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bucky-fricking-barnes · 6 days ago

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Several Hundred Lives

Title: Several Hundred Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 10.86k

Warnings: Kissing, canonical violence, mentions of depression

Prompt: “How about a kiss before I go?” from this list

Summary: Almost 70 years after her husband’s disappearance, Y/N runs into an old friend at work, and her carefully constructed life starts to unravel.

A/N: This fic is almost entirely unedited, but it has been a labor of love since the beginning. If you notice any glaring mistakes, please send me a message. As always, thank you for reading and supporting me in all the ways you do. I hope you enjoy!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You swallow back the lump in your throat and force a watery smile, looking up at him. Bucky has an eagle eye for when you’re even the slightest bit upset. He probably already knows that you’re upset, but you don’t want him to be able to see it on your face. Not now.

“You’ve got everything?” you ask, your voice breaking. You try to disguise it by clearing your throat and reaching out, patting down the flat collar of his uniform.

Bucky reaches up and takes your hand, then lifts it to his lips. The kiss he presses against your knuckles makes you inhale sharply. Tears flood your eyes.

“How about a kiss before I go?”

Holding in a sob, you close the distance and slot your lips against his. Your arms find your way around his neck and you cling to him, standing on your tiptoes in the cold Brooklyn street. Somewhere down the way, a shout comes from a window and a door slams. The city is waking up.

“Don’t go,” you whisper, your lips just a whisper away from his. Your breaths come out in white puffs, mingling and clouding the space between you. You duck your head, tucking it into the crook of his neck and clinging to him even tighter when his arms wind around your waist and pull you close. Heat radiates from the bare skin beneath his collar and it immediately warms your nose where it had begun to turn pink from the frigid December temperatures. If it were any other day, you and Bucky would be cozied up under the covers, but it’s not any other day. Today is the worst day.

“I have to, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear. “Someone’s got to.”

Sniffling, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to memorize the feel of him. The nightmare you’d had last night, sometime after he’d crawled into bed beside you, still lingers in your mind. Since the day you first set eyes on James Buchanan Barnes, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to imagine your life without him ever again. Apparently, you can, at least in your dreams.

Bucky gives you a squeeze and gently pries you off of him. He straightens his uniform and fixes his eyes on you. They’re just as teary as yours.

“It’s time. Promise me you’ll stay out of trouble while I’m gone? And that you’ll keep an eye on Steve for me?”

“He’ll hate that you’re asking,” you croak. You aim for a smile, but it’s more of a grimace than anything. “He’ll tell me he doesn’t need a babysitter.”

“Then don’t tell him.” You get a lopsided grin out of your husband, and then he’s backing away. He takes a few steps toward the bus stop down the road. You watch him in silence as he holds your gaze, then finally turns and stuffs one hand in his pocket, the other clinging to the strap of his canvas duffel.

You stand on the sidewalk in silence, arms dangling at your sides and coat wide open, staring at the back of his head and his broad shoulders. His figure had become blurry as he walked further away, and then he’d become a black smudge in the distance. Then, Bucky had turned the corner and disappeared completely.

Numb from both the cold and the sharp knife of loss that’s been plunged into your heart, you head back inside. You climb the three flights of stairs to Bucky’s apartment. It’s technically your apartment now as well—the courthouse wedding the afternoon of his enlistment made it so—but it’s still hard to think of it that way. The neighbors are starting to wake up now. You can hear them as you trudge down the fourth door on the left. Mrs. O’Reily will be by to check up on you soon, no doubt. Bucky had asked her and Mr. O’Reily to look out for you, just as he had you looking out for Steve.

You close yourself into the chilly apartment and try not to think about how empty it feels. He’d tried to convince you to get a pet before he left, hoping that it would make you feel less alone in his absence, but you’d brushed him off. A goldfish couldn’t fill the absence Bucky’s left in the bed at night, and not even the cutest of kittens would be able to bring him home safely. That’s all you wanted. You’re certain it will be all you want until he finally returns.

The job in historical records wasn’t one that you’d expected to find so enjoyable, but Tony Stark pays generously, and the benefits are great, too. It’s enough for you to move into a comfortable apartment in Manhattan, only a short subway ride away from Avengers Tower.

Your office is tucked away on the fourteen floor. It’s generally a quiet place, so when you hear Stark’s voice in the hallway, along with one that’s vaguely familiar, you’re a little surprised. Your supervisor had told you that Mr. Stark doesn’t visit the records department very much at all. It’s usually Pepper.

Grabbing the file you need to have signed by your supervisor, you stand up from your desk and head out into the hallway. If he’s passing by, you can get the signature and move onto the next task on your list. If you miss him, however, you’ll have to wait until he’s finished with whatever wild goose chase Tony is sending your department on. That could take hours, depending on how mundane the search topic is. It’s honestly surprising how many times he has you search the records, especially considering the Tower’s central intelligence system.

“Sir, if you have a second—” The words die on your lips and your mouth runs dry as soon as you look up. You’ve stepped out into the hallway, directly in front of Mr. Stark, but the man beside him isn’t your supervisor.

It’s Steve.

“Careful,” Steve warns as he’s pulling Tony out of your path to avoid a collision. You step backwards, into the closing door of your office, and the soft-shut door bumps you a half-step forward again.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” you blurt. “I didn’t think you’d be right outside, and I thought for sure I heard Mr. Conner’s voice. I just have some papers for him to sign, or I wouldn’t be out here.”

He gives you a tight smile. You force your eyes to remain on him and not drift to Steve. Does your old friend recognize you? It would be ridiculous if he didn’t—your cosmetic changes can only hide your true identity so much, and Steve’s always had a good eye.

You haven’t searched him out, even after all these years. You’ve been too afraid of what might happen if he blew your cover. Ever since you heard the news of his return, you’ve wondered what he would say if he saw you again. If he found out what you did, and how you’re still here. Of course, this was a scenario you never could have dreamed of. Never in a million years could you have predicted that Steve Rogers survived the crash into the Arctic. Never in a million years could you have predicted that you survived everything you’d been through.

“Y/N, is it?” Mr. Stark asks, and you blink, nodding after a second.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be sure to send Mr. Conner your way.” He pauses, then gestures to Steve, glancing up at him and then back at you. “Steve, this is Y/N. She’s a whiz with historical records, so if you ever need help finding something about an old flame of yours, she’ll help you out.”

There’s a note of teasing in his voice, but Steve doesn’t respond to it. His eyes are fixed hard on your face. When you meet his gaze, you can’t look away. You feel trapped, like a bug pinned under a microscope.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve replies. His voice is polite as he holds out his hand for you to shake. When you do, you inhale sharply. It’s as if you were dreaming until you felt his skin against yours. Some small part of you had been convinced that this wasn’t real, but it very much is. Steve is alive.

“You too.”

With a polite, somewhat shaky smile, you turn and push your door open, then hurry back into the safety of the 10-foot by 10-foot office where you spend most of your days. You stand just inside the door and listen for them to continue moving. Your heart is pounding against the inside of your ribcage.

Finally, after what feels like a suspiciously long amount of time, Mr. Stark and Steve move on. You heave a sigh and close your eyes once you feel they’re far enough away to not hear you. For several long moments, you stand in place by the door, trying to catch your breath, but your laptop chimes with a message notification and you’re pulled back into the reality of your day-to-day life. Someone probably needs a record pulled from the physical archives, so you cross the room and sit back down at your desk to see what they need.

It isn’t until four hours later, close to the end of your workday, that you make it back to your office. Your pants have dust marks from where you’d wiped your hands on them after an unfortunate incident in the lesser-used portion of the physical archives, and your stomach is audibly growling after having missed your normal lunchtime.

A knock at your door as you’re pulling your lunch from your work bag makes you sigh.

“Come in,” you call. The door opens, but your spoon slips out of your hand before you can look up. You set the container of leftovers on your desk and reach down to dig out the spoon before it can make its way all the way to the bottom of your bag, grumbling to yourself. It’s been months since you’ve cleaned it, and the thought of what you might have to clean off before eating makes you cringe a little inside.

“You’re here.”

You freeze, bent over in your chair with one hand in your bag. You hold your breath, waiting for Steve to say something more.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers wrap around your prey and you slowly sit back up, but you don’t lift your head to look at him. There’s no dirt or lint on the spoon but you carefully clean it with the front of your shirt anyway. Steve is staring at you in silence and the feeling of his eyes focused solely on you makes you want to hide. Why does it feel like you’ve done something wrong?

“How?” he asks. There’s an edge to his voice—something you can’t decipher is worming its way into his tone, but you’re too busy scrambling to figure out what to say to decide if he’s more angry or upset with you.

You swallow the lump in your throat and stare down at your lunch. With just your fingertips, you inch the container sideways until it’s perfectly centered in front of you, with its square edge lined up with the edge of the desk. The spoon goes next to it.

“Y/N, please,” Steve pleads, and you realize then that the edge isn’t anger.

Looking up, you see the tears in his eyes. It makes your heart ache and you immediately look away again, your own eyes stinging. You stare blurry-eyed at the framed diplomas on your wall, right next to the mandatory emergency exit map.

“After…” Though it can’t change the past, you still refuse to speak of Bucky’s death. The day you found out about his death was one of the worst days of your life.

You swallow again and take a shaky breath. Your hands tremble as you open up your cold lunch and set aside the lid. Steve steps closer and you duck your head, shielding your face from his ever-prying eyes.

“Y/N.”

“I couldn’t do it,” you admit. It feels like you’re choking. “I couldn’t live without him.”

It was true. After you’d found out about Bucky’s death, you’d isolated yourself in the apartment. When you did open the front door, you never spoke to the people that came to check on you. Some of them would bring you food, but you never ate it. You’d put their dishes in the fridge until they went bad, and then you’d scrape the containers and return them after they’d been cleaned. Eventually, people stopped bringing you sympathy food, and then you didn’t even have to worry about cleaning the dishes. When you did eat, it was very little, and only out of necessity. You slept most of the day. You lost your job. You waited for yourself to waste away into nothingness.

A few months after the war ended, a woman appeared on your doorstep. She convinced you to invite her in for coffee, and you’d begrudgingly forced yourself to make two cups. It was the last of the coffee—Bucky’s favorite kind—and you’d silently loathed her for it. While she sipped hers in the armchair that hadn’t seen guests in over a year, you sat across from her on the couch, holding the cup between your hands. All you could do was try to absorb its warmth. The thought of drinking it made your stomach turn, though you hated the thought of wasting Bucky’s coffee even more.

“There was a woman that said she could help me feel better. She said she was a doctor, but that she had worked with Dr. Erskine. She said that she had known you and Bucky, and that she wanted to get to know me, too. To honor his memory.”

“Dr. Erskine didn’t have any partners,” Steve says, and you shake your head.

“She wasn’t his partner, not really. I found out later that she was one of his assistants. After he died and the war ended, she secretly wrote down all she could remember about his work. She was even able to find some of his research that he’d managed to keep hidden. She started reworking his formulas.”

You look up and Steve is staring at you in shock. The tears are gone now, and you can see him starting to connect the dots.

“They gave you a serum,” he concludes, and you nod, taking a deep breath and sighing heavily.

“Yes. I didn’t know it at the time, but they gave me a serum to help boost my… well, everything. It’s not the same as yours. It doesn’t make me faster or stronger or smarter, but it’s allowed me to age much, much slower than any person should. I heal quicker when I’m sick or injured, too.”

He nods and puts his hands on his hips, turning slightly to inspect the books on your floor-to-ceiling bookshelves as he processes the information. You wait in silence, watching him. It feels so strange to see him standing in your office in modern-day clothing. It’s like a fever dream.

“Does Stark know? Or Fury?” he finally asks.

“Nobody knows. Or at least, I haven’t told anybody. I move pretty frequently. I’ve been here about a year now, but I started drafting my resignation this morning. The past decade or so I’ve had to start moving more often than in the past. It’s getting harder to hide.”

A small smile makes the corner of Steve’s lips turn up, and he turns to face you again. “You won’t have to move this time.”

Frowning, you ask, “Why not?”

“Because I’m here. You won’t need to hide what happened.”

Steve’s a smart guy, but you stare at him for a moment, wondering if he’s actually serious. When he doesn’t continue, you sigh and sit back in your seat.

“Steve… Don’t you think they’ll notice when I’m not aging like the rest of the normal people around here? Don’t you think there’ll come a time when some sort of facial recognition software outs me? I mean, I work in the historical records department! Someone’s bound to find a photo or a record of me, especially now that you’re around. Imagine how many photos there are of you and Bucky. You don’t think I’m in some of them, too?”

He goes silent for a second, before his smile is gone and he fixes you with a serious expression. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Y/N. I promised Buck that I’d keep an eye on his girl. I intend to keep my promise.”

A wave of fresh tears come back at the mention of Bucky and you look upward, blinking a few times before you have to wipe them away.

“You what?”

“Before the train,” clarifies Steve, “He and I promised each other to take care of the other’s family if one of us didn’t make it back. You were his family. He loved you more than anything, Y/N.”

“I loved him too,” you reply, your voice breaking, and you start to cry. Steve steps forward, but then stops himself, hesitating until you look at him. It’s only then that he comes around the side of your desk. Once he’s within reach you find yourself standing and throwing your arms around him, hugging him tightly as you cry. The reality of his presence has truly hit you.

Once your tears have dried, Steve takes your leftovers from your desk and puts them in the microwave you keep on the small table to the left of your desk. He presses one of the buttons with his thumb and the turntable inside starts rotating. Satisfied, he turns back to you with a box of tissues in hand.

“I still can’t stay,” you tell him, taking one and dabbing at your eyes. “If anyone finds out how old I am, they’ll do all kinds of experiments on me. They’ll expect me to do what you do, and I’m not a soldier. I don’t have the same abilities that you do.”

“No one will expect that from you, and I wouldn’t let anyone experiment on you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“If they tried anything, you and I would leave,” Steve argues. “I won’t let them do anything to you, Y/N. I promise.”

The microwave beeps and he opens the door, then takes your food and sets it in front of you. You stare at it for a second before he says,

“Think about it, but don’t stay away. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I don’t sleep much.”

“I don’t either,” you quietly admit. “You’d think that I would have adjusted to all the noise and lights after all these years.”

“Come find me next time.”

You nod. “I will.” Looking back up at him, you smile and let out a quiet laugh. “It’s good to see you.”

He smiles back. “You too, Y/N.”

Later that night, you lay in bed awake, staring at the ceiling. Steve had texted you shortly after he left your office—you don't want to know how he got your cell phone number, considering you purposefully had a landline number for your job at the Tower—and you couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d sent.

I meant what I said, he’d texted. I made a promise.

You roll over in bed and grab your phone from the nightstand. It lights up obediently and you squint at it as you jab your thumb against the screen until the call connects.

“You called.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He hums and you hear rustling on the other end. As quietly as possible, you reach over and turn on the lamp beside your bed, then sit up against the headboard. You pull the blankets up to your chest, still holding the phone against your ear.

“Y/N?” Steve asks.

“I’m here,” you tell him. You take a deep breath, then let it out, bracing yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come find you once they announced you were alive,” you clarify. “I’m sure it must have been terrifying to wake up in a completely different world.”

“It’s not so bad,” he replies, but his tone is sad, and you know what he’s thinking.

“But it’s not the same, and I should’ve been there. I promised Bucky I’d look out for you too, you know.”

He chuckles a little. “I gave you a run for your money.”

