really interested in his sex life, but he seemed to be quite good to make her making such noises. Or maybe she just faked them. That would make way more sense. He probably needed to hear his hook ups moan like that, so his ego felt better.

Y/n chuckled from the imagination. She really didn’t want it but couldn’t help but think about what he might do to his date. Was he just fucking her? Or was he eating her out? She didn’t know much about sex, in fact she was still a virgin, but she knew that women often need to feel stimulation on their clits and that most women don’t reach their orgasm just from vaginal penetration. God, what was she doing? She felt embarressed to have thought about it. It was Harry Styles she was thinking about. She was disgusted by herself.

Finally she heared the moaning stop and turned to the other side. She hoped she could now sleep and get some rest.

Harry’s POV

He yawned open mouthed and rubed his eyes. He had had a long night with Pauline and really needed some coffee. Pauline had left the hotel very early. After she had woken up she said something an important appointment, grabbed her stuff and left. It had been obvious, that it was a one – time – thing to her and he didn’t have a problem with it either.

Harry had met her at dinner in an italian restaurant, after y/n had left. They had talked to each other a while and flirted a bit when Harry asked her if she wanted to have a drink at his hotel room. She agreed and they landed in bed.

The sex had been good, not extraordinary awesome though. Maybe it was because they just met. He recently wasn’t that satisfied with his sex life and realized a while ago that the reason might be, that his dates and he don’t usually have an emotional bond. He honestly didn’t have a problem with having a one night stand now and then, but he missed something. Emotions, he thought. Yeah, that was it. He wanted to feel something about his partner. Not just sympathy.                                                                                                            

He opened the door and stepped outside. Right at this moment the door to y/n’s room opened and she entered the floor, a little smile on her face, that vanished as soon as she saw him. Harry felt the same way and rolled his eyes. That was a really bad start for the day. They didn’t say anything, when they both walked to the elevator and entered it. It became a bit awkward so Harry said exactly what he had thought when he saw her come out the door. „This day only can be terrible with a start like that.“

He wasn’t a mean or bad person, but he liked saying mean things to her. He hated her, her arrogance and her always being pissed about anything he did or said. It was just super annoying. But he liked provocating her though, and making her explode. He waited for an answer but didn’t get one, which suprised him. Usually she’d always fire back.

He turned around to see her and she looked kinda uncomfortable. Y/n didn’t look at him, but to her feet, which was very unusual. But then, when she realized he was staring at her, she looked up. „Just shut up, asshole.“ „Are you nervous because of the show, sweetheart? Don’t have to be, I can help you with the solo later, if you want.“ He knew he hit the right spot. It’ll drive her insane, him acting like she needed his help and calling her nicknames. She hated it and it made Harry love it.

He saw her breathe faster and her eyes got darker. „What’s your fucking problem? I’m not the one who always comes up with some shit and insults you.“ The elevator had already stopped but she didn’t care. „Just stop being a dick, it’s not funny, it’s not cool, it’s not attractive or whatsoever!“ She pushed him away but he grabed her wrists and kept her off of doing it a second time.

„I don’t know why you’re doing it, maybe you’re some sort of psychopath or…“ She didn’t know what else to say which Harry found hilarious. Still holding her wrists he whispered to her like she was a little kid: „I just enjoy making you angry. It’s so easy, because you are soooo easy to understand. I know exactly what buttons to push.“ Y/n pushed him away so he let go off her wrists. „Do not touch me.“, she complained, until he let go of her. „I wish you a lot of luck tonight. It’s just like 50000 people, I’m sure you got this.“ He smiled at her in a evil way and left the elevator.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Hi roman. I know this is very weird, but i've seen you give some life advice to other people, so i thought i could give it a try too. Don't answer if you don't want to. Anyway

Do you have any advice/tips for a 15 y/o who thinks they just have no control over their life? Like, my concentration is dog shit, i think my grades are slipping. My executive dysfunction so bad and i think i'm disappointing a lot of people. I have no idea how to handle anything in my life. I can't force myself to do the things i need to (not that that'd be any good, i'll immediately cry lol). I just, don't fucking know how i could make things better for myself. And i can't really talk to adults about it, they'll repeat the stuff i already know, and i am the worst person to put their feelings into words, so they'll prob never understand. Not in the edgy way.

Yeah so sorry for half venting into your ask box. Thank you in advance if you'll answer it, if it's too weird and you don't want to do that for whatever reason, that's ok. Peace and love <3

Dude, you’re unfortunately suffering from being 15. And possibly a learning disorder. Godspeed to you.

And I don’t say that to belittle your problems. In many ways as a teenager you don’t have control over a lot of things. You’re still under the control of your parents, you’re still learning how to deal with adult level emotions and ideas. A lot is expected of you and a lot of things are made to seem more important than they are. It’s hard to tell what’s actually important and what’s just adults blowing things out of proportion. It sucks and it’s frustrating!

If you can, you might want to talk to a counselor. If your parents or guardians are anti-counseling you might try to talk to someone at your school like a teacher or administrator or school nurse about the possibility of getting counseling without your parents knowing. Some schools have programs like that.

The adults closest to you might not understand but if you keep looking you’ll eventually find someone who remembers what it’s like to be in your shoes.

And I remember fully feeling like I’d never get control over anything. The end goal of life was graduation from high school and god only knows if I keep existing after that. But the thing is, you do! You keep existing and you figure a lot of stuff out. Wisdom does come with time, it turns out. And legally and practically you end up getting a lot more autonomy as time goes on.

And I know hearing things like this might not feel comforting. When you’re stuck, you’re stuck and no matter how much you logically know it’ll get better right now it sucks.

Just find ways to keep going. And try asking for help sometimes. If your family won’t listen, find someone who will. Take the time to write down your problems and how you feel if you can’t come up with explanations of what’s going on. Or find a friend to talk it out with so you can practice explaining yourself.

If there’s one thing I can promise you, when you’re a couple years into adulthood all of the problems from your teenage years start to feel small. At the time they were big and important though. And that’s what you’re going through right now. And a lot of adults forget about that. Hang in there, and when all of this is behind you, remember how hard it was and maybe someday you can help someone like you.

I’m sorry if all that wasn’t helpful. I don’t know too much about your individual situation. But ask for help when you can. Someone out there understands. You’ll find them.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for ducksandswans behind the cut; Jason gets knocked up and accidentally goes home about it. ( chrono || non-chrono )

Jason tightens his grip on Pup Brother and Quiet Sister tightens her grip on him. He can smell the whole pack's scents–smell the whole pack's packscent–and he feels . . . good about that. He likes that. 

He missed them. He shouldn't have stayed gone so long. Though now there's a pup, and maybe even more than one, so he supposes it was worth it. 

And either way, he's home now. 

Grandpa said. 

“ETA on B?” Big Brother asks. 

“Eighteen minutes, if they avoided the downtown traffic,” Big Brother’s mate says. Jason hums acknowledgment, then lets himself relax just a little more. More than he even thought he could, really. 

It's nice. 

It's really nice. 

And they're all safe, too. 

“Holy crap, is he purring?” New Brother mutters under his breath. 

“He is definitely purring,” Loud Sister confirms. “Like a big grumpy motorcycle.” 

“Pretty sure I've heard quieter motorcycles,” Big Brother's mate says wryly. “It's pretty cute, though.” 

“It is so cute, oh my god,” Big Brother says in despairing delight. “This is bad enough, how are we gonna handle him being like this with an actual baby?” 

“I think that's mostly a ‘you’ problem, Dick,” Little Brother says. 

“That is definitely a ‘you’ problem,” Loud Sister agrees. 

“For sure,” New Brother says. 

“Very cute,” Quiet Sister hums, nuzzling the back of Jason’s neck and patting his shoulder. “Baby brother.” 

“Thank you, Cass,” Big Brother says with a huff, folding his arms. “This is so adorable I can’t even stand it.” 

Jason huffs, rolling his eyes, then just settles in and closes his eyes. It’s safe to. And he has a nest to let his scent seep into and through, and “bred” pheromones to let settle into and fill up the den. He’s early enough in his pregnancy that it’ll probably take a little while, so it’s past time to concentrate on putting those off and scenting the room. The nest’s all made, and Pup Brother and Quiet Sister are in it, and Grandpa’s by the door and Big Brother and Little Brother are just outside the nest, and Loud Sister and New Brother and Big Brother’s mate are all here too, so . . . 

So once Alpha’s here, then everything will be perfect. 

“He’s purring again,” New Brother mutters. “I literally did not even know he was physically capable of making that sound.” 

“Capable of making it to motorcycle-shaming levels, apparently,” Loud Sister says with a laugh. “Damn, Jason.” 

Jason doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but he isn’t worried about it. If it’s important, someone will take care of it. 

Everyone’s here, so of course someone will. 

“Silence, all of you,” Pup Brother grumbles, sounding long-suffering but staying settled secure in Jason’s arms, which is good. Definitely. He should be there right now. 

Jason nuzzles him some more, for obvious reasons, and then just concentrates on letting his pheromones spread through the room. His nest already smells like the pack and so does the den, obviously, but it doesn’t smell like pup-is-coming.

It needs to, obviously. 

Someone’s purring. It’s not Pup Brother, but Jason’s not sure who else could be. 

Well, it doesn’t matter, really. 

Some of the others talk about some things, their voices soft and quiet. Jason doesn’t worry about it. It’s just little stuff, like patrol schedules and classes and appointments. Normal little things for a pack to talk about, and easy to settle into the background as white noise while he lets his pheromones fill up the room and makes sure Pup Brother’s eaten. 

He eats some of the apple slices and peanut butter, himself. The pup needs to eat too. 

It’s the same cheap, shitty store brand that he used to insist on as a pup himself. 

“ETA five minutes,” Big Brother’s mate says eventually after checking her phone. Jason’s not sure what she’s talking about, but isn’t worried about that either. If it’s important, someone will tell him. Or handle it. Or both. 

All he has to do right now is wait for Alpha to get here, and then everything will be fine. 

Everything will be perfect, actually, once Alpha gets here. 

The others talk a little more. Their voices are still soft and quiet, so Jason still doesn’t worry about it. He just stays curled up around Pup Brother and in Quiet Sister’s arms, and letting his pheromones fill up the den with bred and home-safe and all the usual things that are usually part of presenting a pup to the pack. 

It’s nice. The . . . being here. It’s nice. 

He missed it here. 

He wonders why he missed it so bad. Has it been that long, or . . . ? 

He just missed it. 

But now he’s here, so he doesn’t have to miss it anymore. 

Grandpa turns his head towards the door and pushes himself up out of his chair. Jason whines in disappointment. Is he leaving? Why’s he leaving? 

“I’ll just be a moment, my boy,” Grandpa assures him, and Jason settles, a little. If Grandpa says it’ll be just a moment, then he means it. 

Grandpa steps out into the foyer again and everyone else goes quiet all at once, and Jason realizes–oh. The front door just opened, didn’t it. He doesn’t hear footsteps, though. 

. . . does that mean . . . ? 

“Alfred?” Alpha says from the foyer, sounding just barely concerned, and something in Jason vibrates at the sound of his voice. “What’s going on?” 

“Is someone purring?” Alpha’s mate asks curiously. 

“Master Jason came home, Master Bruce,” Grandpa says. 

“. . . he what?” Alpha says, his voice sounding–strange, just a bit. Jason isn’t sure why it does, but feels . . . 

“Just–the living room, Master Bruce,” Grandpa says. “You should come and see for yourself.” 

Grandpa steps back into view of the doorway, and Jason still feels unsettled and just a little bit uncertain, and isn’t sure if–

Then Alpha steps into view too, and Jason forgets everything else

[iaminfourthwing]

The Generals Daughter

A/N: Oh my god guys, I am so so so sorry for the long wait. I had so much things to do, was out of the city often and simply had no motivation to write :( I am really sorry for making you wait an eternity. I really hope I finally get more time and motivation to write again.

TW: descripted violence, murder and blood

Chapter XIV

I’ll rip you apart.

I know for sure that this fight will get bloody. The way his menacing glare is set on me makes me realize, that he’ll do anything to bond the midnight blue beauty behind him and that killing me is his mission now. Two can play the game.

„There is no need for you to be here because this dragon will be MINE!“ He growls. He behaves like a fucking animal.

‚Please do me the favor and kill him, he bores me almost to death.‘ The dragons voice echoes through my head. With pleasure.

„Sorry to disappoint you, Trevor, but she already chose me. And she wants me to kill you, which I can’t say no to. Not, when I want to get rid of you as well.“ With that I stalk forward into his direction, drawing my little sword and throwing my bow and arrows to the side, losing unnecessary weight to fight more freely. I don’t plan to kill him softly, I want to shred him apart into pieces.

He has his sword already firmly in his hand while he puts himself in a (pathetic) fighting stance. When I am near enough, a battle cry rips from Trevors throat and he charges at me. He swings his sword at my neck but I throw myself to the side, catching his stomach with a deep nasty slice through his leathers. He roars in pain and I use this moment to my advantage to knock the handle of my sword onto his nose, breaking it in the process. Rage contorts his feature, making him look like a maniac.

‚You are efficient and fast, I like that. Keep up and we can get out of here‘ the feminine voice runs through my head again.

On it.

Raising my sword, again, I manage to push the blade through his right shoulder. Trevor stumbles and I fall forward. Distracted, I don’t notice the dagger in his hand and while he slips from my sword, he slices his blade through my leathers, cutting through the skin over my left collarbone down to the top of my right breast. I hiss. Fuck, the pain is harsh.

‚CONCENTRATE!‘ I am fucking trying!

I step back and look at his face. His greedy eyes stare back at me.

„You’ll go down, and then I’ll take your body with me to show the General and everyone else how weak you truly are“ he spits.

I scoff. He is the one bleeding out from several deep wounds, not me.

„Really? As if you aren’t the one suffering heavily from the bloodless right now.“ Annoyance coats my words.

This is going to end now!

„This dragon is MINE“ I roar, rage radiating from me.

Throwing my sword to the side, I unsheathed my favorite dagger … and attack.

He is catched off guard and steps back in surprise. Then, I am on him.