You grin. His laugh is infectious, and the feeling of being with a friend again is starting to settle your nerves. “Yeah, running off to enlist and then turning into a jacked-up superhero,” you tease.

“Buck chewed me out for that.”

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence for a few moments and you adjust the blanket over your legs, then wiggle your feet a little until it’s back where it was.

“I miss him,” Steve finally says, and you close your eyes against the sudden tears that sting them.

“Me too.” Sniffling, you open your eyes and smooth out the blanket, looking at the dim light outlining the blinds in your window. “I should try and sleep again.”

“Me too, but I’ve… I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think they gave the serum to anyone else? Dr. Erskine’s assistant, I mean?”

You pause. You’d thought about it a lot yourself. If she had, there could be others like you. You could have a community, even though finding them could be difficult and dangerous.

It takes you a second to formulate a response. “No,” you finally say. “I don’t think so. I think… it’s just us.”

Steve inhales deeply, then sighs. He says, “I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Two years pass, and Steve convinces you to stay. Your secret somehow stays a secret. It’s a miracle, really, and it’s one that you try not to question. There’s probably more to it than that, but for now, you enjoy being with an old friend.

Steve has an apartment in the capital. A year after he convinces you to stay, you move into the same building as him. You live down the hall, and you silently root for him when a pretty nurse named Kate moves in beside him. There’s an empty unit between you and Kate, but it never lists and it never sells. You tend to ignore it. Kate tends to ignore you.

You’re coming home from work one day when there’s a commotion in Steve’s apartment. You pause to listen at the top of the stairs, one hand on the wall and the other holding your keys.

Gunshots.

Before your fight or flight has even truly kicked in, the door to Kate’s apartment flies open and she stalks down the hall with a gun drawn. She sees you, and the gun is pointed in your direction for a split-second before she turns and heads to Steve’s apartment. She shoves open the door, revealing a dark apartment.

Steve.

Your chapstick and hand sanitizer roll down the stairs when you drop your bag, but you’re already halfway down the hallway. There’s no regard for your own personal safety as you step through the front door.

“Tell them I’m in pursuit,” you hear Steve say, and then there’s a crash of glass. Light pours in through the broken window and you gasp.

“Steve!” You run across the apartment, pushing past a crouching Kate, and stop only when the sea of broken glass threatens to poke through your thin shoes. “Steve!”

He’s long gone by the time you’re at the window. The sound of a gun cocking makes you freeze.

“Turn around slowly, Y/N,” Kate orders. Her tone makes your blood run cold and you do as she says, raising your hands as well. You still have your keys and the silver Statue of Liberty keychain Steve bought you before you followed him to D.C. swings in midair.

“Are you armed?” she questions.

You realize then that she’s crouching beside Nick Fury, who isn’t moving. You stare at him with wide eyes. You’d only seen the Director of SHIELD a few times, and only from a distance, but he’s recognizable.

“Are you armed?”

“No,” you tell her, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Is he— Is he dead?”

She glances down at him without lowering her gun. “Yes. An ambulance is on the way.” When she looks back up, she glances at the window first, then you. “I suggest you make yourself scarce. You have a go bag?”

Shocked, you nod. “How do you know my—”

“My name is Sharon Carter, SHIELD Agent 13.”

“Carter? As in—?”

“Yes.”

You stare at her for a second, dumbfounded at the realization that your neighbor isn’t the sweet, flirty nurse you’ve known her to be since she moved in. Then again, you’re not who she thinks you are, either.

“Go, Y/N,” she presses. “They’ll want to question you, and they can’t find out who you are.”

You were starting to move when she repeated the command, but now you freeze, gripping your car keys hard enough that Lady Liberty’s torch might actually break skin.

“What?” you ask, and you feel cold. Surely she can’t mean what you think she does.

“Y/N Barnes, born in 1917 in Kansas with the maiden name Smith. Married to James Buchanan Barnes on December 10th, 1943. Injected with Elizabeth Robinson’s makeshift super serum in January 1946.”

Softly, you say the only thing you can think of, which is, “You knew?”

“Only a few of us did. You’re one of SHIELD’s most carefully guarded secrets, but you won’t be for long if you don’t go,” Kate answers. “Don’t trust anyone except Steve.”

“Not even you?”

She pauses, her eyes sad. “Not after this.”

Sirens down the street make you flinch and you nod, then hurry back to your own apartment. You gather up what you can from your fallen purse on the way, but decide you’ll have to go without the chapstick and hand sanitizer. Your hands are trembling as you unlock the door, then close it behind you. Your go bag is tucked underneath the couch. It’s fully packed and stocked, and you’re clicking the chest strap when the sirens stop outside.

Steve has drilled the emergency exit plan into your head so many times that it’s second nature to push open the window and climb out onto the fire escape. The sirens are coming from the north side of the building, so once you hit the ground, you pull up the hood of the rain jacket you’ve put on over your work clothes and start walking south.

You manage to get on a plane out of D.C. that night, and you sleep through most of the flight. After getting out of the airport, you find a hostel and check in just long enough to shower and ditch your phone. A quick trip to the store stocks your backpack with three burners, all equipped for international texting and calling. Steve had also written a list of other things you should buy after landing, since they wouldn’t have made it through customs, and you purchase as many of those things as you can.

When your stomach starts growling, you find a local coffee bar and settle yourself onto one of the few empty stools. The woman behind the counter gives you a polite, albeit tight, smile when you ask if she speaks English, and then she takes your order almost indifferently. Within a few minutes, you have coffee and a pastry, and someone has switched the TV behind her to an Italian newscast about the fight on the SHIELD helicarriers.

You’re getting up to leave when a familiar name catches your attention, and you freeze with one hand on the bartop. On the screen, the news station has put up a blurry photo of a man beside a photo of a young man in an army uniform. You’d recognize the photo anywhere—you’d kept it in your wallet until it was too deteriorated to carry, and then you’d printed yourself a new one once you figured out it was public record. The photo was of your husband.

“Are you okay, signorina?” asks the worker, and you force yourself to look away from the broadcast to nod at her.

“Sì, um… Can you— What are they saying on TV about that man?” you ask her.

She glances behind her when you point at the TV, then listens for a moment before she replies, “They are saying that he is a… fuggitivo? A bad person hiding?”

“He’s alive?”

She nods again. “Sì. Can I get you something else to drink?” The young Italian woman gestures to the empty cup and plate you were about to leave.

“No, grazie.”

You leave the coffee bar almost in a daze. Logically, you know you should be moving to the next step of Steve’s emergency exit plan for you—a safe house near the southern border of Hungary—but it felt wrong to go into hiding when your husband was out there.

Bucky… A fugitive? He would never do anything bad of his own volition, which means something’s wrong, you think, heading back toward the hostel. You could get a ride back to the airport, and then travel back to D.C. from there. If Bucky was in trouble, he would need your help.

Your phone chimes and you pull it from the pocket of your shorts. You’d connected a junk email account and a new message has just come in. After a brief moment of hesitation, you open it to find a series of coordinates. There’s no subject line, no greeting, and no signature. It’s from Steve.

The map app on the phone tells you that the coordinates are to a hotel in Bucharest. There are no SHIELD safe houses in Romania, but deep down, you trust Steve. If anyone knows anything about Bucky, he will, and if he’s sending you the coordinates, then he could be meeting you there.

A quick stop back at the hostel gets you set up with a rental car, and soon you’re on your way to Romania. You’re jittery the whole way, stopping only for gas, food, and caffeine. It’s a long drive—almost a full day—so by the time you reach the coordinates, your eyelids are heavy and your whole body aches from sitting.

The coordinates lead you to an apartment building. Most of the windows are dark, but there’s a light on in the small entryway. Once inside, you find a small white envelope with your name on it tucked halfway into the mail slot for apartment five. You carefully pull it out and a key slides from the open flap into your hand. There’s a note tucked inside the envelope too, and the familiar handwriting is a sight for sore eyes.

Dorothy - Stay here until I come for you. Could be awhile.

At the bottom of the flimsy yellow paper, the author had scrawled the name “Lionheart”. It takes your addled brain a second to make the connection, but then you remember the nickname you’d given Steve shortly after meeting him and Bucky. You’d just moved to Brooklyn and Bucky had teasingly compared you to Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz” once he’d learned you’d come from Kansas. You’d shot back, calling him the Tin Man that didn’t have a heart. It had stuck, and soon you started calling Steve “Lionheart”, claiming that he had more bravery than any lion ever could. It was a nickname you used less and less as you grew, and you hadn’t used it since meeting him again in this century, but it was his nickname nonetheless.

You tuck the note back into the envelope, then shove it into the pocket of your shorts. Apartment five is up two flights of stairs, which you begrudgingly climb, but once the door is open, you’re relieved to find that the studio apartment, while old and out of date, is clean and furnished. Whoever’s been keeping this place on standby for Steve is clearly paid well. You’ve heard horror stories from Steve about some of the SHIELD safehouses he’s had to stay in.

After making sure there’s nobody hiding in any of the closets or under the bed in the corner, you dump your bag on the floor beside the nightstand and lock the front door. For good measure, you shove a chair underneath the dull metal doorknob, remembering that Steve had warned you to be extra cautious if you ever had to go on the run. If Sharon Carter had known your secret, there could be plenty more people that do. You do the same for the door leading to the exterior balcony, then collapse onto the bed in search of a good night’s sleep.

Two years go by, and Steve never comes. You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that he never might, despite the fact that you know he’s still out there. He and the rest of his team have a major battle in Sokovia, which is heavily disputed in the news. You want to stand up for your friend and tell everyone you know that he would never do anything he didn’t think was the best course of action, but you keep your head down. It’s the only thing you can do to keep yourself safe.

All the while, you try to research and find Bucky’s whereabouts. When you’re not working your job at a local coffee bar or as a delivery driver for the small florist’s shop down the street from your apartment, you’re driving from town to town and listening to the gossip at the cafes and street markets. You’re not exactly sure what to listen for, but you listen anyway. You find a cheap laptop a few months after moving to Bucharest and you read through the declassified SHIELD files. There’s nothing on you, thankfully, but there’s a file on Steve and one on Bucky. You read them over and over again, combing through the information in hopes of something new that might help you find your husband.

It’s after one of these trips to a town a few hours away that you’re lingering at the bottom of the stairs, too exhausted to think. Between weird dreams, a bug that kept you up all night coughing, and pulling extra shifts at the coffee bar to fund your expeditions, you haven’t slept right in days. You’re considering plopping yourself down on the bottom step, leaning against the concrete wall, and sleeping there for as long as you can.

“Scuzați-mă,” someone says, and you turn.

Bucky stares back at you, a deer caught in the headlights, and you stare back. Your mouth feels dry and your heart is pounding, and you’re sure that you’re imagining things.

“It’s you,” he finally says. He stares at you from underneath the bill of his baseball cap.

You try to swallow, but your mouth feels like sandpaper. “Bucky,” you croak.

He drops his head and looks at the floor. After a moment, he turns to walk up the stairs.

Panicked at the thought of him leaving, you reach out and grab his wrist. Your fingers wrap around leather. He immediately twists it from your grip and shoves you backward into the cement, hard enough that it cracks around you. Your head smacks against the wall and blinding white pain shoots through you. Your vision swims and the air is knocked from your lungs, leaving you wheezing as you try and stay upright.

He’s disappeared by the time you get your bearings, and you spend the night on the floor at the foot of the stairs, the back of your head sticky with blood. Your whole body aches. Just the thought of getting up makes you want to cry, and everything is blurry. Eventually you give in to sleep as it creeps up on you, mercifully shielding you from the pain as your head throbs.

When you open your eyes, you’re not on the floor of the apartment lobby anymore, but you’re also not at home. You’re laying on your side on an old mattress, staring at the dusty wooden floor of someone else’s home. The layout of the apartment seems similar to your own, but it's in a state of disrepair that makes your skin crawl a little bit. You lay there in silence as your brain catches up with you, and then you sit up, suddenly aware of the fact that someone has moved you while you were unconscious. The world around you spins and you shut your eyes again, gripping the bare mattress to try and keep yourself grounded. Your stomach lurches.

“Don’t sit up too fast,” Bucky says, and you feel like crying. It’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. It sounds different now—colder, harsher, and less familiar. He sounds like he hasn’t talked in a long time, though you know that’s unlikely. People are too friendly in your little town for anyone to go too long without saying at least a hello.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. It’s the only thing you can think of to say.

The sound of his footsteps coming closer makes you open your eyes, and it takes you a second to focus them on something. You pick the metal legs of a small table and stare at them until his boots come into view. Then, slowly, you tilt your head back to look up at him.

Though fundamentally he’s the same, Bucky looks just different enough that you would have needed more than a glance to know it was really him if you’d been standing across the room. His upper body is bulky, but you can’t tell if it’s truly him or if it’s from the thick canvas jacket he wears. It’s worn and brown, matching his boots that are scuffed on the toes. Underneath the jacket, his red shirt is faded, but it looks clean. The baseball cap he’d been wearing earlier is gone now, revealing blue eyes that are colder than you remember. They’re not the same eyes as your husband’s, though logically you know they are.

“Your hair is long,” you tell him. “Longer than it ever was.”

He stares down at you, seemingly unshaken by your presence. “You were in the museum.”

You frown. “Museum?”

“In Washington,” Bucky answers. He sets a water bottle down on the floor beside the mattress.

“The Smithsonian? I haven’t been to the Smithsonian in years.”

“In the pictures.”

“In the pi—” You stop, remembering the exhibit. You’d gone to see it only once, shortly after Steve had been recovered from the ice. There were artifacts and photos of him with the Howling Commandos, Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, and other soldiers and officers. There was also a special section dedicated to Steve’s friendship with Bucky, and at the very end, in a small area tucked away from the main part of the exhibit, there had been a display of photos of you and Bucky. There were a few letters that you had sent him while he was overseas, too, and your stomach had soured at the thought of millions of strangers reading your private correspondence with him. They were letters that hadn’t been delivered to him for one reason or another. The thought of all those people reading things that he never got the chance to was infuriating, and yet there was nothing you could do without revealing your identity.

The photo of you that he’d kept in his uniform pocket was in a glass case, torn in half. Anyone looking at it could only see your head and neck. If the photo had been intact, they would have seen the floral dress Bucky had ruined on your wedding night. You hadn’t been able to get a proper wedding dress, not that you’d minded. He hadn’t either.

A small sign had explained that the photo had fallen out on the train before he fell, and Steve had retrieved it. He’d kept it with his personal belongings, clearly intent on keeping it safe. The army had never returned it to you since it hadn’t been with Bucky’s things. You’d thought it had been lost forever until the day you’d stepped foot into the exhibit. It was the only photo you’d had from your wedding day. After seeing it, you’d left the exhibit quickly. You’d barely made it back to your apartment before you’d broken down.

“Yes,” you reply after a second, softer now. “I’m in the pictures with you. Do you… Do you not remember me?”

There’s a tension in the air, the kind that makes you shift uneasily on the mattress, and then Bucky shakes his head. You inhale sharply as tears sting your eyes.

“I see.” It’s all you can manage without actually crying.

“You’re Y/N.”

You nod and sniffle, wiping at your eyes and then grabbing the water bottle with shaking hands. The cap is stuck and you twist at it until the skin of your palm is red. Frustrated, you set it back down with more force than necessary. It falls on its side and rolls away from you, stopping against Bucky’s muddied boot.

“We were married.”

He’s only listing off facts that he’s learned, and your heart aches.

How does he not remember me?

Bucky reaches down and picks up the bottle. He twists off the cap and steps forward to hold it within reach. Gingerly, you take it from him. Your fingers brush against his glove but you don’t meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“And you were friends with Steve.”

You look up at him then. “You remember Steve?”

When he shakes his head again, you feel defeated.

Does he remember anything?

“He’s in the museum, too.” Bucky pauses. “I pulled him out of the river.”

“What?” You squint a little. You don’t remember anything about a river in the museum, and you had no memory of Bucky pulling Steve out of any rivers when you were kids.

“We fell from the plane to the river. I pulled him out.”

Your head is still throbbing and you feel a little nauseous. There’s no doubt you have a concussion. Closing your eyes, you try to make sense of what he’s telling you. It feels like your brain is full of soup.

“You and… and Steve fell into a river? What river?”

“The Potomac.”

The Potomac. Washington. The picture of him from the newscast.

Puzzle pieces are fitting together, and you start to understand. You open your eyes and look up at him, shifting slightly until your legs are in a more comfortable position.

“You fought Steve,” you prompt, “and then what? You went to the Smithsonian?”

Hesitantly, Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

“What did you do after you pulled him from the Potomac?”

He doesn’t answer, and there’s a bang in the hallway. His whole body tenses and you flinch at the noise, staring wide-eyed at the door. Water sloshes out from the bottle in your hand and onto your jeans. It feels like you’ve been caught red-handed, but when nothing happens after a few moments, you relax. Your brain catches up.

“What time is it?” you murmur, almost afraid to speak.

“Two.”

“That was the mail carrier,” you sigh, closing your eyes. You scoot back on the mattress after a minute, leaning your back against the wall and keep your legs out in front of you. “We’re okay.”

Bucky nods, clearly still on edge, and you screw the cap back on the water.

“Before you fought Steve,” you begin, hoping that telling him some of your story will help him loosen up, “I was living in the same building as him. Someone came in and shot a man, and I went on the run. I was afraid that they would figure out who I am—how old I am.” You laugh a little at that. “I’m almost a hundred years old. So are you. We were born the same year.”

He stares at you. Some of the tension in his body is beginning to disappear, and you try not to stare.

“I got on a plane that night. Steve got me a fake passport right after he found me, and he helped me get a go bag ready. He had a whole list of things I should buy once I landed, so I did, and then he emailed me the coordinates to this apartment building. I’m assuming we’re in the same building as before?”

Bucky nods a little and you continue,

“I drove almost a whole day to get here. I was exhausted. Whoever kept this place ready for Steve put the key in an envelope for me, along with a note telling me to hunker down and stay put until he came and got me. He signed it “Lionheart” and everything, just in case anyone read it.”

There’s a flash of something in your husband’s eyes when you mention Steve’s nickname, but he doesn’t speak.

“Anyway, I moved in to apartment five—”

“Do you like it here?” asks Bucky, quiet enough that you almost keep talking over him.

“Here? Wait, are we still in my building?”

He nods and you watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’ll elaborate. Then, when he’s gathered that you won’t say anything more until he does, he tells you,

“This is apartment six.”

“Six? Do you live here?” A nod. “When did you move in?”

“Six months ago.”

You scramble to your feet and he takes a defensive step back. “We’ve been neighbors for six months and I—” The lump in your throat is back and you choke on it, coughing once. “How have I never seen you? Did you know who I was?”

“Yes.”

Tears sting your eyes and you cross your arms over your chest. Now that you know it’s the same building, you recognize all the similarities to your own unit. This one isn’t in as nice of condition, but it has the door leading to the outside in addition to the hallway. Unlike yours, however, Bucky’s covered the large glass panes in the door with newspaper. You stare at the light filtering in through the thin paper while he stares at you.

“So all this time,” you choke out, “I’ve been going out in search of my husband, when he’s really been less than a few yards away?”

Bucky doesn’t answer and you bring your hands up to your face, pressing the heel of each hand against your eyes. A sob escapes, but it’s bordering on the edge of laughter—not out of humor, but out of the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

“God, I’m so stupid. If I’d just looked—”

You’re too wrapped up in your own frustration and grief to notice the edge of hurt in his voice when he asks, “Your husband?”

You drop your hands back down to your sides with another laugh-turned-sob. “Yes! My husband! The man I’ve been married to since 1943!”

Bucky stares at you, seemingly unmoved by your display of emotion, but the way his fingers twitch at his side and the way he shuffles forward an infinitesimal amount makes you burst into tears.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you sob. You want nothing more than to reach out for him, but the fear of scaring him away has wrapped itself around your heart. It squeezes, tightening little by little the more you learn about the man your husband has become. “I saw your picture on TV and I thought that we could finally be happy together, but then when I couldn’t find you… I was so worried!”

A crease forms between Bucky’s eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand? Bucky, I love you! More than anything in the world, I love you!”

“How are you alive? The museum said…”

You’re sobering up quickly at the realization that you have to come clean. For decades you’ve had this conversation with an imaginary Bucky, and he leaves disappointed in you every time. Your stomach slowly deepens until there’s a gaping pit inside of it and you swipe at your eyes, wiping the tears onto the backs of your hands.

“The museum only knows what I want them to know.”

He searches your face for further explanation and you sniffle. Your head is throbbing again, the wound exasperated by the crying.

“I was given a serum, similar to Steve’s, but—”

His fists clench and you snap your mouth shut at the sudden anger on Bucky’s face. “What did they give you?”

When you don’t immediately reply, he repeats the question, this time so insistently that you stammer,

“I don’t know, they never told me.”

He stares at you and you shrink back a little, then glance behind you before sitting down on the mattress. You sit against the wall with your legs pulled in, making yourself as small as possible in his already tiny apartment.

“What do you mean they never told you? Who?”

Softly, you answer, “Her name was Elizabeth, but I called her Liza. She was Dr. Erskine’s assistant.” You sniffle and wipe the tears from your eyes, feeling completely out of orbit. Your head is throbbing again.

“Dr. Erskine,” repeats Bucky, and you nod. You wait for a moment, wondering if he’ll place the name. He doesn’t seem to connect the dots, so you briefly explain Erskine’s connection to Steve, and therefore to him… and to you.

The sun is setting, sending golden light streaming through the paper covering apartment six’s exterior door. You stare at it as he processes the new information, and you realize after some time that you’ve watched until the light has grown impossibly dim. It’s likely that you’ve fallen asleep sitting up. Neither one of you has said anything for some time now, and yet it has been comfortable. You feel just at home around Bucky as you used to, even if he doesn’t feel the same around you.

“I should get going,” you say, climbing to your feet and looking toward where he’d been standing. Bucky’s moved without you realizing it, and he’s now seated at the small metal table, writing something in a small red journal.

He doesn’t reply and you move two steps closer. Bucky doesn’t even look up.

“Bucky?”

No response. He continues to write. The pen scratches black ink across the page in almost frantic scrawls, and you realize after a second that you can’t read it. The language is a mix of English and Russian, and the handwriting seems altogether unfamiliar.

“James?” you hesitantly ask.

The pen slows, then stops and a blot of ink smudges on the page. He lifts his hand to look up at you.

“I should get going,” you repeat, gentler than the first time. You don’t want to startle him—he’d clearly been absorbed in whatever he’d been writing. “Home, I mean.”

He caps the pen and sets it down. Bucky stays silent as he pushes the chair back from the table and stands almost robotically. You have to force yourself to stand still and not take a step back to give him space. The only thing that keeps you from moving is a silent reminder that no matter what happened to him over the past few decades, he’s still your husband. You took a vow on your wedding day and you refuse to break it now.

“You can’t stay here,” says Bucky, so bluntly that you blink in surprise.

“What?”

“It’s not safe for you.”

You scoff a little. “What are you talking about? It’s perfectly safe.”

“It’s not safe for you to be with me,” he clarifies and you’re even more stunned.

“Bucky… What are you talking about? You’re not dangerous.” You step forward and reach for his hands, but he turns away, though he doesn’t step back. “Bucky…”

“They’ll come for me, and when they do, they’ll realize who you are. They’ll use you to get to me, and I can’t let them do that.”

“What? Who? Bucky, who are you talking about?”

His jaw is tight as he turns away, grabbing the notebook from the table. He shoves it into the pocket of his jacket, then lowers himself onto one knee a few feet away. With one deft hand, Bucky pries up a floorboard and pulls out a black backpack. It’s already packed with his supplies or belongings, or both, and he slings it over his shoulders before buckling the strap over his chest.

“You need to go,” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“Absolutely not,” you defiantly answer. “I’m not leaving you, not now that I’ve finally found you.”

“Y/N.”

It’s only the second time he’s said your name aloud since you’ve been reunited, and it stops you in your tracks. Your hand, which had been reaching out to stop him, drops back down to your side in defeat.

“Don’t go,” you plead, opting for a gentler approach.

Something flickers in his eyes and he glances at the door to the hallway. After a second, he looks back at you.

“Do you need anything?”

You shake your head. There’s nothing of value in your apartment. The only sentimental item you have is the keychain from Steve, and your keys are still in your pocket from the night before.

“Let’s go.”

He turns and opens the exterior door, then steps out into the afternoon sunshine onto the concrete terrace. You follow him in silence. There’s a bang from behind you as you reach the edge of the terrace and the short wall separating you from the three-story drop. Turning, you spot an armed officer bursting through the door to apartment six. You hadn’t even heard them coming up the stairs.

With a gasp, you grab Bucky’s arm. He doesn’t look back when he pulls you in front of him. You’re facing him and you have just enough time to see the officer lifting their gun. It’s pointed in your direction. In an instant, Bucky lifts you off the ground. Your legs wrap around his midsection instinctively, and your arms around his neck. You grab hold of the top handle on the backpack and squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel Bucky moving, his muscles flexing and tensing, and the wind blows cold against your back as he runs. Gunshots ring out all around you and you let out a squeak as you duck your head against his chest. His hands are gripping your thighs so tightly that it hurts, but you don’t dare speak up, especially when he grunts and you open your eyes just enough to see the world sailing by.

You and Bucky land on hard concrete with a hard jolt. You release him, your entire body screaming out in pain, and you echo the cry. You don’t have any time to think about what truly hurts and why before Bucky’s grabbing your hand and yanking you up off the ground. He pulls you alongside him until you’re running too, across the roof of a neighboring building as bullets rain down.

“Where are we going?” you shout, and something whizzes past so close to your ear that you can feel the heat radiating from it. You angle your path closer to Bucky’s, your chest heaving and your lungs burning for air.

He barely seems out of breath as he yells back something you don’t understand, but he’s still gripping your hand and pulling you with him. You hear shouts from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder just long enough to see that there are more officers now, and they’ve also made it to the rooftop. Overhead, a helicopter ominously sails closer and closer.

“Here. Go!” Bucky orders, and you duck through an open door into the utility stairwell of the building. You rush down the stairs, head pounding, until he ushers you through another door and onto the fifth floor. It’s another apartment complex and you let him take the lead, following him down hall after hall. He leads you to the main stairwell, where a woman carrying a large vase of flowers sends you a scathing look, muttering something in Romanian about men taking up too much space when they walk.

Once you’re outside the building, you can hear the chaos of the officers on rooftops and in helicopters up above. Two cop cars are blocking the road outside your building, and they spot you almost immediately. You don’t have time to think about it, however, because Bucky is pulling you onto a motorcycle. Just like before, your arms instinctively wrap around his waist, and you rest your head against his back, squeezing your eyes shut as the motorcycle roars to life, then takes off. Wind whips past you, blowing your hair back and making your cheeks sting.

“Where are we going?” you shout.

“Someplace safe!”

You and Bucky are on the run for hours. By the time he deems you safe, you’ve long outrun the assailants, and you’re exhausted. You’ve thrown up three times, and your head is pounding. He’s relatively unscathed, and for that, you’re thankful, because he leads you across a field of tall grass, away from where you’ve left your third motorcycle on the side of the road. How he keeps finding them is a mystery. You’re pretty sure the only reason you’re not stopping in a town and looking for a new ride is because this one ran out of gas, but he seems to have a destination in mind when he says,

“Just a little further.”

It’s the first thing he’s said to you since the bike. You nod in response, then close your eyes against a wave of dizziness. Your concussion has reared its ugly head.

Bucky grabs you when you stumble over something in the ground, and you heave a little bit, bending over at the waist. He keeps you from falling onto your knees as bile rises in your throat, but when the feeling subsides and your stomach settles again, he doesn’t let go.

“I’m okay,” you weakly tell him.

He still doesn’t release you. After a moment, you feel his arm move to the backs of your knees, and then you’re being slowly lifted into the air. Bucky cradles you against his chest and when you open your eyes, he’s watching you carefully.

“I can walk,” you protest, but it’s half-hearted. Truth be told, your legs are on fire and you’ve got blisters on both feet.

Silently, Bucky resumes walking. You let your head rest against his shoulder after a few minutes, and the swaying motion eventually lulls you to sleep.

You wake up in a bedroom. It’s clean and bright, with a blue-and-white patterned quilt over the bed and light-colored wooden furniture. White curtains flutter in the breeze coming through the open window. From the bed, you can see a three-drawer dresser, a nightstand, and a chair. The four-poster bed is warm and cozy despite the cool air, and you spy green grass and a deep green forest when one of the curtains falls back into place.

A knock at the door makes you sit up.

“Come in,” you say, and it opens.

“You’re awake,” Steve greets.

Your heart soars and you move to climb out of bed, but he stops you.

“You had a nasty concussion, one that would’ve taken most people months to recover from,” he says. He sits on the edge of the mattress and hugs you hard. You squeeze your eyes shut against a flood of relieved tears.

“I missed you so much,” you say as you pull away. Chuckling a little, you pat his cheek with one hand, scrunching your nose when his beard scratches your palm. “You look different.”

Steve chuckles. “So I’m told. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Good, actually. I’m hungry, and my head doesn’t hurt as much.”

He nods and reaches for a mug on the nightstand. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, but you hadn’t seen him bring it in. That’s when you notice Bucky standing in the doorway, clearly hesitant to come in. He’s watching you and Steve with a guarded expression, and you stare at him in silence.

“He’s real,” Steve says, and you nod.

“I know. He saved me.”

Bucky takes a careful step into the room. Steve moves out of the way, shifting to sit at the end of the bed with his back against one of the wooden posts. Bucky’s dressed in clean clothes and his hair is still long, but it’s been washed and trimmed. He looks healthier than when you’d been in the apartment.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask him.

“A week.”

You look down at the mug Steve had handed you. It’s filled with soup and you inhale deeply, feeling the steam warm you from the outside in. It smells delicious.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asks.

“Good. Better.” You pause. “Thank you.”

He nods, then goes back to staring at you in silence. After several long moments, Steve clears his throat, then stands.

“I’ve got to go check in with Nat. I’ll let you two… talk.”

Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder as he walks by. He ignores the way Bucky flinches at his touch. You take a sip of the soup, slurping a little as you lower the mug back down to your lap.

“You can sit, you know,” you say, when Bucky stays standing a foot away from the door. “I don’t bite.”

“I’m not safe for you to be around.”

We’re cutting right to the chase, I see, you think, staring back down at your soup.

“I have no control over anything, not even myself. If they ever find me—”

“They won’t,” you interrupt. “Not if Steve and I have anything to say about it.”

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to argue, but you glare at him, hard enough that he blinks and closes his mouth.

“Listen to me carefully, because I’m only going to say this once.”