I punch him in his throat, making him splutter an struggling to catch his breath. Swinging my dagger upward I slice precisely through his cheek bone and through the left eye, damaging it heavily. He screams in agony, clutching his eye while stumbling backward.

„What … the fuck?!“ He struggles to get the words out.

The midnight blue beauty grumbles in approval.

Not wasting any more time, I swing again but barely catching his throat and so I push the dagger directly into it. Warm blood splatters on my face, running down the sides of my neck, soaking into my leathers. The blood running down makes my own open wound sting but I ignore the pain. 

Trevors knees give out and he sinks down, hands trying to stop the thick blood from pouring out, but still running through his fingers. Leveling down to his height I look him dead and cold into his dying eyes.

„You’ll never be better than I am. You are just a pathetic excuse of a cadet and way to arrogant. This dragon is mine and you’ll die today … because of me. I am finally the one to get rid of you.“

Standing back up I don’t waste any time and push the dagger through his chin back up into his head. More blood splatters on my face, which I still ignore. 

His eyes lose the maniac glimmer and his body falls forward. He is dead, finally.

‚Good job, Little Flame.‘ I turn around, facing her. Due to her words, a thankful smile stretches over my face. A true, happy smile. 

‚Come on, we have to get back. We are one of the last pairs.‘

Only then I notice how much colder it got and that the sun is already going down. The fight must have been longer, than I thought. Shit, it’s getting late.

While I climb her leg up I let my thoughts wander. 

Father will be mad, or maybe annoyed that I’ll show up this late. Probably punishing me again.

Fuck, did Vi make it? Did Tairn kept her seated? Did Rihannon made it? Ridoc? Sawyer? Liam?

‚I can assure you, Little Flame, all your questions will be answered. And now, hold on tight.‘

And with that, we are up in the air.

Taglist: @puttyly @tinystudentmiracle

[ametrictonofaudacity]

Okay so consider!!!

Yandere platonic Geralt!! Generally very cool!! Very nice!! But if you fuck up you have to deal with (what you have dubbed) the get along cuff. Which is literally him just making you sleep next to him and tying your leg to his with a bit of leather cord. It’s thin so he can easily snap it if there’s a danger, but he’ll wake up if you move it.

Also Jaskier being completely fine and okay with this would be hilarious, I would love to see you write a scenerio!! (Idk why but I picture a modern reader, like one who got dropped in the Witcher from the modern world)

I love this ask!! I also love the trope of a modern character in a medieval setting, I think it was all the ‘Modern Girl IN Middle Earth’ fanfics I read (an actual tag on ao3) so I have a weakness for it!! Also Jaskier just going ‘eh’ is so funny to me.

Warnings: forced proximity, captivity, kidnapping, some level of being infantalized, being tied to another person as a form of being restrained, future Stockholm syndrome. Jaskier is complicit, up to you whether he is also a yandere or not. Also the fact Geralt can smell emotions

“You know this could be like, an actual danger?”

You try and reason your way out of your situation, like reason has ever worked on Geralt before. He ignores you, mostly, concentrating on tying the knot around your wrist in a manner that you cannot undo the knot but it also didn’t cut off your circulation. He slips a finger under the cord, testing the knot and the cords strength, and you hear him make a satisfied rumble. You were still getting used to that, to the various sounds the Witcher made to express emotion.

“No it’s not. The cord’s thin, and if I have to fight I can snap it easily. Plus this area doesn’t normally have monsters, not this time of year.”

He stands, towering over you from you spot on the ground, near the fire, and you tilt your face up. The yellow light throws his features into a harsh countenance, makes his face all angles and scars, golden eyes reflecting the light the way a predators would as he glared down at you, scowling. You tighten your fingers in the wool cloak he had given you, so long ago, the fibers catching in your nails.

He must see something in your gaze, or maybe it’s the way you know you probably reek of anxiety right now, but his stance softens, the scowl melting away into something softer, not a smile because you knew he was still very, very upset with you, but not a harsh frown that made you feel small and stupid and like all the things he thought about you were true.

He crouches, making himself smaller next to you, and you feel your shoulders start to unwind. It was strange, being around someone who was so perceptive to your emotions, but seemingly had no clue how to address or handle them, beyond his own instincts as a Witcher and his limited interpersonal skills. His very limited interpersonal skills.

Seriously. You were pretty sure the guy only had two friends.

“You’re going to try and run again. Maybe not tonight, but I clearly can’t trust you to behave without me keeping my eye on you at all times. Since I can’t do that while I’m asleep, this is the solution.”

He motions to the thin leather cord, and you scowl, face twisting into something you know is ugly but doing it anyways. He wouldn’t be intimidated, you knew, he seemed to view you as some helpless kid, even though you were a fully grown adult who had been attending college.

“You wouldn’t have to watch me if you just let me go, Geralt. You can’t… you can’t just not let someone go home, that’s not right.”

You snap, fingers burying further into the cloak to stave off the chill that was only getting colder, creeping up your arms and legs to your torso and making you shiver. It had just gotten dark, the little fire Geralt built crackling away and too small to provide much warmth but rapidly gaining strength, and you shiver, leaning toward the fire and away from the Witcher.

“We’re not having this conversation again. You can’t survive out there on your own.”

Your face flushes, angry, and you bury your face further into the cloak. He had a point, to some extent. You weren’t used to the world of the Witcher, with its monsters and it’s hardships, weren’t used to the roughness of medieval life and all of its struggles. You were used to the modern world, where distances could be travelled by car, not horse, and you didn’t have to endure biting cold in the winter and blazing heat in the summer.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t at least try, Geralt. What kinda person would I be if I didn’t at least try to get home?” You protest, and there’s the sound of rustling, a muttered curse. Looks like Jaskier was back with wood.

“Ah. Seems I walked into a horribly tense situation.”

Jaskier remarks, but his voice is light, not taking your predicament seriously, even as his eyes land on the tether around your wrist and Geralt’s as he feeds wood into the fire, which licks up the logs and sticks eagerly, hungry for fuel. You scowl, face buried in the cloak to hide your sour mood as much as possible. Geralt didn’t care if you were pisses off or not, he cared when you were afraid not when you were mad, but Jaskier would do everything in his power to pull you out of your bad mood. From telling stories to playing little tavern songs, he would be relentless in making sure you cracked a smile at least once, and you didn’t feel like having to endure the bards attempts to cheer you up right now.

“Is tying them to you really necessary though, Geralt? They look like a kicked pup, can’t you be a bit more lenient?”

Jaskier wheedles, and wow, he might actually be your favorite person right now. You peek up from the fold of the cloak, and he’s got a hand on a hip, shifting his weight with a concerned frown. He looks entirely disapproving of the whole thing, which makes your heart soar. Maybe he would actually be able to get Geralt to listen to him.

“They’re lucky I don’t tie them on Roach all day.” Geralt grumbles, setting up the bed rolls. You could feel every small movement he made, the motion tugging gently on the thin tether.

“Oh you grump. Stop being so rude.” Jaskier huffs, sitting next to you, and you quietly despair how easily he gave in, how quickly he yielded to what Geralt wanted to do. You tuck your face back into the cloak, dejected.

“Hey now, it isn’t all bad. There are worse places to sleep. I can recall a few of them myself.”

Jaskier’s hand lands on your shoulder, and you glare, annoyed. You didn’t want company, or comfort, or any of it. You wanted one thing, and it was something that the both of them were denying you.

Jaskier, because he was Jaskier, seemingly didn’t notice. Which wasn’t the greatest.

“Yeah, sure, I guess. Never slept tied to somebody, though.” You say pointedly, and the annoyed rumble Geralt gives is almost worth it. Sharp gold eyes narrow at you slightly, before Geralt huffs, turning back to his task.

“I have! Well, it was more I had been knocked unconscious, but it still applies, I think! And those ropes were rather coarse, my wrists were aching for days!” Jaskier recalls. “Geralt had to rescue me, it was quite the adventure. I wrote a song about it, at some point, although I never published it. I really should rework that song, actually, come to think of it.”

He rambles, his voice filling the tense silence between you and Geralt, and you feel your shoulders start to relax. He was good at that, chattering to fill the silence that would drag on for hours between the two of you if it wasn’t for him. You sigh quietly, leaning into the warm hand clasped on your shoulders as the fire grows in strength, the bedrolls almost fully prepared.

“Alright. Jaskier, you take first watch, and I’ll take over in an hour or so.” There must not be many monsters around, you think, for Geralt to be so comfortable letting Jaskier take watch. Jaskier nods, slipping away your side as Geralt approaches.

“Not a problem! I was feeling wired tonight anyways, a few more hours though and I should be able to sleep well enough.” Jaskier agrees amicably. “Although I am a bit surprised, you normally insist on first watch.”

“Wanna get (Y/N) down.” Geralt huffs, and Jaskier nods.

“Fair enough, I suppose. They are criminally lacking in the sleep department, they’re beginning to get bags, poor thing.”

You scowl at Jaskier, annoyed.

“I’ve had these since middle school, first of all, not my fault I have insomnia.” You scowl, and jerk when Geralt all but drags you to the bed roll, barely waiting for you to finish talking.

“Hey!” You protests, annoyed, but he’s too busy ‘getting you settled’ as he liked to call it. Fussing over the blankets and the best roll, making sure your body was protected from the harsh winds that even the fire couldn’t stave off.

“Jaskier, stop keeping them up.” Geralt grumbles, sounding more tired than annoyed. He drags you closer, and it must be a Witcher thing to radiate heat like a furnace, because he was chasing off the cold without even trying, the same arm that you were tied to securing you against his chest.

“Pretty sure I can sleep on my own.”

You snark, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

“Not for the next week you aren’t, if that. Now go to bed.”

You scowl, glaring up at him. With the blanket over you, the fire, and the heat radiating off his body, you were tired, sure. But not tired enough not to say something, not when you were being treated like an idiot who couldn’t do anything for themselves.

“You can’t just- Geralt this isn’t right, and you know it. You can’t just- keep me here!”

You protest. Arguing with Geralt was much like arguing with a wall, honestly. Stubborn and just as likely to listen to you as the bricks that made up the walls of your old college.

But walls could come down. You just had to get through to him, make him realize that what was doing wasn’t going to work. You weren’t strong enough or fast enough to escape him, not without some clever plan or tricks up your sleeve, and you were pretty sure that an Olympic level athlete would still have issues trying to outpace him. So your only hope was getting him to listen.

It was a fragile hope, but it was the only hope you had.

“We’re not talking about this right now. Go to sleep.”

Geralt grumbles, and you open your mouth again. The warning rumble in his chest cuts you off, and you swallow.

The sound was exactly that. A warning. Geralt had never hurt you before, not really, but whenever he got mad things were miserable. Jaskier would be irritated with you for ‘putting Geralt in a mood’ as he put it, and you would be without the bard’s chattering to fill the heavy silent between you and Geralt. Not to mention the awkwardness of being forced to ride atop Roach with Geralt, the silence thick with tension between the two of you, or the way you would hope desperately for the day to end so you could go to sleep.

No, it was better to keep the Witcher happy. For all parties.

“Alright. Good night.” You finally mutter, and he sighs, the tension leaving his body. You feel his torso loosen, relaxing behind you, and you feel your hand shaking, just slightly. Or a little more than slightly. Your stomach twists, and Geralt sighs.

“I know you don’t understand. But you’ll realize this is what’s best for you.” He says it like it’s supposed to be an assurance, smoothing a hand over your hair like you’re a particularly fussy child, and you consider, for a second, twisting and biting that hand. Driving your teeth deep enough to draw blood and make him listen to you, for once.

You don’t, mainly because you know he would just move it fast enough your teeth would just snap at empty air.

You close your eyes. With the almost stifling heat behind you, and the too-heavy weight of the cord on your wrist that logically shouldn’t feel as heavy as it did, sleep does not come easy. Eventually, though, you feel your consciousness slip away into oblivion.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

... And Back: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Summary: Knowing the Turner Brothers killed nearly one hundred people, the FBI, Detroit police, and the Canadian police work hard to figure out three things: Where is Kelly, who has been murdered here, and what will happen when Lucas is caught? That’s not the only thing you have to worry about as a nightmare is about to come your way.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

Derek and Emily are working with the Bloodhounds and walking around the property trying to find Kelly and Lucas. It's weird to think you've been with the team for over four years, working nonstop, and these two brothers were out here killing eighty-nine people without you even knowing.

Well, you know now and it's going to stop. However, no matter what you do, how hard you work, or how good at your job you are, there will always be someone out there hurting people for fun. Your job is never going to end.

Some of the Bloodhounds found scent markings on some trees but lost them when they reach a small stream of water that runs in the back of the property. If the dogs lose the scent for good, it's going to be like searching for a needle in a stack of needles.

Meanwhile, Penelope is working hard inside the house trying to figure out what's really going on here. No one kills eighty-nine people and counting without some kind of reason. It doesn't take long to figure out what Mason is researching, and it's actually shocking considering what's going on here.

Mason has been looking for a cure for his paralyzed body. He needs stem cells from people in order to cure himself, but they've all been unsuccessful experiments. Mason deems it right because the people Lucas took were transients, prostitutes, and drug users. He wanted to give their lives purpose by being part of a revolutionary cure.

He claims it's science.

Lucas has drawn what their lives have been like for the past eight years. He's the reason why Mason is how he is. Lucas accidentally pushed Mason down something that paralyzed him, so Mason blames and faults him for something that was an accident, so he has his chunky younger brother kill to help cure something that was Lucas' fault.

You and Spencer leave the barn to tell the others what you've found.

"They were doing experiments for spinal regeneration. He was trying to fix himself," Rossi says.

"How?"

"Stem cell research."

"Wait, this equipment is far too unsophisticated. There's no way it would have ever worked," Spencer says.

"You were a prosecutor, Hotch. Could you convict this guy? A quadriplegic who clearly never touched any of the victims?" you ask.

"I don't know. We need to concentrate on Kelly. We can't worry about the other stuff right now."