Setting the mug back down on the nightstand, you slide out of bed and close the distance between you and Bucky. Someone has changed you into pajamas. They’re striped with buttons running up the front of the shirt, but they’re a little too big and you have to push the sleeves up so they don’t hang down and cover your hands. The pants aren’t too long that you’ll trip over them, but you know that you couldn’t run in them if it came down to it. Hopefully it won’t.

“You are my husband, and you are Steve’s best friend. You’re my best friend too, while we’re at it, and if you think for a single second that we’d let anyone take you or hurt you or harm you in any way, then you’ve got another thing coming. I have lived several hundred lives over the past seventy years because I couldn’t handle just a few of them without you, James, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone take away my chance to live the rest of this life by your side.”

Bucky stares down at you, and you continue before he can jump in,

“I did not make a vow promising to be your wife for better or for worse just to give up when the going gets tough. If you wanna give up, then fine, but I’d rather die.”

When he leans in and kisses you, you’re too shocked to react. At first, you think maybe you’re imagining it and that it’s just some weird concussion-induced daydream, but the heat of his lips and the crushing grip of his metal hand on your wrist is too real for you to cling to that theory for long. You soften, kissing him back, and then so does he. Bucky releases your wrist, then slides his hand over your hip. His metal thumb is cool against the bare skin of your hip just above the elastic waistband of the pajama pants.

“I love you,” you murmur, panting slightly when he pulls away, and then he’s kissing you again. You close your eyes and reach up one hand, resting it on the back of his neck as he pulls your front against him.

“I love you a thousand times over,” you murmur again, and this time you rest your forehead against him so you can catch your breath. With eyes still closed, you add, “I will love you no matter what, James Buchanan Barnes. Nothing you say or do could ever change that.”

“Nothing?” he asks.

You pull away and open your eyes so you can look at him properly. He’s watching you with a guilt-ridden expression, his eyes so full of pain that your heart aches until there’s a twinge in your chest. You cradle his face with one hand and rub your thumb over his cheekbone. Bucky leans into the touch.

“Nothing,” you affirm. “Absolutely nothing.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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rivwritesiguess · 2 days ago

Text

Lost and Found - Chapter 1: Lost

Chat I fell down the Task Force 141 rabbit hole a while ago and now this is here

Word Count: 8.6k Angst, like hurt no comfort angst Poly!141 x gn!omega!reader Summary: A mission goes wrong. The pack loses a member. What happens when that member isn't as lost as they though? Warnings: Character death, horrible attempts at doing European accents/dialects, probably a few plot holes, military inaccuracies Notes: It's an omegaverse fic, the 141 is a pack and they all love each other. Also reader is gender neutral, they/them pronouns. this story does not follow the Modern Warfare story whatsoever, none of the main people are gonna die (no headshots), and it will be filled with military inaccuracies because I'm just here to love hot men and babygirl-ify the men in a military propaganda video game :). As said in the title, this is chapter one, so the there will be more. The guys might be a bit out of character in this, oopsies. I might end up rewriting this in the future but for now this is it. I also made an entire sims 4 build of the pack house for this fic alone and spent way too long on it 💀 there will be smut in this fix at some point in the distant distant future Made the little banner thing with Canva and the divider with Photopea Navigation Series Masterlist (this is currently the only chapter) Also on AO3

“C’mon up now and we might spare you. Make us come down there and your death will be a slow one.” It’s not good. None of this is good. It took such a turn. Everything had seemed to be going well until Kyle said that there were cars approaching the building. “Don’t be stupid. 15 versus 1 is not a fight you want to start.”

“They think there’s just one o’ us.”

“Could make use of that. Catch ‘em off guard.”

“It’d be easier tae surprise them if we weren’t cornered in the damn basement.”

“Didn’t seem like you had any better ideas.”

“Anythin’ but a damn basement.”

“That’s enough.” John cut the conversation short with a sharp tone. It wasn’t like an actual argument, just playful bickering. Now, however, was not the time.

John’s brain was going a mile a minute. There wasn’t much he could think to do at the moment. They were cornered. He didn’t know how this happened. The mission had gone well. It was only once they got to the safe house to rest for the night that things went wrong.

You were just getting ready to fall asleep with Johnny on the bed upstairs. John had taken the bed in the living room near the door. Simon was on the front porch while Kyle sat on top of the building, both keeping watch until it was their turn to sleep. You were pulling Johnny under the covers with a smile, ready for the cuddles the beta would offer you. However, then you heard the sound of Kyle coming over the radio.

“I’m seeing two cars coming towards us.”

John had ordered Simon to come inside so you could all come up with a plan. It should’ve been easy, but the cars got to the house much faster than the group expected. There was no time to run, so Kyle suggested getting down into the basement to come up with a plan. With two cars, you all thought there would be at most 10 people. Not 15.

There weren’t supposed to be any problems. No one was supposed to be anywhere near this safe house, no one was supposed to even know about it. Obviously, Laswell’s information was wrong.

John was beginning to feel a bit anxious. It wasn’t much, but that underlying feeling that this wouldn’t be ending well was starting to set in the pit of his stomach. He looked back at you. You’d been quiet since the group moved down to the basement.

He never would’ve brought you on this mission if he saw this coming. It was supposed to be simple, something that wouldn’t put you in too much danger. He knew you could handle danger, but that didn’t mean he liked you being in it. But now you are. He let you come along, and now things are looking bad. You’re in danger. His pack is in danger. He needed to find a way to get you all out of it. It was not only his job as Captain, but also his job as the pack alpha.

“Captain, if we go up there they might get overwhelmed. We’ve got a shot at takin’ them by surprise,” Johnny suggested once more.

“A chance. It’s not guaranteed,” Kyle injected.

“Is anythin’ ever?”

“It’s risky.”

“We only saw twa cars. They could be bluffin’, trying tae scare us.”

“Not ‘us’. They only think one person is down here.”

“They’re idiots if they can’t tell there’s more than ane person. Captain’s got blankets on the couch and Ace and ah had blankets on the bed. If they’re stupid enough to no’ notice that, it might be easy tae take them doon.” Simon shook his head.

“Even if they’re all stupid, they’ve got weapons an’ we’ll all be coming out of a little door for them to point those weapons at. Stupid men and weapons are ne’er mix well. Even if there’s not 15, we’d still be outnumbered. People will get hit and hurt.”

“It’s better we get hurt than stay stuck doon here waitin’ fer them tae come tae us.”

“Or we could stay here an’ take up positions ‘round the room. They come down an’ we start firin’. It doesn’t risk someone getting hurt just ‘cause you wanted to rush in.”

“Ah didnae say that.”

“I never said you did.”

“Stop it.” You were the one to speak up this time. You didn’t need a commanding tone like John. The group listened to you regardless of your tone or not. You were you. You were their omega. If you wanted something, they wanted to give it. And right now? You wanted them to stop arguing, so they’d do just that.

The attention was directed back to John as he stood up silently. He glanced around the room, coming up with a plan. He nodded, more to himself than the rest of the group. He faced all of you, starting to talk.

“Alright. Soap’s right. Those guys up there aren’t expecting five of us. We’ve got the chance to take ‘em by surprise. Ghost’s got a point as well. The door up there we’d walk out of probably has all their guns trained on it as we speak. They’ll shoot us down. But we can’t stay down ‘ere. It’s giving ‘em time to plan for any possibility. They might catch on that there’s more than one of us.” He took a breath. “I’ve got a plan, but it’s a bit dodgy. They think there’s only one of us, so one of us goes up. Plays at surrendering. Once those guys up there aren’t all holding their weapons at the door, the person who went up will say something to let the rest of the group down here know. Then, the four left will go out and start shooting.”

The group was quiet. No one seemed to really like this plan, but John was right. Waiting down here only gave them time to realize what was going on, and going out as a group only gave them a large target.

“Ah’ll gae up,” Johnny said, starting to pull his gun out of his holster.

“No, you stay down here. I’ll go.” Kyle put his hand on Johnny’s, stopping the other beta as he started to put his own weapons to the side.

“Neither of you are doin’ that. I know how to handle this. I’ll be the one to go up.” Though Simon said this, he didn’t make any immediate move to disarm himself. He probably wouldn’t do so until the very last second.

“It was my idea. I’ll be the one to surrender,” John argued.

They were arguing about who would be putting themselves closer to death’s door. They didn’t want to let another member of the pack do it, not when there was no guarantee that the people upstairs would actually spare whoever went up.

You hated it. This argument wouldn’t end any way you wanted it to. Someone could die. That couldn’t happen. No one in your pack was going to be dying. You couldn’t let that happen.

You quickly tried to think of something that could solve this issue. A plan better than John’s. You’d seen the blueprints of the house. The basement didn’t have an exit that would lead outside. There were, however, a bunch of weird rooms down here. There was even a small holding area with soundproof walls. There was even-

Wait.

That’s it.

“I think there might be a way out from down here. A different exit.”

Everyone’s head turned to you so quickly they could’ve flown off.

“Why didnae ye say anythin’ earlier, Ace?!” Johnny asked.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t think of it till now.”

Lying was never something you enjoyed doing. Doing it to your pack made you feel disgusted with yourself. If you weren’t lying for a good reason, the omega inside of you might’ve been screaming and crying. But even it understood this was necessary. You had to keep your pack safe.

John sighed.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Just show us where it is.”

The focus was now on you. You turned around, walking out of the small room after making sure that the guys upstairs had stayed upstairs. Once seeing that they had, you walked quickly and quietly, occasionally glancing back to make sure all of your pack was still behind you.

You debated if you were really going to go through with this. If your pack caught on to what you were doing, they’d stop you without hesitation. You’d have to deal with their disappointment and then have to deal with one of them going up and potentially getting themself killed. You couldn’t let one of them get killed. They were too important. Not just to you, but in their fields. To each other. You didn’t even know if this would work, but you had to try. You’d rather this than the world losing one of them. You could only hope it went how you wanted. You could only hope that your pack trusts you enough to listen.

You got to the end of the hallway and opened the door in the left corner. It was a sitting area, but this time there were two doors on the far side of the wall. You took a deep breath before looking back at your pack, who all seemed confused.

“That door, over there. Get in there.” You pointed to the door on the left side. You stepped out of the doorway so the rest of them could walk past you. They, however, hesitated. You sighed. “Just trust me here, okay? Please?”

You didn’t want to exploit their trust in you, but there was no other choice right now. You had to get them into that room.

Another thing you had to do was control your scent. Sure, you were wearing scent blockers, but your scent was naturally pretty strong. When your emotions got too high, your scent normally pushed past the blockers. So you had to focus on keeping it suppressed right now even though you were full of fear. They wouldn’t go in first if that was the case. They wouldn’t think you were lying, but they’d want you to be closest to safety if you were feeling fear.

“We’re following you, love.” Simon pulled the ‘love’ card. You weren’t hiding your scent well enough. He only did that when he was trying to keep you calm. They were following you to stay in between you and the danger that lurked upstairs. You needed to do better. Suppress your scent. It gives you a headache to do, but if they don’t walk into the room first, the whole plan would go up in flames.

You couldn’t argue with them walking over now without looking suspicious. So, with a small nod, you turned and walked over to the door. You had to think. Think. Think.

Once closer, you opened the door. It was a heavy one, which you suspected since it was supposedly soundproof. You hoped that was true. There was a small window in the door that slid open and closed from the outside. You stepped around and used your body to keep the door open, still trying to figure out a way to get them to go in without you.

As the door was pressing against your back, you realized you could simply continue to hold the door as they walked in. That was the only way this could work. They just needed to listen to you.

“Go on,” you said, motioning inside with your head. Johnny stepped forward, approaching your side to take the door from you.

“Let me hold it, Bonnie.” You moved away from him slightly, stepping back and moving the door away from him as well. You shook your head.

You saw the confusion on their faces when you did this. There was no exact reason for you to not give Johnny the door. He could hold it just fine. You had to think of something to make them not confused. Something natural. Something that said you were calm and not terrified.

You rolled your eyes.

“I can hold a door, Soap. Let me do one thing, won’t you?” You plastered a playful smile on your face, doing your best to get it to reach your eyes as well. You weren’t feeling playful. No, you were full of terror. Your senses had always been higher than others. Right now you could hear the people upstairs starting to pace. Their patience was running low. They’d be coming downstairs within the next few minutes.

You couldn’t let your pack realize this. They could end up feeling cornered and decide to fight. Someone would get hurt during the fight, and that wasn’t what you needed. You couldn’t let them realize your terror either. If they did, they’d get suspicious. You shouldn’t be feeling such terror if you knew a way out. They’d realize something was off. They’d catch on. They’d never listen. They wouldn’t do what you wanted. They’d go through with John’s plan, or they’d go fight and then one of them would die and then you would lose them and you would’ve failed and then-

“‘Right, ‘right, I get it. Ye’re independent an’ aw that,” Johnny said, hands raised in mock surrender as he smiled at you. It’s playful. You were starting to feel thankful for that one theatre class you decided to take back in school.

You could tell the group felt a bit relieved as well. They were starting to be hesitant about your supposed ‘exit’. They were also worried you’d be panicking and doing this just to stop one of them from going up. But if you’re being playful and you’re able to joke around with them, then it’s fine.

Johnny walked past you and into the room with a smile in your direction. Kyle did the same. John followed behind. Simon went in last, and you seemed to follow.

Once they went in, they realized something was wrong. The room was pretty dark, not able to properly be inspected from outside. But now that they’re in, they realize there are no more rooms attached to this one. This was a dead end.

John was the first one to realize this, but he was too late. He turned around to see you quickly stepping away and letting the door shut with you on the other side. He ran over, only to find that there was no handle on this side of the door.

“Ace! What are you doing?!” He moved over slightly as Simon started to try and open the door. John looked through the little window on the door, trying to get an explanation from you. Simon had no success with the door. Johnny and Kyle were now standing behind them, confused and starting to feel a bit panicked.

You were staring at the door with wide eyes, shaking slightly. You looked back at the exit door to the room you’d just come in from and then back to him. Your breathing picked up slightly as you pulled your bag around your front, pulling out a burner phone.

“What are they doing? What’s gaun on?!” Johnny asked from next to John. He didn’t want to push, but he was trying to angle himself so he could see you through the window as well. He wasn’t able to, making his panic only start to increase. Meanwhile, Simon took a few steps back from the door, starting to pace through the room.

“Ace? C’mon, hun, talk to us, what’s going on?” Kyle asked, standing anxiously behind John. He couldn’t see you. He needed to see you. See what was going on in your head. Why the hell you’ve locked them in here. He needs to know your plan. He wants to trust you, but he needs to see you first. He has to,

“I-... Laswell knows the safe house isn’t safe. She knows where you are. Once the people upstairs leave, then- then our people will show up to let you out. It’s- it’s gonna be fine.” Your voice was shaking. Your terror was full force now that you’d gotten them safe. The next part of your plan wasn’t a part you enjoyed, but it was a part you had to do. You glanced at the exit door of the room again.

“Darlin’, whatever you’re doing, you need to rethink it. You need to let us out. We can’t do anything from here. Let us out. Now,” John said. It started soft, but his tone turned commanding towards the end. He might be your alpha, but he’s also your superior as well, and you weren’t listening.

“Look, this- this isn’t the best scenario, obviously, but it- it’s needed, and- and I know you guys won’t agree with me, but- but-”

“Agree wi’ what?! What are ye tryin’ tae do?!” Johnny asked.

John saw the tears that gathered in your eyes. He was so confused. Normally, he could read you like a book. He could always tell what you were thinking and why you were thinking it. But now he had no clue what was going on in your head. What were you trying to do here?