"Son of a bitch. He might get away with this. Come on, Rossi. Let's talk to Mason again." You look to the right and see Will leaning against the pig pen just listening in. You hope he doesn't do anything stupid. You and Rossi walk back inside the house and over to Mason who has a slight smirk on his face. "Tell me about how you got hurt."

"Does it matter?"

"Humor me."

"My brother pushed me out of the loft. I wanted to sell the farm. I had just finished medical school. It would have given me a nice down payment on a practice in the city, but the farm was all he knew. He doesn't handle anger very well."

"Is that why you hate him?"

"Hate him? He's done nothing but take care of me every day since then."

"You said not to even try talking to him if we find him. That sounds like you want us to kill him, right Rossi?"

"Sounds right to me."

"That's not hate. That's a favor. My brother couldn't survive without me."

You and Rossi leave the room to join Penelope in the next.

"Did you find anything else?" you ask.

"Nothing that'll help find his brother. There's a cell phone he calls dozens of times a day, but that appears to be off. I tried to activate the GPS locator on it, but I think it's an old phone so that's not gonna work either."

"Will you know if it comes on?"

"I hope so."

"How's it going?" JJ asks when she walks in.

"Just waiting for--" The computer dings and Penelope gasps. "Oh, my God. The phone just turned back on. Oh, my God!"

"Answer it."

"Hello?" Penelope asks.

"Hello? My name is Kelly."

"Kelly? This is Penelope Garcia with the FBI."

"Oh, my God, you have to help me. I'm somewhere in the woods being held by a man named Lucas, and he--"

"Kelly?" Lucas stutters.

"Please help me!"

"Hey, that's mine!"

"Please--"

The call cuts off. Lucas has Kelly somewhere on the property, and you need to find her quickly.

"The phone's disconnected."

"Garcia, can you find the signal?" Rossi asks.

"Yes. I'm hooked on the system. I should be able to--Got it! It's west of here, less than half a mile."

"That's all you can tell?"

"It's the woods. There aren't any reference points."

"We don't need one. I can take it from there. Come on," you urge.

You, Hotch, Rossi, and Spencer meet up with Emily and Derek who are already out in the field. JJ and Penelope stay with Mason in hopes the phone turns back on and Kelly calls again. The Bloodhounds run alongside you to where the last known location of the phone is, but the scent dies off.

She's not here.

"She should be right here. This is where the signal came from," Hotch says. "There's nothing here. Y/N, anything?"

You close your eyes and allow Kelly's panic to reach you. The trail of energy isn't coming from the sides or above you. It's coming from down below. There is a hatch here somewhere that must lead down to a cave.

"They're in a cave. Follow me!"

You lead the group to where the energy trail leads off, and you allow Hotch and Derek to lift the heavy wooden board Lucas tried so hard to hide.

"Kelly!"

"Down here! Don't make any sudden moves when they come down, okay?" she begs Lucas.

"I'm bad," Lucas repeats and whimpers.

"Lucas Turner, this is the FBI."

"Just put your hands up, okay? Everything is going to be okay," Kelly says.

Hotch removes her from Lucas and passes her onto you and Emily. Emily gets her out of the cave but you can't help but look back at Lucas. He's scared and confused, and he doesn't know what is going on.

"Be gentle with him! He's scared!"

Jeff's team doesn't listen and perceives him as a threat. Lucas gets confused enough to where he starts lashing out. He gets up to attack, and that's when Jeff's team starts firing at him.

"Stand down!" you and Derek yell.

The deed is done. Lucas is dead. Will grabbed the nearest gun he could find and shot Mason knowing he was going to get arrested. But hey, at least he got his sister's killer. Both brothers are dead, just like you thought was going to happen.

All you want to do is go home. This case has drained the life out of you. The entire ride home, no one said a word. No words needed to be said. The killings will stop, but you'll have to deal with another murderer the next day.

It's never gonna stop.

"Ready to go home?" you ask Spencer once you two have packed everything away.

"More than you know."

"Can I hold your hand?"

"Listen, it's nothing you did but ever since I was poisoned, I have this fear of germs now. That's all I see everywhere I go. I don't want to get sick again."

"I understand. I'll never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Can I give you a hug?"

"Yes," he smiles.

You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss the part where his heart is over his clothes. Spencer kisses the top of your head with a loving smile.

Everything is as it should be.

--

He is angry. No, pissed is more like it. He should have never let you go in the first place. You could still be with him safe and sound, and he would never have to worry if he's going to get that one phone call that's going to put him away for life. He's tried to be nice about it. He tried to offer you everything you could need and more.

But no, you'd rather go home to him. He's getting so sick and tired of hearing about Spencer Reid. He stole what was his to begin with.

The man takes inhales from the cigarette longer than he should have before letting out the smoke into the air. He looks down at the man he's just murdered. Blood spatters and pools all over the ground, but there is no one around to witness this. He made sure to pick a desolate road so that he wouldn't get caught.

He's been doing this for a long time, he knows how to evade the law.

He takes another puff of his cigarette before ripping it in two. He drops the untouched side of the cigarette onto the ground and throws the touched side into the trash can inside his car. He removes the latex gloves on his hands and throws them away in the same trash can. He grabs another pair of fresh gloves and slides them on.

There is no way he's going to leave behind any evidence that would incriminate himself.

There is a box on his passenger seat that has items he's stolen from your house. It's so easy to sneak inside when he knows where you keep the spare key. You're always forgetting where you put your keys. It's so like you to be so fucking stupid. Inside the box is a plastic baggie with a cup inside.

When he was snooping around your apartment, he made sure to take the cup you always use, a cup that would have half a dozen good fingerprints on it. With his clean thumb, he presses the latex over the fingerprint so that the print is transferred to the glove. With his left hand, he grabs the murder weapon and transfers the print onto the handle of the weapon.

Once finished, he tosses the weapon into a box in the backseat. There have to be at least seven different weapons with seven different kinds of blood used to kill seven different kinds of victims. All with your prints on them.

Seven victims scattered around where you work and where you live.

The man takes out another baggie filled with the hair he gathered from your hairbrush. You really need to clean that thing. It's like you're begging him to ruin your life. He removes some strands of hair and sprinkles it over the dead body at his feet.

This will ensure that you're linked to this murder along with the six other victims he's done this to. The man lights another cigarette but this time, he smokes it calmly. He leans against his car and takes his time enjoying the fresh air and the night sky. When he's done, he gives this cigarette the same treatment and gets back into his car.

He removes the gloves, throws them into the trash can, and leans back in his head. He thinks about you, the way you smell when you're near him, the feel of your body when he used to sneak into your room when he knew you were asleep, everything about you. You were his first, and no matter how far you move away from him, he's going to remind you that you'll never be able to leave.

If you refuse to listen to him, refuse to come back to him, then he's going to make sure no one will ever see you again as you rot in prison for the rest of your life.

"Sometimes there are no words, no clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day. Sometimes you do everything right, everything exactly right, and still you feel like you've failed. Did it need to end that way? Could something have been done to prevent the tragedy in the first place? Eighty-nine murders at the pig farm. The deaths of Mason and Lucas Turner make ninety-one lives snuffed out. Kelly Shane will go home and try to recover and reconnect with her family, but she'll never be a child again. William Hightower, who gave his leg for his country, gave the rest of himself to avenge his sister's murder. That makes ninety-three lives forever altered, not counting family and friends in a small town in Sarnia, Ontario, who thought monsters didn't exist until they learned that they spent their lives with one. What about my team? How many more times will they be able to look into the abyss? How many more times before they won't ever recover the pieces of themselves that this job takes? As I said, sometimes there are no words, no clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day. Sometimes the day just... ends." - Aaron Hotchner

x

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[fanfictionstuff]

The Forbidden Taste of You (28)

Amaimon x reader. AO3 friendorfoe22

“Anyway, nice talk. We have class soon.” You stand, grabbing the plastic plates. You toss them in a trash can nearby, reaching for Amaimon to pull him back to class.

Katashi bristles at your words. “What? You can’t just say that and walk away! Are you being literal or metaphorical?” There’s no way that man could be an angel in either sense. He attempts to grab you, but Amaimon is faster, grabbing his wrist. With a loud crack, Katashi winces in pain. 

“Never touch my mate.”

Katashi freezes at the threat, his eyes widening in shock, and he feels an intense fear of Amaimon. Even when he realized that Ambrosius was, in fact, Amaimon, he didn’t experience this level of fear. This profound fear is unfamiliar to him, and for the first time, he truly fears Amaimon. It’s the first time Amaimon has shown deadly intent towards him.

Amaimon releases the human’s wrist, and Katashi instinctively pulls it to his chest, careful to avoid any contact. “Mate?" he asks. Then, his eyes catch a mark on Amaimon’s throat, still visible even in his Ambrosius form. Over time, Katashi has come across less common lore, suggesting that some high-ranked demons might select a mate and leave a mark, though this seems quite rare. His attention shifts to your throat; despite your collar obscuring it, he notices a similar mark as he watches you closely. “_____,” he questions, his voice laced with despair. “What have you done?” 

“We’re really going to be late if we don’t get going.”

A nauseating sensation twists in his stomach as he observes Amaimon being pulled back to school by you.

“_____, why would you tell him?” Amaimon asks, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I didn’t plan to,” you confess, staring at the cracks. “I didn’t expect to run into Katashi, and honestly, I was being spiteful towards my parents. I’m really frustrated with them, and I thought Mom would try to hide this from Katashi for as long as possible.” You lightly squeeze his hand. “So far, Katashi is the only person who hasn’t deceived me. Now that he knows, maybe he can ask Mom some questions, and I can learn more from him.”   

You feel exhausted and dislike school. Next to you, Amaimon is struggling too. He can't handle the work and constantly seeks your attention; if you refuse, he has no problem tossing your books into the trash. You thought staying after class would let you finish your homework peacefully, assuming Amaimon would quietly sulk beside you. But that wasn’t the case. He didn’t care about being discreet and loudly complained about your neglect. You tried to request he be quiet and sit next to you, even if he ended up draping himself over you. However, after eight hours, he had reached his limit, and when his complaints and tugging at you drew attention, you quickly stood up and shoved everything into your school bag.

“Um, what are you doing?” You sigh as Amaimon nestles his face against your neck, pulling you onto a nearby bench. “I’ve told you again and again that this isn’t appropriate.” You protest, running your fingers through his hair, trying to distance him from the mark. Ever since he claimed you as his mate, he’s become increasingly clingy, leaving you confused about his behavior. You never anticipated his attachment would intensify, yet here you find him—almost sitting in your lap now. “I have so much schoolwork to catch up on.” You exhale in frustration, attempting to gently push him away.

When you lock eyes with him, it’s clear your words are brushed aside; he’s completely tuned out. “Amaimon?” He places his right hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair firmly. “Ow, what—” You try to ask, but your question gets cut off as his lips press against yours, his warm tongue diving past your lips to explore. You bite down on his tongue, eliciting a groan as he pulls back, his expression showing displeasure. “Amaimon, I need to concentrate. I have to finish this year of high school. Finish high school, then attend a university far away from everyone and their bullshit, remember?” 

"We can use money from Big Brother.” He doesn’t want you to go to university. University is more education, but it's also more challenging. It will distance you from him even further. He has already looked into it. He won't be able to share classes with you, meaning you'll be apart for a significant time. "You won't need to work.”

“Amaimon, you can't be sure if Mephisto will give us the money to leave. Pretty sure he’d rather you stay nearby; he brought you to Assiah for a reason.” You try to convince him.

"I have a phone and the key of eternity. There's no need for me to remain here. After earning a degree, you're not going to find employment, so why spend time on it?”

"You know by now that living in Assiah requires money. And money comes from having a job."

“You’re my mate; you’ll stay with me.”

"Okay then," you respond. Continuing the argument feels futile; he probably won’t change his opinion, and you have a few months left to sort things out.

A text helps turn the conversation. "Shiemi wants to go out this weekend." You grin at the message, “You’re not third-wheeling this time. If you really want to come, I’ll have Shiemi invite Rin." You give the demon king a smug look. It’s finally girl time. Amaimon gives you an annoyed glance before burying his face in your neck again. 

Bright blue eyes meet yours as the energetic teen nearly bounces in his seat. "Thanks for the invite! It's great to see you again." 

You underestimated what Amaimon would deal with to be by your side. 

"It's great to see you too! I'm happy we could set up this double date." Both Rin and Shiemi blush a deep red at the comment. 

"D-date?" Poor Shiemi looks like she might burst with anxiety. "I need to use the bathroom!" she suddenly declares, springing up. "Hold on, Shiemi." You turn to Amaimon and lower your voice. "Do NOT harm Rin or reveal your true identity to him. If you do, I won’t talk to you for a week."

"You can't stay away from me that long." 

"Really? I think my dad would know a few ways." 

Amaimon huffs in annoyance, the sound escaping him like a low growl. He refocuses on his plate, eating his cake while ignoring Rin. 

"Hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot." Rin attempts to start a conversation. Even though he abandoned _____ after a demon attacked her. "Maybe we can be friends?"

"No." 

"What?" 

"I don't want to be friends with you. I don't like you." 

Rin stares at Ambrosius in disbelief; why wouldn't he like him? He hasn't done anything to him. If anything, Rin should be the one who doesn’t like Ambrosius! He’s still pissed that Ambrosius that left you in that state a few weeks ago. Still, he continues. "Come on, do you even have friends?" 

"I have ____," Amaimon answers bluntly.

A determined look crosses Rin's face. "Listen, I know how it is. Before I came to True Cross, I only had one person, too - my younger brother Yukio. Now my brother and I have a lot of friends." 

"I don't want friends," Amaimon replies bluntly.

"Everyone needs friends," Rin declares loudly, catching the attention of the few other patrons in the cafe. 

Amaimon clicks his tongue in annoyance as he glances at the bathroom. He promised not to harm Rin Okumura, but if his younger brother doesn’t shut up, Amaimon might just risk your anger.

You watch as Shiemi scrubbed her hands yet again with soap. "I think your hands are clean enough now," you tease, trying to lighten the mood. "Are you alright? I was just joking about it being a date." You gently guide her away from the sink before she can get more soap. "Let's go back to the others; I don't want Ambrosius left alone with Rin."

“Why not?”

“Ambrosius isn’t a social person; Rin is probably trying to have a conversation with him. I don’t want Ambrosius to get angry.”

Shiemi glances at you with a mixture of concern and confusion in her eyes.

"But Ambrosius seems nice. Maybe Rin can help him open up a bit," she suggests optimistically.

You frown at her optimism, knowing more about Amaimon's real character. "Trust me, it's better if Ambrosius keeps to himself. He can be... difficult at times."

You and Shiemi head back to the table, where Rin appears to be having a one-sided conversation with Amaimon. Rin's ongoing efforts to befriend him seem to fall on deaf ears.

As you approach, Rin spots your return and turns his attention to you, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Hey, welcome back! I’ve been trying to get to know Ambrosius better. I thought it would be nice for the four of us to hang out more often.”

“No.” Amaimon tugs you onto the bench with him. 

“Come on, I really think this will be fun,” Rin urges, undeterred by Amaimon’s dismissive attitude. His determination to befriend Amaimon is surprisingly strong.

On the other hand, Amaimon remains stoic, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “I have no interest in being your friend, Okumura.” 

Rin frowns yet remains determined. “I get it; you're not a people person. But we should at least attempt to get along. You might as well befriend ______’s other friends, right?” He gestures towards you, trying to appeal to Amaimon's gentler side.

It backfires. With a possessive grip around your waist, Amaimon leans in closer; his voice laced with a warning. "_______ is mine. Stay away from her, Okumura."

"I understand that you’re concerned about ___," Rin says thoughtfully, selecting his words to avoid upsetting the teenager across from him. "However, she is her own person. She has the right to choose who she spends her time."

Amaimon's expression darkens, a dangerous glint entering his golden eyes. "She has chosen me," he declares firmly, his possessiveness thick in the air.

You let out a sigh, choosing to ignore their petty argument. Instead, you turn your attention to Shiemi. "So, how have you been? How is your training going?" Her face brightens at the change of topic. "It's going well! I'm working hard, and I really enjoy the cram school. I wish you would join me!"

After hearing Shiemi mention your attendance at cram school, Amaimon tightens his grip on you. You refrain from rolling your eyes. “Eh, the idea of becoming an exorcist and chasing demons doesn't interest me, but I enjoy hearing about your progress in training."

As Shiemi expresses her excitement for the exorcist training, you notice Amaimon's grip around your waist tightening intermittently. It's evident he is growing more possessive and unsettled by the conversation. Sensing his unease, you opt to shift the topic in an attempt to diffuse the tension. 

"Shiemi, have you been to the new herbal tea shop downtown? I’ve heard they have really unique blends," you suggest, trying to steer the conversation away from exorcist training. 

Shiemi's eyes light up with interest. "Oh, I haven't! That sounds lovely. Maybe we could all go together sometime," she proposes, glancing at Rin and Amaimon. 

Amaimon's expression darkens at the idea of you spending more time around Rin. “No.” 

Shiemi blinks in surprise. “Oh, you don’t like tea? Then maybe just the three of us?” She glances between you and Rin, unknowingly infuriating the demon king across from her. 

Oblivious to Amaimon's simmering anger, Rin smiles warmly at Shiemi's suggestion. "That sounds great! I'd love to try some new tea blends with you guys. When should we go?” 

You're thankful that Amaimon hasn't lost control, but you have a sinking feeling that staying in this situation could lead to him hurting Rin and those nearby. "That sounds like a sweet date idea!" you say, smiling at them across the table. Meanwhile, you divert Amaimon's attention from Rin by feeding him cake. 

Pulling the fork from his mouth, you notice a smear of dark chocolate icing on his lower lip. Without thinking, you instinctively reach out to brush it away. His lips part slightly in response, surprising you as he takes your thumb into his warm, wet mouth. With gentle sweeps of his tongue, he removes the chocolate that you had so kindly removed from his lip. 

“Everyone can see us!” Your eyes widen, and your face flushes with embarrassment at his bold move. Rin and Shiemi share the same shocked expressions, stunned by his bold actions. 

Amaimon's gaze remains locked with yours, unyielding and intense, as if daring anyone to challenge his actions. Despite the shocked silence that has fallen over your group, Amaimon's expression remains unreadable, his golden eyes burning into yours. 

Rin clears his throat uncomfortably, attempting to ease the tense atmosphere. "Um, Ambrosius... maybe don’t do that in public," he suggests hesitantly, his discomfort evident in his voice. 

Amaimon finally releases your thumb from his mouth, “Why?” The possessive gleam in his golden eyes intensifies as he leans in even closer to you. “_____ is mine; I’ll do whatever I want.” 

Rin shifts uncomfortably in his seat, exchanging a nervous glance with Shiemi. The tension in the air is palpable, charged with an unspoken challenge between the two. Despite the group's unease, Amaimon seems unfazed by their reactions.

Irritated, you pinch his hip. “Stop it. I swear, you’re like a damn swan.” As you run your fingers through his hair, you playfully tug and shake his head. Amaimon lets you continue but gives you a curious look. “Swan?” 

Shiemi tilts her head in confusion. “Um, ______, what do you mean he’s like a swan?” 

“Swans can be aggressive, especially when it comes to their mates." Rin nods in understanding. “Oh, you’re right; a swan attacked me when I was a kid. They can be really nasty."

Amaimon simply shrugs, unaffected by your comparison. You let go of his head and place your arm around his shoulder. “Well, my swan mate," you say with sarcasm, "let's finish this cake, and then we can go.” The demon king leans into your embrace, his previous hostility fading as he allows you to give him orders. With the tension lifting, Rin and Shiemi share relieved glances at the de-escalation of the situation.

As he finishes the last bite of cake, Amaimon suddenly stands up, tugging you along. "Let's go," he says sharply, making it clear there’s no room for debate. “Damn it, Ambrosius.” Not in the mood to argue, you quickly turn to the other two. “Sorry, he’s exhausted from all the schoolwork he needs to catch up on. We’ve both got a ton to catch up.”

Rin quickly looks at Amaimon before leaning closer to you, “Are you okay?" 

His concerns are clear, and you quickly attempt to address them. “Rin, he’s just really antisocial and can be a pain in the ass to others when he’s in a bad mood." Rin’s voice lowers to a faint whisper. "If you need any help, just let me know." Amaimon definitely heard that. Without giving the demon king time to respond, you stand up straight and pull him by his jacket collar. "Thanks, Rin. Shiemi, text me later." You lean down to hug Shiemi goodbye before leading Amaimon out of the restaurant as Shiemi bids farewell to both of you. As you step in the doorway, you lift your arm and wave. “Bye, Katashi." Shiemi and Rin both look over to see a man sinking into his chair, pulling his cap down to avoid eye contact.

Rin scowls at the table, his fist clenched with frustration. “I don’t trust him,” he snaps, startling Shiemi. “What do you mean?” 

“Can’t you see how toxic he is? I don’t trust him with ______.” 

“He loves her a lot.” She responds with a gentle smile. “He may not be kind to us, but he is always kind and caring toward her. Who knows? Maybe one day Ambrosius will want to be friends with us too?”

Notes:

Googling animals that will attack for their mate. Swans were the first thing that popped in my mind, but I wanted to google anyway—decided to stay with the swans. Let's hope for more Amaimon fics with him being in this season 🤞

[agentpeggycarterrogers]

Frozen Together

with @americansentinel

Steve

The plan was far from simple, but simply put, they were raining Hell down on HYDRA and Schmidt's head. For Steve he was doing it for Bucky, for the others, well they were doing it to end the war. There was only one small snag, Schmidt was getting away in a plane and if he took off then it would all be for nothing. Peggy was at his side and Philips was speeding down the runway trying to catch the plane before take off. Steve turned to Peggy.

Peggy

She was ready and she nodded. "Always ready," Peggy replied. They jumped together and dashed up the plane. Steve gave her a boost and then they were aboard the Valkyrie.

Peggy was here to support him, to help the cause, so she pulled out her pistol and fired on Schmidt's lackeys who approached them. "Go get him!" she called to Steve. "I've got this - I can handle it. I'll find you."

Steve

He knew he needed to stick with the plan. Peggy could handle herself just fine.

Still, Steve couldn't just run off to fight Schmidt without doing this first.

"In a second, there's something I need to do first." Summoning all his courage, Steve grabbed Peggy by the waist and kissed her.

"Okay. Now I can go get him."

Peggy

Peggy wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the moment for longer than she should. She had wanted a kiss for so long. How was she supposed to concentrate on her fight now that Steve had kissed her like this? 

"Steve Rogers, that better not be a goodbye kiss!" she called. 

She watched him go and then continued to blast her way through Schmidt's henchman and neutralize the plane as best they could. One threat at a time, and then they could take out Red Skull, end the war, and save the world.

Steve

"Wouldn't dream of it!" Steve called back as he rushed off to find Schmidt.

Battling his way through HYDRA operatives, Steve finally made his way to the cockpit where the Red Skull was waiting for him.

Peggy

By the time Peggy found her way to the cockpit, Red Skull was gone, and there was a gaping hole in the floor. "STEVE!" she screamed, and held on to something. "Are you here? Are you alright?" The plane lurched and took a dive and she yelped.

Steve

Everything he'd just seen was too much for him to handle, but when he heard her scream his name he snapped out of it.

"Peggy!" Tearing himself away from the hole in the floor he grabbed the controls and pulled back to level out. The damn thing was on auto pilot so as long as he kept it level, they'd be alright.

"I'm here, Schmidt's dead!"

Peggy

"Steve!" she yelped again and pulled herself across the perimeter of the room, staying as far away from the hole as she could. "That hole...it goes all the way through." 

She reached the Captain's chair, her Captain's side, and held on. "He's dead, and now what? Can we turn this thing around...or?" Or were they going to crash? Were they losing fuel?  Did they have radio navigation? 

"Get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do."

Steve

"It's moving too fast, and it's headed for New York." Steve said, reaching for the radio.

"Can you fly this thing?" If she could keep the plane steady he could deal with Howard.

"Keep it steady."

Peggy

“Fly this *thing?”* Peggy gasped. “You want me to fly a plane?” She climbed into the copilot’s chair. “Steve, I…I can’t. I’ll try, but I can’t.” She reached for the controls, and the buttons indeed were all in German. 

Howard would know what to do; he’d find them a safe place to land. She nodded, and tried her best to keep the plane as steady as she could.

Steve

"Just keep it steady, Peg." Steve said grabbing the radio's handset and silently praying Howard would know what to do. It was Jim Morita on the line at first but after Steve explained that he was on the Valkyrie with Agent Carter and they needed to talk to Howard right now, there was a scramble on the other end of the line. It felt like forever before Howard's voice came through the speaker asking what was happening.

Peggy

Peggy nodded and did her best. After some trial and error, she managed to keep the  plane *steady * as Steve directed. She listened to Jim and Howard's conversation. 

"We'll find you a safe landing site," Howard said. 

Peggy yelped as the plane lost more altitude and dipped. There wasn't going to be a safe landing. 

"Howard, follow our path, you'll find us..." Peggy called. That's what radios were for, right? If there was anything left to find, that is. She turned to Steve.  "Steve, *help me*, please, my darling.  I can't..."

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

City of Sin

Chapter Sixteen of The One Condition Series | Chapter Seventeen

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: Pretty Thing and Din make it to Daiyu.

TW: Mentions and depictions of drug and drug use.

Notes: Hi everyone ! I have no idea why I am so nervous for this chapter and the upcoming ones. I think I just want to make sure I do all of the characters justice and handle everything with respect and care. Happy reading <3

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The right side of your neck still shows signs of Din’s lips. It had been two days since he had branded you with them. The once red spots of adoration have softened into a light purple. You brush your fingers over each one while looking at the mirror in the fresher. Your band only hides a few of them. It’s like he was purposely trying to make sure that you couldn’t hide them. The marks he made may fade, but your feelings certainly won’t. As you continue staring into the mirror, your eyes drift over to the left side of your neck. What you see there is in direct contrast to the right. One side marked with love and the other marred by hate. Your fingers follow your eye line and run themselves over the raised skin. You would think that after all these years it wouldn’t hurt anymore both mentally and physically. A quiet knock comes from behind the fresher door. Even though the sound is meak, it's enough to startle you.

“Yes?”

When no answer comes you call out again, but to no avail. You lean over and press the button for the door. When it slides open you aren’t greeted by your bounty hunter, but by his son. The small child looks up at you and motions with his hands to be picked up. 

“I really can’t get any peace on this ship, huh?”

You obey his greedily little demand and take him into the fresher with you. After you close the door the two of you pick up right where you left off. You have long since stopped being ashamed of your scar in front of the kid. He, thanks to his powers, knows everything that went on that night in graphic detail. He never loved you any differently because of it. 

You see him watching your hand move over it in the mirror. He blinks so slowly when he is concentrating. You look down at him when you notice his hand lifting towards it. As always, he is gentle when his little hand reaches it. You close your eyes and let the tickling sensation his claw brings wash over you. The anxiety in your body slowly starts to diminish the longer he makes contact with your skin. You swear you can feel it being pulled from your body. It’s exit point: the scar on your neck. When you open your eyes you find that his have closed. 

“Hey you don’t need to do that,” you tell him softly. “I’m okay now all thanks to you and your dad.”

He opens his eyes and grunts up at you.

“Alright, mainly thanks to you.”

His eyes scan yours for a lie and when he doesn’t find one he returns them to your neck. A surprised squeak escapes him when he sees the marks on the right side. Your cheeks burn as he moves his hand over to inspect it. You could just about die as he looks up at you with such concern. How the fuck do you explain that those were so lovingly inflicted by his father?

“I told you, sweetie, I’m fine. Those are nothing.”

Maker, the level of embarrassment you are feeling right now is astronomical. Before he can use any of his baby magic on them, you set him down in the sink. He speaks incoherently up at you while you reattach your band. You swear up and down that you are fine while trying not to laugh. After you fix your band just the way you like it, you pick up the child again. Your words clearly mean nothing to him as he keeps trying to reach for the right side of your neck. You frantically swat his hands away as he babbles up to you. Din opens the fresher door to find the two of you in this state of chaos.