Simon’s thoughts were racing. There was no way out. You locked them in. Why would you do this? Why would you just lock them in here? Could you possibly be a traitor? Had you been one all this time? Were you about to call whoever was upstairs down here to turn them in? Did you tell them that the group was here?

No. That wasn’t the case. Not only did he refuse to believe that you’d betray them due to his own bias, but there was also your scent that was in the air. When your panic slipped through the scent blockers during missions, it helped him push through the mission just to get you out of the situation. When you two were falling asleep in his bed, your scent helped ground him. It helped keep him calm. Now, your scent was anything but calm. There wasn’t any satisfaction that there would be if you were a traitor. There wasn’t any happiness. You weren’t feeling smug. No, he could smell it, you were feeling terror. Panic. Hesitation.

And yet, underneath all of that, Simon could sense the smallest bit of relief. He was hurt at first, taking it as relief that meant you were a traitor. But with everything else on top, he was mostly confused. He couldn’t understand why you would be feeling-...

When the realization hit him, he froze. He looked to the door where John, Kyle, and Johnny were still trying to get you to explain.

“Just tell us what you’re doin’, please.”

“They’re going to risk sacrificin’ themself.”

The room froze once Simon had muttered the words. Johnny turned back with the same force that he’d looked back at you earlier when you mentioned a way out. That isn’t right. Simon’s wrong. You wouldn’t do that. Simon’s lying. It’s a joke. A cruel, cruel joke that was out of place and he had no right to be saying right now.

Kyle turned around as well, looking at Simon. He needed him to take his words back. Just take it back. Why would he ever suggest that? You- you couldn’t- you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t-

Meanwhile, John stayed facing you. He’d gone quiet the minute Simon spoke. He stared at you, trying to read your face. You stood on the other side of the door, staring back. Your eyes were sad, but your stance was set. You made no move to let them out. And that was all John needed to see to realize that Simon was right. This was your plan all along. You never knew a way out. You hadn’t brought them here with the intention of getting everyone out. You didn’t even have a way to get them all out.

No, you’d brought them here with a different intention. You’d brought them here to save them. To trick them and keep them safe while putting yourself in the line of danger. You were having no thoughts about letting them out now, dead set on your own plan.

It wasn’t right. John had a plan. It would’ve kept you safe. None of them would’ve ever let you be the one to go upstairs. And John knew that you knew that. He knew that you knew if you suggested being the one to surrender yourself the others would have shot you down immediately and brushed you to the side before continuing to argue. You wanted to keep them alive, and this was your way of doing that.

John didn’t approve of your way. Not at all. He would’ve changed the plan. Would’ve gone with Simon’s instead. Anything but this. Anything but you being the one to get hurt. He was desperate to try and get through to you, but just looking at your eyes told him you were set.

“Don’t do this, alright? Don’t,” he tried. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he had to try. His voice was desperate. Quiet. He wanted you to listen. He’d be on his knees right now if you would still be able to see him.

“I’m sorry,” was all you said in response to him.

And those words were what told Johnny and Kyle that Simon was right. You were trying to risk sacrificing yourself here. Kyle couldn’t even talk. Maybe this was a bad dream. He’d had a few like this before, ones where you sacrificed yourself to save them. Maybe it’s just one of those.

Johnny, on the other hand, no longer had the restraint that he had before. He lightly pushed John to the side, who was too busy trying to think of a way to get you to not do this to care.

“Bonnie, ma heart, hen, luvbug, please, dinnae dae this, ‘kay? Open this door. Ye dinnae have tae dae this for us, ye understand? This isnae what needs tae happen, what needs tae happen is ye openin’ this door, aye? Just open the door, let us oot, we can figure it oot! One of us will go up, follow through wi’ his plan, no’ this.”

You shook your head.

“I can’t let any of you do that. You’re all too important.”

“No’ as important as ye! Let us oot! We can dae somethin’! Talk, come up wi’ a different plan, kick their sorry arses, an’ if we get beat then we go down kickin’ an’ screamin’ together! Anything but this. We cannae lose you. We can no’. Open this door, come on, please.”

“Technically, I’m not. You are all more skilled than me. I offer the least amount to the team. I’m the loss that won’t cost as much compared to the rest of you.”

“According tae who?! Nae one who actually matters thinks that way aboot ye, open the door!”

“The people upstairs still think there’s only one person here. They are expecting someone. I’ll keep them thinking it was just someone. None of you have to go up there and get into a fight you might not walk out of.”

“No, no. That’s not what we do. We’re a team. We’re a pack, we stick together. Ye don’t get to just decide this fer aw us! Open the damn door, Ace, please!”

You took a few steps forward towards the door. For a second, they thought Johnny’s pleading had gotten through to you. They nearly felt relieved when you lifted your hand.

But why would things ever go their way? Your hand kept moving up, grabbing the smaller door to the window on the door.

“Luv, no, no please-”

“I love you. All of you. You’ve been better to me than I ever thought any pack would be. I’m eternally thankful for the way you all welcomed me in and everything you all have done-”

“Cut it out. Quit it, you’re not saying goodbye.” John took his place in the window again as Johnny was dealing with the fact that you were shutting them out. He nearly stumbled when John lightly pushed him to the side, mind racing.

John was fuming. How could he not have realized this? How could he not have seen the signs? He should’ve gone over the blueprints with you. Then he never would’ve fallen for you saying that there was a way out. He shouldn’t have brought you on this mission. He should’ve kept you at home. His gut had told him to do that, didn’t it? Or was he imagining that feeling in order to give himself more of the blame? He should’ve realized. You were his omega. You were their omega. How could he not have realized?

“I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry, Johnny. I’m sorry, Kyle. I’m sorry, Simon.” You whispered your apologies one after the other, voice soft. You never said their names on a mission. You were a bit paranoid in that regard, not wanting any enemies to potentially hear and use it to get any information. You saying it meant you had truly made up your mind. There was no swaying you.

John felt helpless. Johnny couldn’t get through to you, and neither could he. How would this even work? If you went up there and died, how would his life be without you in it? How would he function, how would he live? How would he wake up in the morning and not be met with your happy smile when he left his room? How would he get through his day without your random short texts of encouragement? How would he go to sleep without having seen you curled up on the couch, cuddling with Johnny and Kyle? How would he eat breakfast without seeing you dragging Simon along to eat with them?

He shook his head. He wouldn’t have to do any of that. This… This wasn’t happening. None of this was happening. You were all at home, in the pack house. You were in the living room; there was some sports game on the TV that he wasn’t paying attention to. Simon was poking fun at Johnny for his enthusiasm; Johnny was overreacting to it. Kyle was bringing over some snacks. You were leaning back on John, your back against his chest as you smiled watching the other three. He was watching you. Their omega. His omega. Safe. You were safe. You had to be safe.

Simon stepped forward, a bit more aggressive than he meant to be when he pushed John to the side.

“Open this door. You’re not doing this. You’re not allowed; you understand me? I am ordering you to open this bloody door.” You only shook your head. The tears that had been in your eyes were now starting to fall down your face. A growl started to form in Simon’s chest as his fist slammed on the door. “Open it!”

“I love you, Simon. I love all of you.”

“No, no, don’t you fucking dare, I can’t lose y-”

You closed the window.

Johnny moved back over, slamming his hand on the door as he called out for you. Simon let Johnny push him over, currently in a state of shock. You ignored him. You always listened to him. You always listened to him. Why didn’t you listen? Why didn’t you just fucking listen?! Why were you doing this?! You crawled your way into their hearts, into his heart. Their hearts had built new walls around you to keep you inside, and yet now you were breaking those walls down from the inside without warning. How could you?

John was the first to do something. He stepped forward, grabbing Johnny and pulling him away from the door.

“What the fuck, Cap-”

“You need to be quiet. This room seems to be soundproof, but if it isn’t, then they’ll ‘ear you and come down here. They’ll catch Ace.”

“They’re gonna catch them anyway! They could end up gettin’ themselves killed, we need tae stop them!”

“No, no, they-” John shook his head. “They said they might show mercy. When Ace goes up, they’ll buy us time for backup to get here. They’ll get out before they get hurt. They’ll be alright.”

John had to believe it. He had to believe it wasn’t your plan to get yourself killed. The thought of you dying made him feel like vomiting. The thought of you going up there with all those people, not even trying to fight. The thought of your body- no. No, there’d be no ‘your body’, you were going to be fine.

“That was a goodbye. They don’t plan on coming back to us alive.” Kyle said quietly as if he’d just had the realization himself.

“Exactly! We have tae get oot o’ here, stop them, shout at them, drag them oot of here, somethin’! We have tae-”

Simon walked over, grabbed Johnny, and pulled him further away from the door as he put a hand over Johnny’s mouth.

“We can’t. There’s nothin’ we can do.” Johnny struggled for a moment, muffled disagreements leaving him as he tried to get out of Simon’s grip. Simon shook his head. “We can’t do anything except shut up and wait. If we get the attention to come down here, then what they did is for nothing. They might have a chance of bein’ spared, but if the people up there figure out they’re lyin’ and hidin’ us down here, they could get pissed off and just kill them anyway.”

Johnny managed to push Simon away, going back to the door. He wasn’t planning on listening to Simon. Not when you were still alive and he could be trying to do something.

“We could stop them, we just-”

“No, we can’t,” John said, his tone final. It wasn’t a realization he wanted to come to, but he had to. There wasn’t anything they could do.

John motioned for Simon to grab Johnny again. Simon did just that. He grabbed Johnny, pulling him and getting him against the back wall. The beta froze before crumbling to the ground, his head in his hands. He was speechless.

John and Simon stood still, not knowing what to do next. They couldn’t look at one another. They’d failed as alphas. Their betas were suffering. You were in danger, and they hadn’t gotten you out of it. Their omega was going to get hurt and they couldn’t do anything to stop it.

It was quiet for a few moments before Kyle spoke up.

“...maybe they did know a way out and we all just couldn’t go through. Maybe the plan’s to get out and draw the attention away from here. Or maybe they’ll be able to fight their way out. I mean, yeah, sure, they’re outnumbered, but they do well in training. Maybe- maybe they’re quicker than they let on and they’ll take them lot down.”

“They are definitely cleverer than we thought. Underestimated ‘em. They managed to trick us down here without us even fully giving it a second thought,” John said with a sigh.

“No, they didnae trick us. They didnae trick us, they just….. It wasn’t trickin’. They wouldn’t. They…” Johnny was speaking quietly, a big difference from the anger and action he had shown only moments ago. He couldn’t properly grasp this, but he knew he didn’t like the idea of you ‘tricking’ them. That made you sound like a bad person. You were not a bad person.

Kyle walked over, sitting down next to Johnny, feeling a need to try and comfort the other beta. He put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, nodding.

“This… This is just a confusing situation. They’re gonna be fine. They’ll find a way ou-”

Kyle was interrupted by the muffled sounds of gunshots echoing through the house. It went on for about five seconds before they stopped.

The group went silent. They stayed silent for another five minutes, waiting for something. Anything. More gunshots. The sound of you fighting. Maybe it stopped because you had managed to get away. Or maybe you managed to handle the people firing at you and the gunfire would start up again with you handling more of them. Or maybe there’d be more fighting and that would be the rescue team who would have a medevac to get you out. Treat whatever wounds you received. Maybe the door would open. Maybe it’d be you, coming to let them out. You changed your mind, the gunshots upstairs were actually the group of fifteen fighting amongst each other, you were coming back to them.

However, nothing came. No pounds of fighting. No gunshots. No door opening. Instead, there were just quiet footsteps above their heads. Footsteps that walked out of the house and never came back.

It was about 30 minutes before the door opened. It wasn’t you.

As they exited the basement, they saw there were discarded guns on the floor. Bullet casings on the ground. Holes in the basement door and the walls around it. Blood on the floor.

The blood pooled right in front of the basement door. It trailed out the front door like a body had been dragged. The trail went outside, the blood mixing with dirt and grass. It stopped and gathered at a spot in the driveway as if someone had dropped a body there before throwing it into a car.

If that blood all belonged to the same person, there’s no way that they lived.

There was a lot the group noticed. The blood, the guns, the bullet casings, the holes in the wall and the basement door.

The main thing they noticed was the one thing that wasn’t there.

You.

You were gone. They had lost you.

They failed.

It’d been a year. One whole year.

The first three months were the worst. They’d given a bunch of lies to the psychological evaluator, claiming they were fine to work. It was a lie, and everyone knew it, but taking one of the best task forces out of the playing field wasn’t a good idea, even if it was temporary. They were silent on base. They didn’t talk to anyone unless it was during training or mission related. They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t spend time in the pack building unless it was to sleep. They were silent on missions. There were no playful jokes, no joking jabs. Nothing. Dead silence aside from orders. The base watched the closest group of people there become the most distant from each other.

It was worse behind closed doors. In their pack building, tensions were high. The air was thick with the smell of anger and hurt. When they had to be in a room alone together, it was terrible. They’d screamed and shouted at each other when it was just them, pushing the blame back and forth. It wasn’t until Laswell caught one of these screaming matches that she was able to get the team into therapy. She’d talked to John, told him that it was for the better of the pack. At first, she was understanding of the refusal. However, when she asked the third time and was met with nothing, she knew she had to take a different approach. When John tried disagreeing, she told him that the pack had no choice. Either they went through with the therapy or else they’d be put on an indefinite leave. It’d been two months since your death when they all had their first meetings.

It was one month of therapy before pack counseling had started. All of them were against it at first, not wanting to see each other. However, each of their therapists managed to convince them eventually. When the group first got together, it was silent. The only person talking during the session was the therapist. This went on for the next few weekly sessions. That was until the therapist managed to push a button.

“You all blame each other… isn’t the omega the one at fault?” It had been chaos. The screaming and shouting went on for about ten minutes. It turned into them screaming at the idea of any of them being blamed for what happened. Then, the group realized that the therapist hadn’t reacted at all.

“You’re still a pack. You think your omega dying has torn you apart, but the way you all just jumped to defend them? To defend each other? You’re still close, you still want each other. You just need to let yourselves want that. You think there’s no way to recover, but this has the opportunity to bring you all closer together than you were before. You just have to let it.”

The sessions changed after that one. It was still quiet in the beginning, but they ended up willing to talk to each other. Then they ended up wanting to talk to each other. They started spending time together outside of sessions, started doing more things in the pack house. About half a year after losing you, they found themselves sitting on the couch together again. Cuddling. Holding each other. Helping each other.

They got their act together. They had to. You never would’ve wanted them to tear themselves apart. You’d given yourself up for a reason. For them. If they were to throw that away, they’d be betraying you. They couldn’t do that. Not after what you did for them. Not after the sacrifice you had done for them. You’d given your life to keep them together, and they didn’t plan to let anything come in the way between them again. Your memory kept the pack strong.

Missions had gone back to what they once were. They were similar to how things were before you had joined, but never the same. They all felt more protective over one another. The idea of losing another member of the pack kept them on their feet. Some thought it’d be their downfall, that it would distract them. It was the opposite. It encouraged them to work even harder to return home. If they died, your sacrifice would be for nothing.

Their next mission had come across John’s desk a few days ago. It was one where they’d be working with someone not on the task force, something they had only done one or two times since losing you. The only information on the person was their abilities and skills. John tried to find more on the person, but there was nothing. When he asked Laswell, she had told him it was all classified information. They wouldn’t know anything up until the mission briefing the day of. So, when the group walked into the meeting room, it was safe to say their curiosity was piqued by the lone figure against the wall.