“Hey, I need the two of you to- what did I just walk into?” 

At this point you are holding the kid as far away from you as your arms will allow. He doesn’t make it easy to keep your grip on him as he wiggles from side to side and flails his arms every which way.

“Your son is trying to heal me.”

“Heal you? You got hurt?”

You allow Din to take the child while you catch your breath.

“He seems to think so even though I told him I was fine.” You scold.

Din tilts his helmet from you to the baby and then back to you again. “Why does he think you're injured?” 

“He saw my neck.”

“Your neck? Your neck.”

“You try explaining what a ‘good bruise’ is to him.” You can’t say it without letting a little laugh slip.

“Listen kid I- well maybe when you're older- it’s hard to explain because-,” an exasperated sigh comes through his modulator. “If she says she's fine, she's fine, end of story.”

“Nice bedside manor, Tin Man.”

All you get in response is him cocking his head to the side and shrugging. 

“What were you going to say when you first opened the door by the way?”

“That the two of you need to get up to the cockpit and strap in. We are about to drop out of hyperspace,” his voice gets softer as he speaks. “We made it to Daiyu.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

After Din piloted the ship into a long term docking spot he told you that he was going out to pay for it. He put extra emphasis on the fact that you and the kid were to stay inside the ship until he came back. You guess he did want the two of you wondering out to find him alone. Maybe this place was even worse than Coruscant. You guess it had to be if it was the planet your brother now called home. 

You expected to feel the anxiety you felt earlier, maybe anger, maybe even sadness, but all you feel is numb. As you wait with the child downstairs in the hull, all you feel is numbness. You just stare blankly at the ramp waiting for it to open and reveal Din. A tugging sensation at your band grounds you. 

“Baby, I told you I’m-”

His hand is over your scar now. Perhaps he feels the voidness in your heart. Your eyes fill with tears as you stare at him. You don’t know if you’re crying because you don’t feel anything or because not feeling anything is worse than feeling something. He is patient with you as you shed your tears of confusion. You’re still crying when Din comes back aboard the ship to collect the two of you. He rushes over to you and holds onto the sides of your arms.

“Cyar’ika, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m s-sorry I don’t really know why I’m crying.”

Just like the child, he is quiet while you pull yourself together. He doesn’t rush you or try to say anything. There isn’t anything he can say. You center yourself using his and the baby’s touch on your body. Slowly you catch your breath and the tears stop flowing. You let out a tired laugh as the well runs dry and your whimpering is no longer echoing throughout the hull. 

“Thank you guys. I don’t think my mind and my body are on the same page today.”

“You don’t have to apologize. This is a lot. You don’t have to come if-”

“No,” you cut him off quicker than you intended. “I’m coming. I told you in the beginning I was coming. I’m going to see this through and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

He nods slowly. He is clearly still apprehensive about your current state, but he knows how much this means to you. 

“Plus, you don’t even know what he looks like.”

“I guess you’re right.” He admits.

You wipe the rest of your tears away, with his help, and look down at the youngling still latched to your band.

“We are gonna get him. He won’t be able to hurt me anymore.”

“D-does he know?”

Still staring down at the baby you answer him. “I think so. He used to help me fall back asleep when you would go on hunts and my dreams would get particularly bad. I can’t explain it, but I think he was able to see what I was seeing,” you look up at Din. “Does that sound crazy?”

“Not at all. I’m pretty sure I saw him do it once when I came back during the night.” He brings his hand up to affectionately pat the kids head. “Thanks for taking care of our girl while I was gone.”

You feel your chest tighten at his words. Our girl. You were their girl. Nothing in the universe would change that. Nothing in the universe could change that. 

After the baby got safely tucked away in Din’s satchel, all three of you headed into the belly of the beast. The sights and sounds of the city around you were both wildly overwhelming and strangely beautiful. The streets are packed with species you have neither heard of nor seen before in your life. The languages they speak flow in one of your ears and out the other. Some of them mill about the streets like you and Din and others man stalls selling anything and everything under the sun. They beckon to you in foreign tongues to come try their food or buy their clothes or look at their trinkets. With each new voice, Din squeezes your hand harder and pulls you closer. 

Through the sea of people you are still able to look at the buildings around you. Each one more massive than the last. Some have lights shining from the inside and others look hollow and bare. Wires are strung up above you. They attach to random buildings and unknown poles. The pattern they create looks like a mangled spider's web; weaving over and under each other with no rhyme or reason. A lot of the buildings play host to a superfluity of signs. The vernacular on them is unknown to you. Their colors are bright and colorful. You see pink, green, yellow, blue, and red. The further down the street you look, the more signs you see. Beacons of hope in an endless ocean of pandemonium. 

Unfortunately, not even the pretty lights can hide the city’s stench. There is no other word for its smell other than rotten. There is no breeze flowing so the air around you is thick and stale. As you keep your eyes peeled for your dreaded destination you see the reason why Alden made his way here. Spice and other various drug sales happen out in the open without a care in the world. Most of the dealers seem to be young. You feel your stomach clenches whenever the smell of spice wafts past your nose. You want to be angry at them. They are giving life altering drugs to people without what seems to be a second thought. But part of you feels pity. They wouldn’t be pelting drugs if there was another way for them to make money. You know that the only reason they are in business is because people want what they are selling. A vicious, ugly, bloody cycle. 

Din hasn’t let go of your hand since you exited The Razor Crest. You didn’t want him to either. One wrong step and you could face the potential threat of being swept away into the hoards of people. He is keeping one hand intertwined with yours and one hand securely over the opening of his satchel. The two of you stop every few stalls so he can attempt to ask the vendors if they know the location of a building with a Vulptice as its mascot. So far he has only been met with a language barrier or people downright telling him to fuck off if he doesn’t want to buy anything. Guilt blossoms in your chest and grows with every dead end he meets. He is doing so much for you and you’re just standing there. 

Din is attempting to speak with a vendor when you notice a woman, maybe five years younger than you, pull out a small bag. A white emblem of the head of a Vulptice is on it. She seems to be negotiating with the man in front of her intensely. After some back and forth, that you are too far away to hear, he nods and hands over some credits. He quickly snatches the bag from her, shoves it in his pocket, and disappears into the crowd. 

“No luck here either.” His tone is light when he speaks to you, but you can sense the underlying tension in it. 

“Din, I think I may have found someone that knows where the lab is. Come on.”

He starts to say something, but you are already bullying your way through the crowd and don’t hear him. You keep your hand firmly wrapped around his and drag him along with you. You can hear disgruntled shouts as people connect with the beskar protected man behind you. He makes no attempt at an apology as he continues to follow you on your rampage. You finally clear the crowd and see her leaning against the corner of a building. Her dark jeans are shredded and her frame is hidden underneath a black coat. You think you can make out a yellow tank top underneath her crossed arms. Her hair, the roots give away its original brown color, is blonde with streaky green highlights.

“Hey! Can I ask you a question?” 

She whips her head around and her eyes look as if they are going to pop out of their sockets when she gets a look at the man trailing you. She shoves the credits she was inspecting into her coat pocket and tries to make a run for it. Din steps out from behind you and grabs her arm before she can make it a few inches. He pulls her into the alley next to the building she was leaning on and you cautiously follow.

“What the fuck is this man? Did someone seriously put a bounty on my head?”

“No! No!” You shake your hands frantically in front of you. “I really just wanted to ask you a question.”

“Where I’m from, people who ask questions are usually empire spies. I’ll be damned if I talk to you. Let me go!”

“Please, I promise he will let you go if you just tell me where you got that bag. The one with the Vulptice on it? I’m looking for someone that works there.”

“Over my dead body.”

Din yanks her back into the building's wall. “That can be arranged.”

“Mando, no,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “She’s our only lead since we have gotten here. What’s your name?”

She looks back and forth between you and Din with an expression you can’t quite pin down. It looks like a mix of confusion, fear, and anger. You understand her feelings. Honestly you would probably be feeling the same if you got jumped by the most out of place looking people on the planet.

“Ember.”

“Okay Ember, I’m looking for my brother and I know he is working at the spice lab that supplied you. All we need to know is how to get there and you can go. I promise. I just really need to find him.”

“Well if your brother ended up on a shit-hole planet like Daiyu, it looks like he doesn’t want to be found.” She laughs.

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?,” you snap. “It doesn’t matter what he wants anymore. I just need to find him to settle a score. I’m the only thing standing in the way of you getting your arm snapped in half. So it’s in your best interest to tell me what you know.”

“Damn alright. Maybe I have seen him around the lab. What does he look like?”

You pull in a shaky breath before you begin to describe Alden. You tell her his hair and eye color. You use Din to estimate his height. Even going as far as to describe a small scar above his right eye that he got from getting bucked off a Nerf after trying to ride it. Ember is quiet as you ramble on about distinguishing characteristics about your brother.

“Oh and his name is Alden.”

“I don’t know anything about an ‘Alden’, but it sounds like you're talking about Ree-gin.”

“Ree-gin?”

“He started working here a few years ago. He said he was bouncing around between some of the other labs in the city. I couldn’t tell you where he was born. He always got weird whenever anyone brought it up. He never mentioned a sister though. He said he was an only child and left it at that.”

“I bet he never mentioned that he killed our parents and then tried to kill me either.”

“No way…”

You just shrug at her dumbfoundedness. Din decides that he’s done waiting around and steps in. 

“So the lab, where is it?”

“You aren’t going to tell them it was me that gave it up right- OW! - okay I’ll tell you!”

He relosens his grip on Ember's arm and allows her to give directions. 

“Keep going down the main street and take a left when you get to the fork in the road. It’s going to be the last building on your right. It has a white sign with a Vulptice’s head on it. The same one from my bags. Can you release my fucking arm now, please?”

You nod at Din and he lets her go. The three of you stand there awkwardly as she massages where he held her. You mumble a small ‘thanks’ as she walks past the two of you. Before she slips back into the crowd she turns to face you again.

“If he's not inside he's probably out in the alley behind the lab. He likes to smoke out there on his breaks.”

Then she disappears as if she was never there. 

“So,” you turn yourself back to face Din. “You were really going to kill her for me if she didn’t tell us where Alden was?”

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.”

“If I wasn’t so nervous right now I would say that was actually a little romantic.”

He closes the gap between the two of you in a short stride. You rest your head on the cool beskar of his chest plate as his arms wrap around you. The buzzing of the people behind you seem to fade out the longer you stay in his embrace. The chill on his armor slowly starts to diffuse throughout your body. 

“Why is this so hard? We literally have the location. The location you spent hours asking random market people for. I didn’t even know you could speak Hutt or Jawa or even Tusken Raider sign language. Why am I struggling so much when we are so close?”

“No one said this was going to be easy, Cyar’ika. This isn’t a bounty that you have no connection with. It’s your brother whether you like it or not. Facing your past head on isn’t an easy feat.”

“I know it isn’t,” you pull back and look up at him through his visor. “But I just thought that after all he put me through that I would have enough anger to fuel me.”

“You made it more than halfway across the galaxy to him. You left Eadu, found me, let me drag you to terrible planets, went back to Eadu, faced Thuban, and now you are here. You did that.”

“Well you helped me.”

“That may be so, but you started this all on your own.”

“Thank you for saying that,” you get on your tiptoes and whisper close to him. “Din.”

“A fire fueled by anger is one that is destined to burn you out. I just don’t want that to happen to you.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The farther down the main street the two of you walk, the more apparent the change in inhabitants becomes. While the people that populated the market were less than safe looking, the individuals now looked beyond help. Din keeps you close, just like before, as you look for the fork in the road. You keep telling yourself that you’re safe with him. That he would never let anything happen to you or the child. That if he doesn’t seem nervous, then you shouldn’t be. You steal glances up at him after every few buildings you pass. He looks just like he did back at the cantina on Tatooine. Constantly in a state of scanning the surrounding areas. 

The once hopeful and colorful signs that lit the marketplace were now a rarity. Yes, the signs were still there, but their glow wasn’t. They were as neglected and disheveled looking as the beings that walked the streets. An external reflection of your hope fizzling out with each step you took. One step closer to Alden, one step farther from humanity. As someone who grew up in a place where fresh air and open land was commonplace, you wonder how these people live in these conditions. Sure the planet wasn’t in a constant state of torrential downpour, but at least you could breathe without second hand smoke ripping your lungs apart. You find yourself envious of Din. He probably has some sneaky little air purifier in that helmet he wears. 

“There it is.”

Din points up head to where the single road you are walking on splits into three. He guides you through the foot traffic to the left most one. You do your best to keep your eyes out for the white sign Ember mentioned before, but all you see is bodies. Hopefully it becomes more sparse as you make your way down to the lab. 

“Hey, Tin Man, how's the baby?”

“I can feel his snores vibrating the bag. He’s safe.”

“Maker, I don’t know how he can sleep through all of this noise.”

A few street lamps provide ambient light for the two of you. You can almost feel the shadows dancing across your face. Is there something wrong with you? Why does it feel like you are getting cold feet after coming all this way? Din was right in saying that it wouldn’t be easy, but now you wish you didn’t even know. Your body feels like it's splitting down the middle. Half of you wants to treat him exactly the way he treated you and your family years ago, but the other half just wants to run to the safety of Din’s covers. Now you’re even more confused than you were before you left The Crest. You weren’t feeling anything at all and now you can’t seem to stop feeling things. You don’t know which one you prefer. Could you even come back from doing something like this? Killing your brother? Is that really who you are now? 

Finally you see it. It’s almost a holy glow in all this darkness. A beaming white Vulptice’s head encased in a circle. You look up at your companion to see that he had noticed it too. He gently compresses your hand in his as you walk closer to it. The building isn’t anything special. Frankly, you probably couldn’t tell it apart from any of the others if given the opportunity. The only difference you can seem to find is that the windows on it aren’t boarded up. The rest of the building is made from a dingy gray metal. The smell coming from within it is so strong you almost double over. Din stops when you do and silently lets you catch your breath before you begin walking again. Both of you stop a few yards away from the front door. 