The figure wasn’t looking at them. They weren’t looking at anyone. They had a hood up and their face down, making it impossible for them to make out their features. Along with that, they had no scent. It wasn’t that their scent was just bland, it was that it wasn’t there. Even when they’d met the rare person who didn’t have a designation, that person still had a scent. It was normally something bland and basic, but it was still there. However, this figure had absolutely nothing.

There wasn’t much time to ask questions before the briefing started. The four of them listened, but ever since seeing the figure they had a strange feeling in their stomach. A feeling they couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t bad, but it didn’t feel bad either.

“I’m glad all of you could make it. We’ve got some very important intel on the line here, so I need everyone to listen very, very carefully.”

The Colonel giving the briefing was British, but it wasn’t someone who John had met before. Laswell knew him, and when he was asking Laswell for assistance with a mission, Laswell had offered the 141. The Colonel had the scent of an alpha. He looked to be much older than John, maybe in his mid-50s.

“There’s an organization that is attempting to weaken the military to open up the space for a larger attack over the past five years. They’ve been attacking officers in their homes away from base, attacking actual bases, and stealing intel. We don’t know why they are doing it, but we plan to find out. There’s a safe house we’ve been watching for a while now. The organization has been using it lately as a stop between transporting illegal weapons. We’ve seen a few of their higher ups go through here. Hawk-” The Colonel motioned to the figure. “-has figured out the next time one of these higher-ups, Christopher Stone, is going to be passing through. It’s going to be today at 2200. Grabbing this higher up is the best chance we have at getting the information we need to finally bring these people down.”

“So we’re going in and nabbing a guy?”

John looked over to the other side of the table. He recognized the soldiers on that side. He’d seen them around base. They were from one of the better platoons on base. The man who had spoken up was the sergeant. John could smell the alpha all over him. It was as if the man was purposefully pushing his scent out into the world, trying to establish dominance. His lieutenant sat next to him, right across from John. The sergeant was sitting across from Simon and there were two other soldiers sitting across from Kyle and Johnny. All of them seemed to be alphas. They weren’t a pack, but John knew they worked well together. Not as well as his team, of course, but well.

“You’re not doing that. Lieutenant Evans, you, Sergeant Brown, Corporal Davies, and Corporal Walker will be leaving here at 1800. You will be sat in different lookout spots around the base. They have a routine they do every time one of the higher-ups is passing through. They clean things up, set up more lookouts, get more people on the roof of the building with weapons. You will be looking for these things to happen. If they aren’t happening by 2000, then the mission will be aborted. If they are, however, then you need to let us know. Once we have confirmation that it’s happening, Task Force 141 will head over with Hawk.”

“Understood, Colonel.” Lieutenant Evans said with a nod. Sergeant Brown didn’t seem all too happy about his task, but he stayed quiet.

“How are we goin’ about this once we head o’er?” Johnny asked. The Colonel nodded towards Hawk.

“They developed a plan to get you all in and out without needing to fire a bullet.” The group looked over to where Hawk was still leaning against the wall. Their position hadn’t changed, but they did seem a bit more tense than before. Their head was moved slightly further down, something that Simon may not have even realized if he hadn’t been paying such close attention to them in the first place. It was when Johnny spoke that they changed so slightly. They’d been a still figure the entire time, up until Johnny said something.

“Without a single bullet? How many people are going to be in this safe house?” John asked, skeptical of this plan.

“Fifteen to twenty people. But Hawk is smart. The plan is for you all to drive about a mile away from the house. Then, three of you will get out, along with Hawk. One of you will set up a lookout spot about halfway to the house while the other two keep moving forward with Hawk. Once there, Hawk will move forward while the two of you will stay in the trees. Hawk’s going to go through an unlocked window. Hawk broke the window lock last time they snuck in. Hawk will sneak through the house to unlock the cellar door. They’ll give you a signal over the radio and you two will get to the cellar door without drawing attention. From there, Hawk will lead you through the house. Hawk will take the lead. They can get rid of any threats you come across without raising any alarms. Not only that, but they know the safe house better than any of us. They know where to hide the bodies so you won’t get caught."

"At 2300, Stone will be sleeping. Hawk will sneak into the room while you two will take guard outside the door. They’ll knock him out. One of you will need to carry Stone while the other watches their back. Hawk will be focused on moving forward and creating a clear path for you to carry him back out through the basement and through the cellar door. Once out, you will alert those who stayed behind. You will meet halfway between the house and where the lookout is set up and then you will get in the car and drive. By this point, it is expected for someone in the safe house to realize Stone is missing or to find the bodies. You all need to be in the car and driving away, no delays. Do you understand?”

“We understand, Colonel,” John responded.

“I asked for the 141 because Laswell speaks very highly of you. This is an incredibly important mission. It can not go wrong.”

It was a surprise to everyone in the 141 when a familiar alpha scent of a warm fire entered the room.

“And I told you, it won’t.” Through the door walked Laswell. She walked around the table to stand next to the Colonel as she spoke. “The 141 has had a near 100% success rate on all missions they’ve been on.”

“I’m allowed to be cautious, Kate Laswell.”

“And I’m allowed to tell you you’re being overdramatic, Oliver Green.”

The Colonel sighed, shaking his head slightly, but there was an underlying small smile on his face.

“I told you I could handle this briefing. You didn’t have to fly out.” Colonel Green stood up, shaking Laswell’s hand as she took her spot next to him.

“You know you’re going to need my help with this. It’s complicated.”

“You’re the one who suggested-”

“I know, I know. Just let me do the talking here, alright?” Laswell turned away from Colonel Green, looking to Evans, Brown, Davies, and Walker. “You four are dismissed. Take the files in front of you with you. They have everything you need to know for when you leave in four hours.” The other four stood up with a nod, saying words of acknowledgment before doing as told and leaving the room. Laswell looked back to the 141. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

John gave a smile.

“‘Bout six months, I think.” He said as he stood up and leaned over the table, shaking Laswell’s hand. Laswell shook it, but she remained standing when John sat back down. There was an open chair next to Colonel Green, but they’d both been standing since Laswell walked in. Why hadn’t they sat down?

“Six months too long. I meant to make it out here for your last mission but got held up at home. My omega seemed to be going into heat, had to stay back to make sure they were alright.”

Kyle nodded.

“We understand, no big deal. Your omega comes first, yeah?” Laswell smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Ah take it they’re doing better? It’s aw good?” Johnny asked. Laswell’s smile widened.

“Definitely. It’d been a false heat that got triggered by pregnancy.” The group’s eyes widened. John returned Laswell’s smile.

“That’s amazing, we’re happy for you.” Laswell nodded.

“Thank you, again. We’re very excited.”

Simon spoke up next, and it changed the mood in the room.

“Why’s this mission so important that you left your omega to come here?” Simon asked.

No alpha would leave their omega in another country without a reason. Laswell only did it a few times during the year to come over and check up on the task force, something she didn’t technically have to do. For Laswell to have left her pregnant omega, something big had to be going on. Something huge.

When Simon asked his question, the rest of the room seemed to realize this as well. Well, the rest of his pack. Laswell already knew this, obviously, and it seemed like Colonel Green did as well. Hawk stayed against the wall with no reaction.

John sat up in his chair slightly along with Johnny and Kyle. he narrowed his eyes at Laswell, suspicion setting over him.

“Ghost makes a good point. Everything alright, Kate?” He asked, glancing between Colonel Green and Laswell as the two exchanged a glance.

Laswell sighed. She looked back at Hawk and then back to Price.

“This is about to get really weird. You and your team might be very upset. Enraged. I need you all to try your best to stay calm.”

John looked at Hawk who was becoming stiffer. He glanced at the rest of his pack, meeting their eyes and seeing the same confusion reflected. He slowly looked back at Laswell.

“...what’s going on?” He asked. He was hesitant. He looked at Hawk once more, who’d turned their head away from the group entirely.

Colonel Green and Laswell exchanged another look before he sighed, looking back at Hawk.

“Come on, kid.” Hawk did not move. “Hawk.” Once again, no movement. Colonel Green turned fully. “We discussed this already. You can’t get through this mission without your partners knowing and seeing your face. Come on.”

The pack watched as Hawk stayed completely still. Despite the Colonel’s tone of instruction, Hawk didn’t move. They didn’t even begin to move. Colonel Green sighed, looking to Laswell.

Laswell nodded, patting Colonel Green on the shoulder before walking over to Hawk. She stopped a few feet away.

“Come on. We’ve been getting ready for this. You have to let them see.” Laswell’s voice was soft. The only time John heard that tone of voice was when Laswell was first suggesting therapy for the pack. It was meant to reassure, to convey empathy. To convince.

Johnny went to say something. This person didn’t need to show them their face. Sure, it’d make things a bit weird, but Simon hid his face during missions all the time. And Simon had his reason, so this person probably has them too. Before he could say this, however, Laswell shot him a look, shaking her head. Johnny stopped and no one else said anything, beyond confused.

“At least the hood, alright? You can keep the mask, but the hood has got to come off.”

Hawk was still for a moment before their shoulders slowly dropped with a quiet sigh. Laswell nodded, taking a few steps to the side so they weren’t blocking the 141’s view of Hawk.

Hawk’s head lifted. Through the shadow of the hood, they could see that Hawk was wearing black a surgical mask. Their eyes were shut before they took a shaky breath, lifting their hands and pulling their hood back as they fully lifted their face, letting the light hit them and revealing themself to the group.

Half of their face is covered. There aren't many notable features that can be made out through the mask. The one thing that can be made out, however, is their eyes. Those same eyes that all four members of the 141 saw in their dreams. Those same eyes that all four members of the 141 saw in their nightmares. The same eyes that they had last seen filled with tears, pleading for forgiveness and understanding. The same eyes that had once looked at them with such adoration and joy, now filled with a deep darkness and sorrow that the boys felt sinking into their very skin.

The quiet sits for a moment before it’s broken by a quiet whisper of your name.

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okiedokrie · 1 year ago

Text

High Infidelity

Summary: There are many different ways that you could kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough. So what happens when you find someone who was all too willing to give you thee attention you craved, you said you'd only dip your toes into the idea, and yet, you find yourself already drowning. The novel you've been writing has been in progress for the better half of two years now, your writer's block beating you up, and your husband hasn't shown you any sympathy. Maybe a visit to the art exhibit from this new artist would jog your creativity, but what happens when this new artist offers you more than just relief from your writer's block?

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, afab!reader, wears dresses, lmk if i miss something!! (Smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: banner and dividers by @daemour!! tysm!! This is also a rewrite/reupload of my own fic, "High Infidelity" on @pyeonghongrie, yes I reskinned my own fic.

A/N 2: Thanks to @nebulousbrainsoup, @kwanisms, @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, and @gongiz for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: tipsy sex (not drunk), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple stimulation, masturbation, lmk if i missed anything!

The rain soaked into your skin—cold and icy—piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

"I'm right here, honey, I love you." He whispers into your skin, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, one button at a time. He kisses your skin every time new skin is revealed to both of you, he kisses your skin so delicately as if you'd break at the slightest touch-

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said, "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your husband returns to work as if he didn't just cause you a serious inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides toward your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes are left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? He has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making you more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following. He's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you put bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was the correct move.

Xu Minghao is a passionate man, you can see his dedication to his craft in all the pieces in this gallery. He was a mixed media artist, sometimes his work was pops of color on a canvas, others were sculptures made of clay, made with the most delicate of hands, and others were more niche, like the stained glass piece in another part of the gallery.

One thing about Minghao's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece, simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you need.

You take in this sculpture, the light of the gallery display emphasizing the delicate attention to detail this piece had, you know the man who made this takes pride in this, his work, skills, and dedication finally being realized.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

You feel a presence beside you, a man around 5'11", slightly muscular build, in a turtleneck with glasses sitting delicately on his nose. He has a peculiar hairstyle, a mullet to be exact, and the most gorgeous face you've ever laid your eyes on.

"I see you like this piece in particular," He started, hands in his trouser pockets while smiling fondly at the piece, "'Passion' was a difficult piece for me to finish, ironically enough, I got bored of it quite easily." He continues, turning to face you.

"I'm Minghao, by the way, Xu Minghao. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Minghao. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection, to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

"Oh my, what an honor! I'm glad you also enjoy my work." You receive the compliment gracefully, "Although, I do want to hear more about why you got bored of this piece in particular, such a wonder to the arts community, surely you aren't downplaying your work?"

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you’ve never looked at a man like this in your life. You were down bad for his smile.

"I'm not saying I think it's bad, I just got bored of the creative process." He explains, "Although I do want to continue adding to this collection, perhaps we can go and get drinks together? Exchange ideas?" he offers.

You ponder on this for a bit. Going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

The mug in your hands warmed your palms, and your focus was fixated on the man in front of you. He talked about another piece of his, titled “Longing”; it was heavily inspired by his desire to find someone who shares the same passion as him, the longing to hold someone in a way that nobody else could, intimacy in its purest form.

“It sounds a bit pathetic, I’m known for my work in the art of passion and, to put it simply, sex; but I haven’t been able to find the company of a lover myself. Perhaps that’s just the consequence of being a hopeless romantic. Then again, you wouldn’t know the feeling of being lonely, I assume.” He said calmly, a small chuckle ending his tangent.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” You look into the mug in your hands, your reflection swirling in the tea. Your face looks back at you, eyes sunken in and sad, “To put it nicely… my husband robs me of solitude, but fails to offer me company.” You shouldn’t be talking about Haru like this. Your husband works many hours, tirelessly providing you with the house and connections for you to pursue a career in writing. But that wasn’t the reason why your anxiety was swirling in your stomach.

Looking back up at Minghao, the same dark expression sits on his face, a minuscule smirk, barely there even if you squint, “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we? I could keep you company.”

That. That was a quality of his that you noticed fairly early on. You can never read his true intentions, suggestive prose with just enough deniability to gracefully reject him without the conversation becoming inappropriate.

But your anxiety wasn’t caused by that, no, it was caused by the fact that you didn’t want to reject him.

“I’d like that, Maybe we could head to a bar and get drinks there too? My husband won’t be back for a few months because of a business trip in a few weeks. I could use the company.” You say, looking at him through your lashes; he knows his effect on you, and the mental gymnastics that both of you play over the table was just appropriate enough that to anyone listening, it’s just two friends agreeing to get drinks sometime in the future.

But to both of you, well, only the two of you know what’ll happen once the sun goes down.

“Of course, my schedule is free for the rest of the month. Be sure to think of me if you need company.” He offers you a soft smile, directly contrasting how intensely he’s making eye contact with you. The way he’s looking into your eyes makes you feel vulnerable like he’s directly using them as windows into your head. You’re half-convinced he could read your mind, if he could, he’s a master at hiding it.

You haven’t learned much about him, but from what you do know, you can never take his words at surface level, much less his actions. The way he’s leaning over the table, elbows on the surface, and his shoulders relaxed. His closing the distance, even if just by a hair, and the way his posture suggested the epitome of familiarity, shook you to your core.

His presence is almost suffocating, his dominance over your mind silencing whatever protest his suggestions may have created. You nod dumbly, “Of course, be warned though, I think of you a lot.” This causes his smile to relax into a smirk, the kind that could pass off as a smile if you don’t think too hard about it.

“I’m glad to hear that. I think about you a lot too.” He says picking up his cup of tea, “So much that a collection was born from the thought of you.” He takes a sip from the cup in his hands, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup, the way he holds eye contact with you always makes goosebumps litter your skin, the cup hiding the growing smirk on his face, silently enjoying his effect on you.

“Ah, speaking of the collection,” He started again, after setting the cup down, “Would you do me the honor of visiting my studio sometime? I’ll text you the address right now, you can come by at any time if you’re interested.” Taking his phone out from his pocket, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket, you pick it up. The small device, usually light, feels like a heavy weight on your palm.

Opening your messages, you see that Minghao already sent the address, a building about 20 minutes from the cafe you’re in right now. “Lovely, could I trouble you to pick me up when I decide to visit?” You ask,

“Of course,” He replies, a gentle smile stretches across his face, “I’d love nothing more than to see you more often.”

The first time you entered Minghao’s studio, it felt like a dream. The studio wasn’t small by any means, the place was neat, neater than what you imagined any artist studio would look like. “Make yourself at home, I’ll brew some tea for us,” Minghao said as he took both your coats. Hanging the heavy fabrics on his coat rack, he gently guides you to the couches with a hand on your back, the light touch helping to ground you in this new environment.

He shoots you a quick smile before turning his back to you, setting his electric kettle to boil the water at the perfect temperature for tea. He rummages through his extensive tea set collection, settling on a simple white ceramic set with wooden handles. His eyes meet yours briefly, taking note of how you watch his every movement with care and curiosity, the way you were fascinated with the way his hand veins jumped every time he set a piece of the tea set down.

The kettle finishes boiling, he finally sets it down next to the tea set. “I want to introduce you to this teacake that my friend from home sent me,” He pulls out a teacake about the size of his head from the drawer under the table, wrapped in a slightly stained paper. He carefully unwraps it to show you the rich brown of the aged tea leaves, “This is a 15-year-old aged pu’er, I haven’t had the chance to try it yet, so I’d like to try this with you.”

“What an honor, I read from a recent interview that you were waiting for a good day to taste that right?” You ask, trying to gauge his reaction, if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it,

“Of course, making a new friend is a special occasion, isn’t it? I’d consider that a good day.” He replies cooly, taking a tea knife and carving out a piece of tea to steep for a second, you watch as he delicately handles the porcelain set, the control in his movements reminding you of his mastery in sculpting, “You know, making tea is much like cultivating a new relationship,” he starts as he stands up to take the kettle off the stand.

“You carefully carve out your leaves, boil your water to the perfect temperature to bloom them, and steep the leaves a few seconds at a time.” You see him pour the water over the tea leaves, dried blades blooming like flowers under the delicate stream. “Each steep of tea is different, starting from the bloom until the flavor develops; and only then will you appreciate the true complexities of what tea has to offer.”

A small smile grows on your face as you watch him pour the first bloom onto his tea pets, “If my assessment is correct, you’re trying to correlate the developing flavors of tea with how our relationship is progressing?” He nods, confirming your hypothesis, “Then, I’ll ask you a question, which steep are we on?” you say with a cheeky smile.

Minhao grins at this, eyes almost disappearing with how wide his smile was, “Literally? The second steep.” He says as he pours more water over the leaves, you let out a chuckle at his little joke, “Figuratively? The fifth.”

You tilt your head a bit, “The fifth? I didn’t realize we were already at that stage.” you say as you accept his offer of a teacup.

He chuckles, “Well, I don’t just share my most expensive teas with anyone, so I might as well share it with one of the most brilliant minds I know.” he said while bringing the cup to his lips, sipping the drink carefully while making eye contact with you over the rim, winking playfully.

You raise your cup as well, the rising steam not being the only reason for your flushed face, you grin against the rim of your cup, savoring the rich and deep aroma of the high-quality tea.

After a while of banter and small talk, you finish your tea, setting down your cup gently on his expensive-feeling coffee table, he stands from his seat, “Could I show you something?” he said, holding his hand out to you. You place your palm on his, the warmth from his hand seeping into your skin. The touch was negligible, simple, even, but the contact with his skin sent electricity through you, like a violent jolt of excitement.

Minghao notices this and smirks, feeling pride swell up in his chest as he pulls you up from the couch, leading you to the other side of the room with a hand on the small of your back. He finally stops in front of a large canvas, laid across what looks like a bare-bones bed frame. You turn to him, curiosity growing on the expression of your face.

“What’s this? This looks fairly new, the paint on the frame still seems wet.” You ask, eyes raking over the splotches of color seemingly placed without much thought or care, it looked like the aftermath of a messy and angry paint spill.

“It is new,” Minghao starts, “I’m trying a new technique where I release frustrations by getting whatever paint catches my eye and throwing cups of it without much thought.” He shrugs, nothing particularly of note, but you do notice the amount of emotion that is in the piece.

“It’s not an elegant piece, but for a collection centered around passion I find it missing raw emotion.” He runs his hand through his face, frustration taking over his features, something you noticed early on was his emotions were closely tied to whatever art was around him, it seems as though the frustration in this one was affecting him at this moment.

“Yes, the human form and sex are great subjects, but pure, raw emotion is hard to capture.” He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing. “So, that’s why I invited you here. Tell me, as someone who’s written longing, despair, and everything in between. How does this make you feel?”

You pause and take in his words, turning back to the canvas and trying to soak in the colors, the shapes, and the emotion behind this piece. Yes, frustration is here. Yes, anger is here. But how does it make you feel?

“It makes me feel like I’m missing out on something.” You say simply, your stomach sinking just thinking about what that might entail. Minghao has a genuine look of shock for the first time since you’ve met him. His head tilted to give his attention to you fully.

“Really? Interesting. That’s the first time I heard that about this piece specifically.” He said with a lopsided grin, seemingly getting a new stroke of genius with your answer. He looks back at the canvas too, shoulders shaking from his restricted laughs. Your answer seemed to entertain him a lot. That much you can figure out, but you can never be sure what goes on in the mind of Xu Minghao.

Just then, your phone starts to ring, you only know one person who would call you at this hour—your Husband. You watch as the expression on Minghao’s face falls, face contorting into something short of a scowl for a split second before settling on his usual cool neutral expression. It was so quick that you barely missed the change, it happened so quickly that you decided it was all in your imagination as you ran to answer the phone.

You pick up the phone, “Hi honey-” You were cut off by your husband speaking,

“Get home, it’s getting late and you haven’t started dinner yet.” He said simply, before promptly dropping the call.

You stand there, the line going dead as you try to hold back tears. You take a deep breath, too afraid to show your face to Minghao in case tears were about to fall from your face. Grabbing your coat, you turn to face the door.

“Thank you for inviting me over, I have to get home now,” you said, your voice a little shaky, as you roughly opened the door.

You were out of his sight as Minghao stood alone in his studio, pondering. As silence took over the space, a dark smirk on his face.

'How long before you break?' he wonders.

The next time you and Minghao meet, you’re sitting on a park bench watching the autumn leaves dance to the silent song in the wind. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear leaves crunch beside you, seeing the tail of Minghao’s long coat swaying in the wind.

He sees you, a smile spreading across his face, his long hair almost covering his face. His fast-paced walking makes the leaves crunch under his weight rhythmically. You think that he looks beautiful under the soft brightness of the autumn morning, only ever seeing him in the harsh rays of high noon or the constant humming of fluorescent lights.

You feel the heat radiating off his body through your and his coats as he sits next to you on the park bench. “Beautiful morning, the view is exquisite.” He says, looking directly at you. You giggle at this, he’s always been such a charmer ever since you met him. You peel the notebook from your lap, “I’m no artist, but the park is too gorgeous this time of year to not at least try to capture on paper.” you say as you open it to show him a relatively crude sketch of the scenery.

“Oh? This feels like a threat to my career.” He says with a chuckle, “But, genuinely, this is an amazing sketch. Are you sure you aren’t an artist?” You think you could get used to how relaxed you were around Minghao, conversations with him flowed so easily, it reminds you of the times your husband used to be invested in you as a person. Perhaps it was easier to compare the thrill of meeting a new person with feeling the start of a romantic spark, it was a dangerous game to play with him.

“No, I’m not, but I can appreciate a masterpiece when I see one.” You say, this time looking at him. He notices this and laughs at the fact that his joke is being used against him. He closes the notebook, handing it to you to put in your tote bag.

“The weather is perfect for a walk, care to join me?” He said, offering his hand for you to take. You accept the offer, the warmth of his palm being something to ground you on such a dreamy morning. Leaves crunch under both your weights in synch, your hand moves from his to hold onto his arm, and you try not to notice the lean muscle of it or the steady and secure way he guides you through the path.

You breathe in the autumn chill, enjoying the comfortable silence that followed the quiet whistle of the wind. “Your book,” Minghao said, his silky voice cutting through the silence effortlessly, “The one that inspired the collection, I’ve been following your publisher’s updates on the series, and I was wondering if you'd be able to share your progress on the second book?”

“Ah, about that.” You grimace, and you shake your head, quelling the urge to complain about your husband’s lack of sympathy for your predicament. “Maybe I’ll tell you another time, it’s not something I can talk about at the moment.”

He hums, luckily, Minghao was never the type to pry, “I get it, ever the tortured poet you are.” he said in a joking tone, you let out a chortle at this, agreeing that you may or may not be one.

Both of you are stopped by a flower vendor, “You both are a lovely pair,” The old man starts, as he turns to Minghao, he asks, “Could I interest you in some flowers? I’m sure your lady would appreciate them.” He smiles.

Before you can correct the old man, Minghao speaks up, “Of course, could I take three of these?” He said, pointing at the basket of Jonquils.

“Of course, you’re in luck too, these are the last off-season flowers I had in my greenhouse.” the old man said as his nimble fingers wrapped the flowers in some yellow tissue paper.

“I'm really lucky indeed.” He agreed while looking at you, your cheeks warming up at the implication. Minghao accepts the flowers and happily pays for them, gracefully handing the bundle to you.

Holding onto the stems, your fingertips graze over the delicate petals of the bright yellow flowers. “Thank you Minghao, they're beautiful.”

He smiles at the way you look at the flowers fondly, simply adoring the way your face lit up; literally, the yellow from the flowers reflected off your face and gave it a yellow hue.

“Shall we continue to walk?” He asks, offering his arm for you to hold again, you hold onto it, the flowers in your other hand. And you let the silence take over again.

Before you knew it, you've spent the entire day laughing and talking with Minghao, only stopping at several vendors for food and other trinkets, feeding the ducks berries, and watching the fish in the pond.

But the day has to end at some point.

You regretfully leave Minghao at the train station, waving goodbye through the glass of the train doors as you watch his figure get smaller and smaller.

Arriving home, you try to find a vase to put your flowers in, setting it down on the kitchen counter, your husband walks in and sees them.

“They're ugly, don't put them anywhere where I could see them.”

He said coldly, you try your best not to scoff at him, still searching for a vacant vase.

Finally finding one, you decide to place the flower vase on the windowsill of your office, the bright flowers contrasting everything else in the room, the dark and neutral furniture your husband got for you.

You jolt, realizing you're comparing your husband to another man.

You expected guilt to eat you up at the realization, but really, you couldn't find a reason to keep defending Haru.

“Could you come over to the studio later tonight? I don't think I should be alone.”

This text from Minghao worried you a bit, you've been spending a lot of time with him recently, you met him 6 more times after he got you flowers at the park, and you never noticed that he could deal with something so sinister.

Of course, you agree to come, your closest confidant in your adult life needs you right now. You wait for your husband to fall asleep in his office, again, before you leave the house, walking to the end of the block before calling a cab.

Arriving at his studio, you already knew the code, punching in the numbers 150526 on the smart lock, the studio opens with a click.

You take cautious steps into the studio, seeing the silhouette of a man on the couch, his back towards the door, nursing what you assume is a wine glass in his hand.

He turns his head to face the door, “You came.” He said, with relief in his voice, a little slurred from the alcohol you assume.

“You called.” You replied. Shrugging off your coat to hang, you join him on the couch. He looked a lot more disheveled compared to the usual clean and put-together Minghao that you know.

His hair is slicked back, some pieces of hair falling onto his face, his tie loosened, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And glasses resting lowly on his nose.

You look at his face, and you notice dark circles around his eyes.

“Drink, and stay with me. Please.” He asks, no, almost begs you. You don't have the heart to decline. He pours you your glass and you both toast your glasses together.

You take the normal sip and he downs the rest of his, taking in a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Y/N, there's something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach drops at this, anxiety filling the pit of it as you nervously wait for the rest of what he has to say.

“I think I'm in love with-” he pauses, “someone I shouldn't be in love with.” He finishes, leaning forward to pour himself another glass of wine.

Your face falls only slightly, a minuscule change in expression that neither you nor Minghao catch. You cross your hands over your lap as soon as you realize your silence.

“Why can't you be in love with them?” You ask. Your head tilts as you take another sip of your wine. He hums, a smile graces his lips, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes.

“They refuse to be vulnerable with me, opening up throughout our time together then closing back in the next time I see them.” He says with some fondness, “Also, they're married to someone else.”

“You probably should've led with that.” You mumble lowly, “I see, I know that all too well, wanting someone you can't have, someone so close yet so far. It's suffocating, especially when you haven't felt like yourself in so long, and then this person comes around and gives color back to your sad, gray, life. It's cruel, actually.”

You realize you've been rambling, turning to meet Minghao's eyes, you notice an emotion swirling behind them, something bittersweet, a realization that may change the course of your relationship.

“Anyway, how did you end up falling for them in the first place?” You ask in an attempt to bring the conversation back to him,

“Well, at first it was just a cure for boredom, I saw how receptive they were to my advances and I thought their marriage served as a fun, harmless challenge for me. But I got to know them, spend time with them, I got to witness the color come back into their face and I couldn't help but find it beautiful. That fact that I did that, bring color back into their face, slowly becoming someone again. The moment I saw their face light up with a simple gift I knew I was down, down bad.”

You hum, thinking the person Minghao was talking about is one of the luckiest people in the world right now. To be loved by him was like witnessing Orpheus’ choiceless grief that drove him to save his lover from the underworld, it was like feeling the devotee's dread-filled need to turn around, it was like experiencing the immediate forgiveness of Eurydice.

You wanted to be loved by him.

You both continue to chat and drink, and it isn't long before the two of you finish your second bottle of wine, Minghao offers to pay for your cab home, and he decides he's going to sleep in his studio.

You reflect on the events of that night as you slip into the cold covers of your marital bed, your husband’s side tidy as it was for the past month.

You run your hand over the pristine and cold sheet, imagining someone else filling its space on your bed, as he does your heart.

Minghao added a new piece to his collection, his gallery is still a work in progress and you walk through familiar doors. The very same statue you were entranced by still sits by the entrance, and you see a very familiar figure standing in front of it.

“I feel like this already happened before.” You said cheekily, he snorts at this, handing you a paper bag with tissue paper peeking from the top.

“Maybe this happened before in a dream, maybe we were destined to meet under the judgemental fluorescent lights.” He jokes as you feel the weight of the bag on your fingers.

“What's in the bag, Hao?” You ask cautiously, mischief flashing on his face before he fully turns his body to you, giving you his full attention.

“It's something you might like, maybe.” He said, his confidence faltering toward the end of his sentence. Tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he eagerly waits for you to open the semi-heavy bag.

You carefully move the paper to the side of the bag, seeing white porcelain peaking back at you, you whip your head with with your face showing an expression of surprise. Minghao smiles, enjoying your reaction to his gift.

“You got me a tea set? That's so thoughtful, thank you.” You say with a smile, inspecting the frog patterns in the glaze.