“How do you want to play this?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. This is your hunt in a way. I want you to feel in control of everything we do.”

“Then let’s start out by checking the alley like Ember said. I don’t know how many people are inside so I don’t really know what we, mainly you, are in for if we go in there.”

“6.”

“What?” 

“There are 6 people inside.”

“How the fuck can you-”

“My helmet, Cyar’ika,” he laughs softly and you can feel it replacing the anxiety in your veins. “It has the ability to see heat. So I’m able to see that there are 6 heat signatures walking around inside.”

“Let’s still start with the alley and then we’ll deal with the people inside if we have too.”

He nods firmly and you walk hand in hand around the building. The street is littered with the butts of cigarettes and small empty spice bags. When you round the corner you can smell the fresh aroma of a cigarette being burnt. Leaning against the back door is a man in all black. The flood light atop the door is too dim to make out a clean picture of him, but you can feel it in your bones. After ten years you are finally in the presence of the person that stole everything from you. Someone that protected you and then left you afraid that he was lurking in every dark crevice. He brings his vice to his lips and takes a slow drag. The end burns a fiery hole in the night. 

“Alden?” 

He blows out a thick plume of smoke and faces you.

“Who wants to know?”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[yourburdens]

[PUBLIC]: jezebel and malito are making out in a secluded but public place

he  isn’t  made  for  quiet  afternoons  in  small  cafes  nor  bitter  tea  served  in  teacups  ,  porcelain  hook  handles  too  small  to  feed  his  index  finger  past  the  sharp  tip  of  his  black  polish  coated  nail  .  she  orders  for  him  ,  something  he’s  sure  he’ll  hate  ,  so  sure  that  it  comes  with  a  roll  of  his  eyes  .  he’s  proven  right  when  his  tea  arrives  in  a  comically  small  white  cup  with  pink  ribbon  trim  .  he  swears  he  hears  her  giggle  at  the  sight  of  his  large  hands  swallowing  the  small  cup  for  warmth  .  "  you  think  that’s  fucking  funny  ?  "  said  under  his  breath  ,  but  without  malice  .  instead  it  drips  with  curiosity  ,  it’s  topped  with  the  rise  of  an  eyebrow  and  pursed  lips  .

his  fingers  don’t  fit  in  the  porcelain  hook  of  the  teacup,  but  in  this  little  nook  that  they  find  themselves  in  ,  him  pushing  her  body  between  the  wall  and  his  own  ,  his  fingers  seem  to  press  past  her  lips  and  flat  against  her  tongue  just  fine  .  he  isn’t  made  for  the  soft  mood  lighting  accented  by  tea  kettles  steaming  off  ,  but  her  violet  eyes  ,  lidded  ,  glancing  up  into  the  warm  honey  of  his  own  —  he  likes  this  lighting  more  .  the  two  fingers  pressed  against  her  tongue  slowly  slide  themselves  out  ,  lingering  on  her  lip  .  that  look  she  gives  him  ,  it’s  enough  to  drive  a  man  insane  and  it  does  when  he  pictures  her  silently  giggling  once  more  .  "  you  think  that’s  fucking  funny  ?  "  this  time  it’s  filled  with  enough  lust  to  turn  those  warm  eyes  red  hot  .  

not  one  single  fuck  is  given  about  the  pastries  and  tea  growing  cold  at  their  table  as  he  holds  her  up  against  the  separation  ,  half  wall  ,  half  decorative  bars  .  fuck  sampling  an  obnoxious  amount  of  tarts  and  scones  ,  nothing  was  sweater  than  the  vein  along  the  side  of  jezebel’s  neck  that  he  slowly  runs  his  tongue  over  .  maybe  the  tea  will  be  less  bitter  when  cold  ,  but  nothing  could  be  sweeter  than  the  taste  of  her  soft  flesh  .  except  maybe  .  .  .

his  kiss  is  a  rough  pressing  of  pierced  lips  against  hers  .  hungry  ,  he  cuts  himself  on  his  outermost  row  of  teeth  and  on  hers  as  well  with  a  sigh  that  drops  his  shoulders  into  a  level  that  she  can  grab  .  the  kiss  is  nothing  pretty  ,  but  it’s  unique  to  them  .  a  kiss  that  he  can’t  get  from  anyone  else  and  ,  as  he  licks  his  own  blood  off  of  her  teeth  ,  he  thinks  of  how  it’s  a  kiss  that  he  can’t  get  enough  of  .  he  kisses  her  so  deep  that  he  loses  himself  in  it  .  his  tongue  dances  around  hers  ,  pricks  itself  on  the  cut  of  her  teeth  .  hands  go  from  trying  to  find  an  opening  through  her  clothes  full  of  frills  to  cupping  her  face  just  as  he  had  the  small  teacup  ,  hands  warmed  once  more  .  

the  feeling  of  a  pair  of  eyes  watching  him  ,  it  doesn’t  make  him  stop  ,  but  it  does  cause  his  eyes  to  open  and  narrow  at  the  waitress  watching  them  ,  her  hands  trembling  .  those  once  honey  eyes  were  a  marriage  of  red  and  black  ,  turned  by  the  drop  of  blood  that  trails  down  his  chin  .  he  kisses  jezebel  even  deeper  now  for  his  audience  until  the  taste  of  blood  brings  about  veins  at  the  corner  of  his  eyes  .  it’s  enough  to  make  her  drop  her  tray  and  break  his  concentration  with  an  agitated  growl.  he  thumbs  away  his  own  blood  from  his  chin  ,  pushing  the  digit  between  his  lips  to  kiss  it  away  .  a  shrug  .  "  i  fucking  hate  tea  .  "  monstrous  eyes  narrow  once  more  .  

[project1939]

Day 65- Film: Ikiru 

Release date: October 9th, 1952. 

Studio: Toho 

Genre: Drama/foreign 

Director: Akira Kurosawa 

Producer: Sojiro Motoki 

Actors: Takashi Shimura, Miki Odagiri 

Plot Summary: A middle-aged Japanese bureaucrat discovers he has stomach cancer and only has months to live. He confronts the fact that he hasn’t done anything meaningful with his life, and he uses the time he has left searching for ways to rectify it. He spends time with a hedonistic writer, tries to reconnect with his son, and forges a friendship with a bubbly co-worker. 

My Rating (out of five stars): ***** 

I remember seeing this in a film class when I was in school, and it was one of those movies that seeped into my bones and made it hard to concentrate on other things for the rest of the day. I was curious to see how I would react to it again, years later. I think it hit with an even heavier punch now! It’s still a movie you need to take some time to recover from. 

The Good: 

The casting and the acting all across the board. The actors all looked like “normal” real people. No one was given the glamour treatment. They didn’t just look the part, though, they pretty much all gave convincing and moving performances. 

Takashi Shimura as Watanabe. He had a lot to convey in this movie, and much of it was in close-ups, but it was his face and his expressions that were most stirring. Try to even think about this movie without picturing a close-up of Shimura’s face! You can’t. 

Yunosuke Ito as the novelist. His face was so striking and interesting, you almost didn’t want to take your eyes off him.  

Miki Odagiri as Toyo Odagiri, Watanabe’s bubbly co-worker. She was also a gem who took well to close-ups. She had the perfect kind of youthful joie de vivre, innocent and unknowingly wise all at once. 

Kurosawa is a master of shot composition. Master! Especially with the framing of faces. 

This kind of follows the previous one, but Kurosawa is a genius of the close-up in and of itself. The movie would be very different without all the lingering shots of people’s faces. 

The unique plot structure. Not everyone likes that Watanabe dies with nearly an hour of running time left, but I found it really interesting. We see the final months of his life solely through the eyes of those he left behind. They all have different agendas, different levels of knowledge, and even different levels of interest.  

All the little visual details- the suit Watanabe wears being too loose because he has lost weight from being ill, the mounds of paperwork burying everyone at the office, the worn stockings of Toyo, the pachinko machines, the little wind-up toy rabbit, etc. 

The use of the song “Gondola no Uta,” with its “life is brief” lyric. Using a song like that could have easily become cheesy and maudlin, but instead it brought me to tears. Twice. 

The plot and its themes of finding meaning in life, handled in a less simplistic, more realistic and gritty way. You can’t help but examine your own life when you watch. 

It was largely unsentimental, and when it did get somewhat so, it was always tempered by a darker reality. This wasn’t It’s a Wonderful Life... yet it also has great heart at its center. The way his co-workers at first downplayed his achievements, then were moved by them, then promised to change their ways and live like him, and then just go right back to the way they always were... that is a perfect example. 

The initial despair in realizing that most people around us probably don’t notice or appreciate what we do... but the hope that comes from the fact that some do. There are always some. 

The Bad: 

Is there anything? I know some people might complain it’s too long, and some might complain about the last 50 minutes, but I don’t agree. 

[wkemeup]

Graveyard

summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too.  pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence

As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.  

It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.  

They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.  

Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.  

“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.  

You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.  

For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.  

Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.  

“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.  

“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.  

You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.  

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.  

“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”  

Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.  

Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.  

He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.  

“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.  

“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.  

He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.  

You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.  

A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.  

Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.  

You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.  

Not that you’d let them know.  

“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.  

“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.  

“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”

Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”  

It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.  

“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.  

You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.  

A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.

“What about you, Sergeant?”  

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.  

You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.  

“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”  

Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.  

“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.  

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.  

It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.  

“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.  

“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.  

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”

***

The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.  

The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.  

The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.  

And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.

You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.  

It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.  

You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.  

It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.  

You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.  

“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.  

“Bucky?”

You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.  

A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.

“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”

You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.  

“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.  

“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.  

You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.  

He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.  

“Will you let me heal your hand?”

Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”

“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”

“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”

A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.  

He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.  

You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.  

The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.  

“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”  

A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.  

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”

Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.  

***

“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.  

“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”

You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”

“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”

“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”

There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”

A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.  

“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”

“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.  

“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”

“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”

You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.  

“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”

“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.  

His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.

“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”

He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.  

“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.  

You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.  

“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”

Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.  

“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.  

Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.  

It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.  

“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.  

You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.  

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.  

As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.  

You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.  

You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.  

“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.  

You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.  

Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.  

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.  

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.  

“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”

You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.  

“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.  

“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.  

“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.  

***

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.  

He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.  

He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.  

“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”

“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.  

Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.  

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”

“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.  

He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.  

“Y/n! Thank God.”  

It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.  

“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.  

Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.  

“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”

Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.  

“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”

“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.  

By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.  

Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.  

Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.  

“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.  

“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”

“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”

Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.

But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.  

You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.  

Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?  

“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.  

You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.  

The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.  

As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.  

The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.  

A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.  

Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.

But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.

Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.  

Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.  

Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.  

Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.  

None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.  

You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.  

The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.  

Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.  

“Y/n? Are you—”

Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.  

Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.  

It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.  

Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.  

Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.  

The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.  

You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.  

The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.  

“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.  

But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.  

“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.  

Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.  

He couldn’t breathe.  

“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.

Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.  

You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.

It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.  

***

A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.  

Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.  

You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.

The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.  

You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.  

Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.  

A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.  

A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.  

“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”  

He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.  

He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”

You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”

Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.  

Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”

“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”

Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”

“Oh.”

A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.  

“Were you ever going to tell us?”  

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.  

“Were you ever going to tell me?”  

“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”

“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”

He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.

You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.  

So, you told him as much.  

“I’d do it again.”

Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.  

“You almost died—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”

You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”

“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”

You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.  

No one until Bucky.  

You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”

Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”  

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.  

Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.  

Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.  

“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”

Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.

“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”

Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.  

“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.  

Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.  

“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”  

He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.  

“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.  

You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”

You didn’t know.

You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.  

Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.

“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.  

“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.  

Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.

“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”  

“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.

“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”

“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.  

“Okay.”

“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.  

“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”

You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.  

They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.  

read the sequel here!

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[scumbagg]

NSFT/18+

Space Ghost Coast to Coast

A/N: I purely wrote this as Bell instead of Y/N since I can’t bring myself to write Y/N fics 😂 

I recently finished MW2 and needed some Ghost food to heal my broken heart after the traumatic betrayal I witnessed. Also maybe a bit of DadPrice! giving a lecture. Here goes nothing..

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem Bell

Word count: 3252

Warnings: smut, injury (gunshot), blood, swearing.

“Eyes up, scouts patrolling up ahead.”

Price’s voice in your earpiece came through at the exact moment the two men appeared in your line of vision 40 metres in front of you.

“Dropped him.”

Aiming your sniper, the guard trailing slightly behind fell to the ground before you’d even had time to place your finger on the trigger. Taking aim at the other man’s head, your rifle made almost no sound as you took him out a second later.

“Nice shot. Move up.”

“Thanks.” You whispered back. You turned back for a moment to the place you knew Price was laying hidden almost 90 metres behind you.

“Move, Bell. We won’t have much time before more patrols come along and find those bodies.” Soap’s whispered voice now, also in your earpiece - but you knew he was somewhere to the right of you hidden in the long grass. You crawled quietly through the grass. You heard the brush whispering slightly either side of you as the bodies of Soap and Ghost moved up to flank with you.

“Hold up, two more tangoes patrolling the fence line.” Price murmured a moment later. “Take ‘em out, or let ‘em move on. Your call Bell”

“No stragglers.” You whispered back. You heard the pops from Ghost’s and Soap’s suppressed guns as they took out the two guards ahead.

“Good call.” Price confirmed. “Can’t see anymore inbound. You’re in the clear. House up ahead is empty. We’ll regroup inside.”

“Roger.”

Standing up, you scanned the area out of precaution for more enemies. Satisfied, you nodded to the other two men to move up. The three of you passed the fence line and had almost made it to the back door of the house when it happened.

You heard it before you felt it. The sound of a pistol being fired in your direction had you spinning to face the direction it came from, when suddenly you felt white hot pain erupt in your left shoulder. Dropping to the ground, the sound was over almost as quickly as it started, but your eyesight went black as you squeezed your eyes shut in pain and gripped your shoulder as blood poured through your fingers.

“Bell!” The scream came from within your earpiece at the same time Ghost shouted your name, making your ear throb in pain. You hardly noticed with the burning coming from your shoulder, but you still flinched.

“What the fuck was that?!” You gritted through your teeth.

“One of the guards back there wasn’t as dead as we thought. He fucking is now. Don’t worry darlin’, you’re gonna be alright.” Ghost pried your hand away from your shoulder and replace them with his own. “Soap, get me the medi-kit from your pack, quick!”

“Darlin’?!” Soap laughed as he handed Ghost the pack. Frowning, he looked down at the two of you.

“He’s taking the piss.. it’s an inside joke.. had to be there.” You said through gritted teeth, glaring into Ghost’s glasses. Ghost said nothing as he worked on stopping the bleeding, but the minimal supplies in the kit weren’t doing much.

“Fuck!” Ghost said in a panicked voice. You were starting to feel drowsy, and the sight of all the blood was making you queasy. You could feel your head starting to spin, threatening to send you into unconsciousness.

“Ghost, she’s gonna be fine. Look, the bullet went straight through.” Soap said calmly, pointing at the bullet lodged in the brick in the wall just behind where you’d been standing. “It’s a clean wound, it’ll just need stitches.”

“Fine. We’ve gotta get her back ASAP. I’ll take her, you and Price grab the intel.”

“No, I’ll take her.” Price came into view, rifle slung over his back. “You’re the one that’s better with technology, you’ll get the intel quicker from the computer. Someone’s bound to have heard those gunshots, we’re sure to have company soon. C’mon Bell.” Price hoisted you up under your uninjured arm, replacing Ghost’s hands with one of his. Stumbling, you gripped Price’s arm for support. Looking over at Ghost, you noticed his eyes tighten behind his sunglasses, but he nodded in assent.

“Let’s get moving,” Price commanded, nodding at the other two. “Soap, Ghost, I’ll send for another chopper to pick you up. See you boys at home.”

*****

  Fourteen stitches and a bandaged shoulder later, the infirmary staff finally let you leave. Pushing open the exit door to the outside, you found Price leaning against a jeep waiting for you.

“What are you still doing here?” You asked suspiciously.

“Thought I’d give you a ride home. It’s a bit of a far walk and I assumed you’d be too hopped up on pain killers to drive yourself.” He replied, opening the passenger door courteously.

“Oh… thanks.” You said, taken aback by the display of kindness. It’s not that Captain Price was unkind; he’d just never shown any outward kindness outside of the field. You were surprised that he’d thought to even come back for you.

The two of you drove in silence for a few moments, before the question you were burning to ask broke its way out of your control.

“Did the other two make it back okay?” You tried to sound casual, but your insides were turning with worry.

“Yeah, they got back about an hour ago, no issues.” Price answered, concentrating on the road.

“And the intel?”

‘Acquired.” Price gruffed.

“Hmm, very good.” You stared straight ahead, watching the sun settle in the west. This was the first time in a non-formal environment you’d ever spent a moment alone with the Captain, and you weren’t sure how to make small talk with him. You sat in silence as Price drove you through the city. You wondered how he knew where you lived when it occurred to you that being a member of his team, he’d know where everyone lived. Not that you spent much time in your own house these nights. You thought back to a few nights ago...

The sound of Price clearing his throat awkwardly pulled you out of your reverie. Looking over at him, you watched as he shifted in his seat and waited for him to speak.

“What is it?”

Price sighed. “Look, I really don’t want to have this conversation. But I’ve told him the same thing I’m telling you now. This is one of the best task forces I’ve ever worked with, and I don’t want anything fucking that up. Understood?”

You felt your calm composure slip through the cracks as your eyes widened in panic. You glanced over to see him still staring straight ahead, his mouth set in a hard line.

“Wait, you know about-”

“Of course I fucking know.” Price snapped, watching you out of the corner of his eyes. Shit, so maybe he did know where you actually slept after all. “I know everything that goes on in my team. Look,” he said calmly. “I don’t give a fuck what you get up to in your spare time. It’s like I told him, I’m not going to report it. It’s not been an issue yet. Just don’t let it affect you on the job.”

“I haven’t! I’ve been so careful about trying to keep it professional while we’re on a mission!” Your heart raced at the fact you had been caught out.

“I know you have, Bell. But that man is head over heels for you, in case you hadn’t realised. I’m concerned he’ll let his feelings for you get in the way of the job. Look at today – he’s the best man on our team for tech, and he was willing to throw the whole job, just out of pure panic for you.” Price sighed again. “I’m not sending either of you away. I just needed to remind you of the main reason we are here. If you two can’t handle that, I’ll be forced to find someone to take your place on the team.”

“Does anyone else know?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t think so, but if Simon continues on the way he was today, I doubt it’ll be long until Soap catches on.” Price grimaced, then looked over at you. “Darlin’,” he grinned.

“Ughhh,” you groaned as Price pulled up outside what you now realised wasn’t your house. “I can’t believe he let that slip out.” You unbuckled your seatbelt, careful not to move too much that it pulled at your stitches. Opening your door, you looked back at Price. “Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it.”

Price smiled and nodded in response. “Don’t be too harsh on him about today,” he said, looking over your shoulder as you heard the front door open behind you. You closed the door and waved as the jeep drove away.

*****

  All your anxiety from the conversation with Price suddenly turned to irritation as you turned to face the man in the doorway. You stormed towards him, your uninjured shoulder hitting his lower abdomen as you barged your way past him into the hallway.

“Bell-” he began.

“Get out of my way, Simon. I need a fucking shower.” You snapped irritably.

“Here, let me help-”

“No.”

“Bell!” Simon pleaded.

“What the fuck was that today?!” You snarled. “You might as well just fucking announce to the whole place that we’re together!” You began climbing the stairs towards the bathroom, but stopped halfway there. Staying angry wasn’t one of your strong suits, and seeing him standing pleadingly in the hallway washed away your irritation. “Look,” you sighed heavily, coming back down the stairs so you were eye level with him. “I just had the lecture of a lifetime from Price. I can’t lose what we have here Simon, and he warned if we couldn’t keep it professional out there, then one of us would be replaced.” You stepped towards him, reaching for him in both apology and forgiveness. You placed a hand on his masked jaw, your thumb stroking along his hard cheekbone.

“I’m sorry for today,” he said apologetically, leaning his cheek into your hand. “Seeing you injured and in pain, all that blood… I panicked.”

“It’s okay,” you soothed. Smiling up at him, you smacked his arm playfully. “You’re silly, you know that right. Even I knew it wasn’t bad, and you’ve seen way more injuries than I have. I can’t imagine how you would’ve been if Soap hadn’t been there to pull your head in.”

Simon wrapped his arm around your head, resting his hand at the base of your skull and pulled you in for a hug. You lifted your other arm to place it around his waist and winced. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“How are you feeling anyway, darlin’?” He stepped back to survey you.

“Rubbish. These pain killers are doing their job, but I feel disgusting. I really do need a shower.” You looked over your shoulder towards the bathroom. “I uh... might need a hand actually,” you said awkwardly, wondering how you were going to manage without getting your stitches wet. Surprisingly, this was your first major injury, given your line of work.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling you towards the bathroom.

 Simon turned on the shower and helped you undress, helping remove your shoes, pants and underwear, aware of your fresh wound as he carefully pulled the shirt from your arms and over your head. His eyes filled with remorse as they fell on your injured shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he whispered. “That guy that shot you… that’s the one I took down. I didn’t know he wasn’t dead.” He looked away sadly.

“Hey,” you grabbed his chin gently and turned his head so he was looking you squarely in the eyes. “It’s not your fault. Stop blaming yourself, no one else does. I’m fine.”

“But what if it had been worse? What if that bullet had landed here?” Simon touched your forehead. “Or here,” he said, touching the base of your throat. “What if-”

“Don’t think about it,” you said firmly, pulling his hand from your neck. “Simon, I said I’m fine.” Still holding his hand, you pulled it up to your lips. “There is one thing I am annoyed about, though,” you smirked as you kissed his fingers.

Simon looked at you quizzically. “Why am I the only one naked right now? Surely you’re not gonna shower in your clothes.” You stepped inside the shower, letting the water run over your head, careful to avoid letting it hit your left shoulder.

Simon’s eyes squinted, and you knew he was smirking behind his mask as he removed the rest of his gear and dumped it on the ground next to yours. As always, his mask was the very last thing he removed. No matter how comfortable Simon was with you, and no matter how many times you’d seen him without it, there were certain insecurities that were too deeply ingrained. The last piece of Ghost removed, and only Simon stood in front of you.

Simon stepped in the large shower with you. Grabbing a face washer and pouring body wash on it, he gently helped scrub off the dried blood that had made its way down your torso. He shampooed, conditioned and brushed your hair, knowing you couldn’t lift your arm to wash any dried blood that had knotted in there. Once you were clean, you grabbed the other face wash and carefully, with your good arm, moved it across his chest and abdomen. He watched as you gently made circles on his large shoulders and down his muscular arms.

You wrapped your good arm around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Don’t be too long,” you smiled as you stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel.

Walking to the dresser, you pulled out some clothes and attempted to get dressed but you couldn’t pull the shirt over your head. You sighed, and sat on the bed resignedly, still in your towel. You heard the shower stop running, and Simon stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Here,” you beckoned, reaching for him. Simon came to stand in front of you, standing in between your legs. You leaned forward and kissed his stomach, feeling the warm skin beneath your lips raise with goose bumps. You tugged on his arm, pulling him down towards the ground. He knelt, still between your legs, and leaned forward to bury his face in your neck. Almost a whole foot of height difference between the two of you, yet you were the only person who could bring Simon Riley to his knees.

Your good arm snaked its way around his broad back, tracing his spine, down to his hips to the edge of the towel. You heard Simon’s breath quicken, still lightly kissing your neck, when your fingers made their way around to the front of his towel and tugged it loose, letting it fall to the floor.

You lightly brushed your fingers down his stomach and over his navel, until you reached the base of his shaft. You felt Simon’s breath hitch as you gripped it in both hands.

“Bell..” he groaned.

“Mmm?”

He brought his mouth round to yours, kissing you deeply. His mouth trailed back along your jaw to your ear. “Why am I the only one that’s naked?” You felt his smirk against your cheek as he repeated your line back to you.

“Maybe you should fix that,” you whispered back.

Simon wasted no time in removing your towel and throwing it across the other side of the room. You laid back on the bed as he trailed kisses down your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and thumbing circles around the other. Your hands threaded themselves through his thick hair as you massaged his head. Simon’s hands followed his head as he made his way down your stomach and down your navel, his hands gliding over your hips and massaging up and down your thighs.

You threw your head back and moaned in pleasure as he buried his face between your legs, his mouth sucking and licking at your clit. You gasped as you felt one of Simon’s fingers enter you, then two, and he slowly picked up a rhythm as his mouth and fingers worked in synch. You could feel your walls begin to tighten as you got closer to your orgasm.

“Stop,” you gasped. Simon looked up quickly.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked worriedly.

“Not at all,” you tugged at his arm so he pulled himself so he was hovered above you. “I need you in me right now,” you purred as you pulled his head down, his lips crashing to meet yours.

You reached down and grabbed his length firmly, stroking it. Simon’s eyes glazed over with lust as he moved his head back to your neck. Guiding him, you positioned him at your entrance.

“You sure?” he asked huskily. You knew he was teasing. He knew exactly what you wanted.

“Yes,” you breathed.

You both groaned with pleasure as he entered you, filling and stretching you out. Simon set a slow pace at first, until he was sure you had adjusted to him, then quickened the pace. His hands moved to your waist as he slammed into you, holding you in place so you didn’t move around too much. He pulled your legs over his shoulders and you gripped his forearms, lost in pleasure.

Simon leaned forward and your legs dropped to his waist. He took one of your breasts in his mouth. You moaned in ecstasy as he hit the sweet spot inside of you.

“Simon.. I think I’m gonna-” you gasped.

Still inside of you, Simon pulled you on top of him as he rolled onto his back. “Not yet, you’re not.”

“Owwwww!” You winced as the action pulled tightly at your left shoulder.

“Fuck! Sorry! You okay?” He asked worriedly.

“Yeah,” you moaned as you picked up the pace again. You brought your legs either side of his waist and pulled his hands to your breasts as you lowered yourself onto him, taking him completely. Now in control, you could feel every movement and every angle as you took him deep inside you.

Simon gripped your breasts firmly as he felt your walls begin to tighten. “C’mon, darlin’,” he groaned. “I’m not far off, myself.”

“I’m gonna come,” you whined. You rocked your hips back and forth and threw your head back as your walls clenched around him. You rode your orgasm out, and heard Simon groan as his own orgasm erupted into you. You fell on top of him, exhausted and satisfied.

Simon gently rolled you off him and onto the bed as he got up to get some water. Your eyes followed him, appreciating his finely sculpted body as he walked to the sink in the ensuite, grabbing a glass off the nightstand and filling it with water. He met your eyes as he walked back to the bed.

“What?” He asked bashfully as he handed you the water, aware of his nakedness.

“You’re beautiful,” you smiled drowsily, taking the glass.

Simon chuckled. “Are you sure you’re okay? They must be some strong drugs they gave you.”

“Hmmm... never better” you sighed as you handed the water back to him. Despite what you said, sleep was already pulling you under.

Simon leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[goldenissues]

bad girl-georgenotfound x reader

summary- you’re a role model student, but recently, you’ve been misbehaving. teacher! george takes things into his own hands and puts you in his place

warnings/notes- smut, swearing, violence?, female receiving, insults

high achiever. that’s what you were. with your kind smiles as you pass by, your top grades, and anything anyone could wish for. you were pretty much always presentable, pretty much always on time, pretty much organised and pretty much pretty. and on the rare days when you were late or forgot a piece of homework, nobody would batt an eye, you were too reliable to worry.

however, it might’ve been this week when people found a notable change in your behaviour. perhaps it was the scowl plastered on your face, the bumping into people- which was very much on purpose- or the changes in things that came out of your mouth.

though, you still did what you did before, it felt threatening to people. you still gave your smiles (even though they made people uneasy when you did now), and you looked presentable, that hasn’t changed.

“y/n, you’re late,” you heard a stern voice behind you as you crept into class. rolling your eyes, you turned to face the taller male-mr.notfound. “good morning sir, how are you? great! right now i’ve got to-“ a smile laid on your face as you sarcastically greeted the older.

“y/n” he sighed, running a veiny hand through his fluffy hair, making the not already perfect strands of hair even messier, “you were a perfect student before; high grades, modal behaviour, neat organisation. what happened?”

you fought the urge to roll your eyes, instead giving him a bigger smile. you hated hearing those words, it’s always ‘what happened?’, “nothings happened, sir. i’m not sure what you’re taking about,”

his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, hesitant to speak for a minute or two before replying with a simple, “whatever y/n, get to your seat, copy what’s in the board,”

>>

you strutted out of class, on your way to the lunch queue when you got called midway from a familiar voice. “y/n,” you stopped in your tracks and huffed as you looked to the direction of the voice- mr. notfound. looking up with innocent eyes, “yes sir? is there something bothering you?” he gave a disappointed sigh, punching the bridge of his nose, “you know what’s wrong. it’s a shame, you’re well behaved in everything, yet you can’t make sure your skirt isn’t so high,”

you crossed your arms, leaning all your weight onto one hip as you gave him the most annoyed look you could muster, “i don’t see why it bothers you so much, sir,” he raised a brow. you’ve never had a good view of mr. not found, especially because of the communication between you and him.

“unroll your skirt,” you glared at him, clearly annoyed at the interaction. still glaring at him, you rolled it up once higher. watching as his breath slightly hitched in his throat, he made eye contact with you again, his eyes holding an emotions you couldn’t quite uncover. “i’ve told you once and i’ll tell you again, unroll your skirt,” you brought a finger to your chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “hm.. no”

“you’re such a bad girl..” mr. notfound muttered, continuing to look you up and down, it sent butterflies to your stomach. however you quickly got back into the right mind, ‘he’s your teacher y/n’, you thought.

“if i see you later with your skirt still so high, it’s going to be a punishment,” you huffed and carried on walking down the corridor, giving him no response.

perhaps you had simply forgot what he said. oh honestly, did it really matter that much? it was only a skirt length, it wasn’t your fault if people found it distracting, i mean it’s not your fault your so attractive. hah.

gliding your finger along the lockers as you headed to the changing rooms. bag trailing across the floor by the way you lazily wrapped your fingers around the strap. you were late to cheerleading again. wow, well done y/n, gold star! eh, you couldn’t care less. as you carelessly strutted down the corridor you unknowingly muttered about how senseless mr. notfound was, “i mean it’s not my fault i’m so hot-“

“tsk tsk, y/n l/n, what a bad little girl,” you stopped in your tracks from pure startles, shooting your head up to the voice, mr. notfound. no matter the effort you made to cover it, mr. notfound truly did frighten you, and the same could go for mr. wastaken. perhaps it was that they made you feel so small and intimidated that you tried to switch it, protesting to their orders.

“what are you doing here so late,” he asked, leaning against the wall with the poster that read “believe in yourself’. you swallowed your nerves in your throat you didn’t even know were there, “i was heading to cheer sir,”

the brunette looked you up and down, staring at your skirt and legs, before looking up to you with a disappointed sigh, “i see you haven’t fixed your skirt, what do you think mr. wastaken will think about this,”

you gulped, internally panicking and unsure of how to reply, “i’m not sure what you’re taking about sir,” you batted innocent eyes, smiling politely up at him. tutting, he leant back of the wall, rubbing his temple in irritation, “you’re so disobedient. i’m afraid you won’t be attending cheer today,”

suddenly, you furrowed your brows, “what? huh?” he grinned and walked closer towards you, close enough to hear his breathing, “you’ve got a detention,” his husky voice spoke into your ear. god his voice made your face as red as a cherry.

“why?” there wasn’t really a point in asking why, you had been gone downhill for the last few weeks: not following orders, turning up late to lessons, being rude and sarcastic. “come on,” mr. not found started walking down the hall, you following close behind.

you were angry, you didn’t like school, but the only things keeping you going was cheerleading, no matter the times that you pretend to hate it. school is shit, you hate it and everything about it: the rules, the students, the lessons, the food, the teachers -well, mr. notfound and mr.wastaken certainly didn’t bat your eye.

yeah you hated them, how they were constantly telling you off, but god they were hot. sometimes you so desperately want them to bend you over their desks and fuck you till you can’t remember your own name.

anyways, you were in a bad mood, you had been looking forward to cheer (even though you were running late) and mr. notfound had to ruin it. huffing and puffing, you glared at any walking students. one girl walked past, looking so fucking happy, and you decided this was the right time to ruin her mood just like yours has been ruined. stopping in your tracks as she stopped at her locker, you yelled at her, “that skirt is so fucking ugly makes me want to puke, are you thick in the head or what?”

��y/n.” the man called sternly, giving you a look to stop. well, that look turned to annoyance once you flipped him off. taking a step closer to the girl who already looked upset, “aw, you gonna cry?” you sarcastically asked, giving a fake look of aw, “pathetic little bitch,”

“y/n, stop it. come over-“ “shut the fuck up sir, i’m not going to your stupid little detention,” turning to glare at him, gritting your teeth, only to earn a look of amusement. “oh so you find this funny? bitch,”

mr.notfound gave you a long, hard stare -intimidatingly long, before striding beside the girl and bending down slightly to her eye level. you watched with a weird feeling coursing through you as him and the girl talked about something, the girls face turning red as a tomato. it wasn’t a surprise really- almost every girl in this school had a crush on him, and well, you couldn’t say anything bad as you were one of those girls.

it wasn’t your fault when you swung at her after she gave you a cocky smirk. she grabbed her cheek, gasping dramatically, before forcing tears out of her eyes. “you little bitch!” you screamed, hitting her again. you didn’t stop trying after sir picked you up with force and pulled you away further down the corridors.

as he frustratedly headed to his office, you couldn’t help but think about how it felt being carried by him. yeah you had done something bad, but god this felt good.

“why can’t you just behave?” he muttered through gritted teeth. you didn’t answer, didn’t think it was your time to talk, didn’t think it was the right moment to give him a bitchy answer. “you were such a good girl before, now you’re punching people as they walk by,”

“i’m sorry sir,” you replied as he sat you down on his desk, walking over to his cupboard. you really were sorry, you didn’t know what had gotten into you recently. though you were sorry, you didn’t regret anything.

as you watched sir rummage through his cupboard, eyebrows furrowed, a trickling down your lower face had become incredibly noticeable. brushing your hand over your nose, you were met with blood -fuck, a nose bleed. it was probably when the girl swung back, but you didn’t notice it. mr. notfound walked over to you with a box of tissues in his hand. leaning in, he grabbed your chin and held tightly as he brushed the soft tissues over the blood. something about this sent a flutter between your legs; perhaps it was his concentrated face mixed with anger, or maybe it was the way he handled you, the way he touched you.

“you’ve been naughty,” he breathed out. breath so close to my neck that it sent butterflies to my stomach, “gonna have to punish you,” the look on his face told you he wasn’t kidding, and the way he didn’t move away from you to put the tissues in the bin, just throwing them into it from where he was.

silence is what surrounded the room, your faces inches away from each other, hungry looks on both. the only thing that broke the silence through time was the breathing that became heavier. and as he smashed his lips onto yours, you kissed back. it was hot, needy, it felt perfect. the messy movement of his lips on yours left you whining in his mouth.

“fuck, you don’t realise what you do to me,” he pulled away slightly, still practically sharing breath. you felt his hand land on your thigh, before feeling him rub it in a circular motion with his thumb. he kissed you again, open mouth, if it was anyone but him you would’ve been grossed out, but god he made this so hot.

you couldn’t imagine what someone would think if they walked in whilst you were messily making out, his hand on your chin grasping tightly with the other massaging the skin on your thigh. he pulled away again, kissing at your face, “the way you prance around in this tiny skirt, you make me so horny, i bet you make everyone else feel like this as well,”

you shook your head, “no sir, only for you, all for you,” as he kissed and sucked at your neck, you felt his smirk plastered on his face against your skin.

you moaned as he sucked at a certain piece of skin, “can’t keep quiet, want everyone to hear how much of a slut you are?” you wasn’t sure how to respond, if you were to say no you would be lying. you wanted people to hear how you were making out with your teacher, you wanted to make the girls jealous. so, all you could do was timidly look away from his gaze.

you gasped as you felt a strong hand grab your black tie and yank it towards him, snapping you to look in his eyes, “look at me when i’m talking to you,” george gravely quipped, glaring at you.

out of nowhere, you felt the sudden urge to be a brat again, not the smartest idea but it would be interesting, “i don’t want to look at you,” you snarked back, watching as his eye brows furrowed and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. hand still tight on your tie, forcing you to painfully look up from the height and the difference of you sitting and him standing over you. “stand up.” he demanded

“no.” suddenly, you felt a harsh slap to your cheek, before your face was pulled up to be inches away from his,

“fucking stand up brat,” his tone was deep and husky, it awoken something inside you. but, being the stubborn person you are, you shook your head. he yanked you up by your waist, then slammed you against the nearest wall.

his warmth engulfed you as he so quickly slammed his lips back onto yours, spreading through you like an infectious disease, however, this disease would be one you want to never leave. he pulled you closer to him from your waist, leaning burning fingerprints every inch his hands touched.

this kiss was not much different from the ones just before, but for some strange reason, this one felt more forceful, daring, one that got you more worked up. as he attached his lips to your neck, quickly exploring more and more of your body, you were well aware you were not leaving that room without bruises. despite being as aware of it as can be, you couldn’t help but want to carry on being bratty.

and as the buttons to your shirt came undone annoyingly slow, you became more and more impatient. “hurry up, if you can’t teach well atleast be able to make me feel good,”

he pulled away, still close enough you could feel every exhale, so close you watched his jaw clench and face so desperately trying not to show just how angry he was right now. it was peculiar that you still persisted to stay bitchy, there really was no need for you to act like this, and you both were fully aware, but you wanted to rile him up, wanted him to know you don’t give up easily, wanted him to earn this from you. in hindsight, that was probably it the brightest idea and you you became aware of that the longer he started into your eyes.

“oh i’ll make you feel good,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “and you’ll fucking like it, so don’t tell me to hurry up,”

with that, he pulled your shirt off, hands immediately going to your back, desperately fiddling with the clasp off your bra as you innocently looked up at him, acting like you weren’t just pissing him off, “your so fucking annoying,” he murmured, the clasp loosening as he pulled the fabric down your arms, leaning you bare chested.

“your acting like i don’t turn you on just by walking around school sir,” you retorted, as he rolled one of your nipples through his long fingers, smiling sweetly whilst he scoffed, however mesmerised by how beautiful you looked.

“remember what you’re saying whilst you’re begging to cum and i say no,” he whispered into your ear, before moving his mouth to circle his tongue around your other nipple, and both of you noticed the goosebumps that covered your skin in that few seconds.

right as you were about spit another retort, syllables falling down your throat and being replaced with a choked moan as you felt his hands sneak their way under your short skirt that pretty much started this whole thing.

gripping your thighs, taking in exactly how the skin felt with his hands over them. you felt your heart almost beat out of your stomach as you felt a hand get closer to your leaking heat, barely covered by your damp panties. “and with how your acting your probably not wet right now. isnt that right?”

and you couldn’t mange to say a word as you felt his middle finger run over your panties, barely ghosting your clit, leaving you wanting more contact. his pointer finger caught onto the side of the fabric, pushing it aside, leaving just enough space for his middle finger to feel the juices that so guilty poured out of you. his touch felt so cold compared to your heat, leaving you so embarrassed as he coats his finger in you before slowly pulling away, catching your eyes with a smug smirk whilst doing so.

“oh? oops,” he chuckled, “looks like i was wrong,”

without a second to respond, his fingers shoved themselves inside you, leaving you whimpering from sudden pleasure. you almost collapsed if it wasn’t for him holding your waist with one hand as he roughly pumped them in and out of you, leaving lewd noises to spill out of your lips. drops of wetness spill down your thighs, he still persistently works his magic through your wet underwear, thumb sneaking to rub tight circles on your clit. and you couldn’t stop yourself as a moan left your red lips, music to his ears, and his smug smile grew bigger. you can’t help letting out noises when he made you feel this good, but of course, you couldn’t let him know that, couldn’t let him know that he made you feel heavenly. everytime he pumped his fingers, everytime they subtly brushed over your clit, it left you twitching.

y

s-sir, sir fuck! please i’m-!” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before his fingers ripped out of you, the pleasure disappearing into thin air, taken from you. as you stare at him, your hands having a mind of their own, moving down to your heat out of instinct, but being grabbed and pinned above your head before you could reward yourself with pleasure.

“don’t you fucking dare. what happened to the brattiness? you come when i give you permission,” both of you are well aware that you’re brattiness has been taken away from you when you don’t reply, just look into his eyes and nod, swallowing your nerves. and that’s when his smirk grew bigger, he loves this.

you watch as he unbuttons his dress shirt, throwing it pulls and he pulls his trousers and boxers down, exposing his throbbing, sizeable cock that sent a pit to your stomach. his eyes catch sight of you as your practically drooling over him, and he does nothing but smirk as your eyes meet.

“get on a desk, all fours, unless you don’t want to be pleasured,” and you comply, pulling your panties and skirt down leaving you in nothing but a tie and thigh highs, climbing onto a desk, legs trembling. you watch as he unbuttons his dress shirt, throwing it off and he pulls his trousers and boxers down, exposing his throbbing, sizeable cock that sent a pit to your stomach. his eyes catch sight of you as your practically drooling over him, and he does nothing but smirk as your eyes meet.

he moved behind you, “i won’t be gentle,”

SORRY I DIDNT FINISH IT. i started writing this months ago but now i’ve kinda left the fandom and i’m never gonna finish this so here it is. you can imagine the rest.

new obsession: it (novel and book) ✅

new person to obsess over: jaeden martell 😍😍

i’m probably gonna post it oneshots and maybe stranger things fluff.