“You mentioned your husband is leaving for a business trip soon, so I figured you'd like a set so we can have tea at your place. I'll even bring you a teacake to keep.” He said as he pulled a hand out of his trousers, fixing a stray hair that fell from your up-do.

“It's perfect, thank you.” You said, looking up at him, a smile still on your face.

“Do you want to walk around the gallery with me? I added a few pieces since then, and I'd like to talk about them.” he said, offering his arm. You wrap another hand around him, the familiarity of his arm under your palm giving you a sense of calm.

You spent the rest of the day walking around the gallery and chatting, other gallery-goers openly gawked at Minghao. It was obvious, really, the artist is here in the flesh, and he's gorgeous.

Minghao stopped to entertain other guests too, seeing him in his element made pride swell in your chest. His work, and by extension him, is finally being recognized by more people in the community. His hard work and dedication paid off handsomely.

Stopping in front of a mural, you noticed it was a replica of a really old painting. A painting of Ares and Aphrodite getting caught by Hephestus.

“Oof, poor bastards.” You joke, Minghao found this funny too, chuckling with you.

“It’s almost comical how this painting compelled me. I don't know what drove me to recreate the thing as a whole mural, but we both know I'm a little crazy.” He says with a playful groan, you try to hold back a loud laugh by giggling into your palm.

“Well, dear Xu Minghao, everyone knows crazy people are geniuses.” squeezing his arm, you check out the side of his face. His side profile was so sharp and soft at the same time, the dichotomy of his features was an easy subject to study. He's a gorgeous man, too gorgeous for his own good you think.

You both sat down on the bench in front of the mural to chat, and before you knew it, enough time has passed that the gallery was about to close.

Minghao calls a cab for you, and you arrive home in-tact, but not safe.

“Y/n, where have you been running off to these past few weeks?” Your husband questioned you as soon as you entered your home. Your mood instantly dropped, feeling the weight of your actions all at once.

“I'm hanging out with a friend, and it's really not that deep. It's not like I've neglected house work at all. So you should have a reason to care.” You snap back, a little too much for such a simple query. Your husband rises from his seat, cupping your face with a gentle hand for the first time in a long time.

“You’re my wife, of course it's my concern.” He said, just as he was about to make you fall for him again, he said, “We haven't been intimate in a long time, I'm leaving in a few days, so I want to make love to you before I go.”

Ah, there it was. He only ever shows affection for you when he's asking for sex nowadays.

You nod, what followed was unfulfilling and unsatisfying sex. Missionary, a few pumps just to get him off, and he didn't even kiss you.

And obviously, he didn't make you cum.

Your husband is fast asleep in your bed for the first time in months, and yet you can't find it in yourself to be happy about it.

You take out your trusty friend, egg.

The jolts to life with steady vibrations as you press the toy to your clit, relaxing into the sheets as you imagine a pair of calloused hands roaming the plane of your skin.

Controlled pressure and technique only a sculptor could have, his hair falling over his face, and his eyes holding you gaze as if you gave him everything he could ever want by simply existing.

He looks at you like you hung each star in the sky just for him, just so he could watch your skin bathed in moonlight, twinkling like the most precious diamond he could ever have.

This man isn't your husband, It was Minghao.

Your orgasm came unexpectedly, the realization that you were fantasizing about him snapped you back into reality so violently that you ruined your own orgasm.

You huff as you tuck the toy back into its drawer, pulling up the covers to try and sleep off the guilt.

Your husband left for his business trip a few days ago, and you made preparations for your first guest in a while. You finally set up the tea set when you heard a knock at your door, springing up, you head towards the door to look through the peephole, you see Minghao dressed a little more casually, a cap on his head and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You swiftly unlock the door for him, he smiles upon seeing you, tipping his cap, he says, “Good evening, it's a pleasure to finally be invited into your home.” You greet him back, stepping to the side to let him enter. As he does, he takes his cap off to let his hair fall onto his face again.

He offers you the flowers and you take them, “I'll go find a vase for these, make yourself at home, dinner is still cooking in the oven.” You said as you turned back to find another vase.

After finding one and setting the flowers in your office again, you find Minghao setting a record on your turntable, a slow tune plays through the air, instantly making the room feel calmer and homey.

“I didn't pin you as the type to have such an extensive vinyl collection, you have good taste too.” He said, swaying to the music by shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“I didn't feel the need to mention it considering I haven't touched those in a while. My husband hates them.” You say solemnly.

“Well, he isn't here now. Let's enjoy the music,” he said, holding his hand out for you to take, “Dance with me?”

You smile as you take his hand, he suddenly pulls you towards him and you land on his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as you sway to the calm of the music.

You think to yourself, This is nice, this is safe. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be married to Minghao instead.

You turn your head and press your ear to his chest, hear him breathe slowly, his heart beating rhythmically. This is the first time you were ever this close to him, practically holding him in a loving embrace.

His woody cologne almost distracts you, so seductive and masculine and you almost reach up to cup his face, to kiss him. Before you realize that he isn't your husband.

You're both snapped out of your little bubble when the oven dings, signaling that dinner is ready. You break away from him, already missing his warmth as you set the dining table, one that hasn't been used in a while.

You eat dinner with him, talking about your days and how work has been. It's a welcome change of pace from your husband’s tolerance of your presence. You didn't have to beg Minghao for footnotes on his life, you didn't feel like you're taking up too much of his space or time.

It's safe, secure. It feels like you're being celebrated for existing.

You dwell on this feeling long after Minghao heads home, your stomach and heart full. As you slip into the covers you wonder what it'll feel like to hold him under them, for him to kiss the crown of your head and whisper the three words you desperately wanted to hear again.

You fall asleep with the fantasy that when you wake up, he'll be right next to you.

Minghao invited you downtown this time, various pop-up stores of luxury brands recently opened and he just secured a sale of a really expensive painting; so of course, what better way to spend that money than taking a shopping trip with his closest friend.

“This would look amazing on you.” He said while taking out a dress, it's a color that compliments your hair and skin wonderfully. Minghao always knew how to dress.

“Oh, I'm inclined to agree, but I'm not willing to look at the price tag for that one.” You joke, shrugging as you follow him around the store.

“Nonsense, I'm offering to pay.” He said, turning his nose up. “I'm getting this for you, I'll ask the salesperson for more sizes so you can try them on.” He said, turning to the salesperson doing just that.

The salesperson nods enthusiastically, bringing the dresses to the dressing rooms and ushering you in despite your protests. Minghao only smiles in amusement as the curtain hides your figure, he sits on the bench near the dressing rooms in silence, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

He hears the curtains roll open, it only takes a moment of him looking at you in the dress to take his breath away. It fits you perfectly, hugging your body deliciously. Minghao almost drops his phone onto his lap, his grip loosening, star-struck by your beauty.

“How does it look?” You ask, awkwardly fiddling with the expensive fabric of the dress, feeling a little too expensive to be on your body.

Minghao wordlessly stands from the bench, looking a little dazed, he turns to the salesperson and tells them, “We're getting the dress.” As he walks toward the cashier almost in a trance.

You're a little taken aback by his reaction, but nonetheless you change back into your regular clothes. As soon as you walk out of the dressing room Minghao Pushes you back in with more dresses.

“Please try these on.” He says, not having the strength to look you in the eyes. You comply.

It took you hours of trying on dresses and accessories to the point that you almost bought the store out. Minghao couldn't get enough of the mini-fashion show you were putting on for him, and it's not like the salespeople are complaining either.

You walk out of the first store with multiple bags in hand, you thought that was enough shopping for the whole year maybe, but no, Minghao pulls you into another store, and another, and another, all leaving with bags (multiple) of clothes.

It got so bad to the point that Minghao had to leave your bags in his car so you could free up your hands to buy more stuff.

You stopped trying to fathom the amount of money Minghao was spending on you, yes, he did buy items for himself too, but he looked much more satisfied to provide for you rather than procuring items for himself.

The car ride back home was filled with way too many ‘are you sure's and ‘you really didn't have to's. But Minghao was insistent on you keeping all the items he got for you.

“I'm being serious, you're a gorgeous woman, you deserve to be spoiled like a queen.” he said, turning to you while waiting at a red light, “You need to visit my studio in the clothes I got you, you'll fit right in with my paintings.” He smiles.

Your face flushes at his compliments, a bright and happy smile stretching across your face. You couldn't remember the last time you were this happy with someone. To find joy in the company of another felt liberating, you felt like you deserved this.

Minghao drops you off at your place with your new clothes, helping you get them into your living room like a true gentleman.

“I'll see you next time, Y/n.” He said stopping at your doorstep, annd leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of your head, he took note of what your shampoo smelled like and left. Leaving you awestruck in your doorway as you watch his car drive off.

This studio has become so familiar to you, like a second home almost. Punching in the code was muscle memory at this point, the smell of drying paint and clay becoming a calming scent.

You smooth over the front of your dress, one that Minghao got you, as you enter his studio again. Shrugging off your heavier coat, the beginning of winter creeps closer as the trees lose the last of their leaves.

Minghao just got out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his paint-stained shirt and apron. He looks at you, the dress, the way it fits on you. And he smiles widely.

“Hey there gorgeous, what are you doing all the way there? You should be over there with the rest of the art.” He says cheekily.

You giggle as you enter the space more, stopping in front of him taking his extended hand and following it, giving him a twirl.

He simply adores the way the fabric flows and shapes around your curves and contours, your skin practically glowing with life.

He fights the urge to kiss you, succeeding for now.

He guides you onto the couch, a turntable sitting next to his stone tea tray on the coffee table. ”Oh? This is new.” You said when you noticed it.

“Oh that? I got it for when you come over. I got a few records too, if you'd like to make yourself comfortable while I brew us some tea.” He said, untying his apron to hang on an easel, turning his back to you and he started preparing tea like before.

His movements and practiced, you'd guess this tea ceremony is second nature to him, considering he always talks about it. This scene is safe, familiar, it's comfortable.

He does this whole song and dance again, you've seen him do this over and over again but you can't seem to get sick of it. It's like you're giving yourself excuses just to keep seeing him.

But they don't feel like excuses, not at all, they're just more reasons why you feel deeply, and so quickly for Minghao.

Again, the both of you talk about everything and anything under the sun, him walking you through all his latest pieces, him plans for new ones creativity vibrating through ever cell in his body.

You imagine him talking so passionately about the future, maybe even a future with you.

Before you could realize what you were doing, you’re holding onto Minghao’s shoulders for support,

and you lean up to kiss him.

Minghao fights the urge to kiss back, he fails.

His hands come up to cup the back of your head tilting his head to deepen the kiss, pouring all his emotions into the simple, gesture of affection.

Your head was spinning, dizzy from his cologne and the wind getting knocked from your lungs as soon as your lips met his. It was electrifying, finally feeling the warmth of his body pressed so close, yet so far from yours.

Oh, you wanted him, so, so badly.

He pulls away first, heaving from the intensity of the kiss, eyes in a daze. Meeting your eyes again, he couldn’t help but lean in for another kiss.

This time he's really pressing into you seemingly drunk off of the feeling of his lips meeting yours. He's just a man at the end of the day, a weak, weak man in the face of paradise.

He came back to his senses once he felt the cool metal of your wedding ring on his neck. Jolting back, he pushed your shoulders back, creating a significant distance between the two of you.

“I, I think you should leave.” He said turning to hide in his studio bathroom to collect his thoughts.

You stood there puzzled, did he not feel the same way you did? But why did he kiss you, twice? Something isn't adding up.

But moreover, you can't ignore the painful sting this rejection gave you. You wanted him, did he not want you? What was the point of trying so hard to make you fall for him when he just decided to back down when he finally had you?

You gather your belongings and leave the studio, the door clicking to lock behind you. The ride back was suffocating, it felt like you left a part of yourself in that studio with Minghao. And you fear that this may be the last time you see him.

You haven’t spoken to Minghao in the weeks following the kiss, your nerves on fire every time you remember how his pillow lips felt so right on yours.

You're standing in front of the mural. The one where Hephestus caught Aphrodite, his wife, and Ares, her lover, having an affair and having sex on their marital bed.

It's funny, looking at this mural. You spent your last weeks wandering his gallery, searching for his shadow, but he always seems to evade you so easily. He's marked you like a bloodstain on a pristine white dress, lingering like fog on a cold autumn day.

Winter is still young, yet you feel cold. So, so cold.

As if your most desperate prayers were heard, Minghao practically materializes next to you.

“Hi. I'm sorry I wasn't able to speak to you for the past few weeks. I'm a coward, a fool to run from you.” He said, both of you looking at the mural and not at each other.

Silence follows, you couldn't look at him, you couldn't speak to him. “Y/n I-”

“This isn't the place to talk about this.” You said coldly.

Minghao flinches a bit, not used to how icy your voice was. It usually greets him so warmly, so lovingly.

“Let's go out to drink, there's a bar that's walking distance from here, if you'd like go go with me. I have too many things to say to you, too many thoughts left unsaid. You deserve to hear them, at least.” He said, remorseful.

You really couldn't find it in yourself to stay mad at him. So you agree to walk with him.

The walk to the bar is silent, unlike your previous walks. You're so far from him, you even refused to hold onto his arm like you usually do.

It's early winter yet Minghao is sweating bullets, he's almost vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass. His nerves are all over the place, he's acting so out of character, nothing like the calm, cool, collected Minghao you've come to know over the past few months.

He takes a deep breathe before you both enter the bar.

A few drinks in and you’re already tipsy, “You know- hic- my husband is being a dick to me.” You drunkenly slurred, “This novel I’ve been writing for over two years now is fucking me in the ass- I- I want to finish it so desperately but all he does is sucks the soul out of me. He’s a giant pain in the ass-!”

Minghao snorts at this, loudly talking over the music of the bar, “Your husband is a fucking dick! Your work is amazing. If I were him, I would do anything to help you get rid of that writer’s block, you know, inspire you.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’d do that?” You ask, clinging onto his arm, “Thank youuuu hao bear~ you’re the best-!” You giggle into his arm, your weight pressing against his side. You’ve only known him for three months at this point, but his ideas and influence on your work improved your writing and motivation drastically.

“Hao bear? That’s new, you’ve only known me for- what? 3 months? You’re already calling me nicknames!” He holds the back of your head gently, pressing his forehead onto yours, “I should give you a nickname too… Starlight, how does that sound?” At this point, you tune out every other sound other than the sound of his voice and the pounding of your heart.

This man had you in a chokehold the moment you met him, you were fucking doomed from the start.

“Starlight? Yeah, I like it more than a little bit.” You say softly, your words almost getting lost in the noise of the bar.

“Let’s move to somewhere quieter, yeah? Tell me more about your work. We can head to my place to settle down for a bit.” There it is, the same dark, barely there smirk that plagues your stomach with butterflies.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Arriving at Minghao’s place, you take a quick look around his apartment. Everywhere you look is a pop of color, bold splotches of vibrant hues making the place look like it was pulled straight out of the 80s, “Hao, your place is amazing, the furniture brings me so much joy~” You giggle a bit, sitting down at the plush red velvet couch shaped like a seashell.

“Thanks! Most of the furniture is thrifted from retro thrift stores, I like this style more. It brings so much personality to the space.” He passionately talks about them, “Do you want anything to drink? I have water, juice, and beer here.” He says, rummaging through his fridge.

“Oh, just water, please.” You say you have a feeling that you need to at least sober up for whatever the night brings.

He takes two glasses of water and places them down on the coffee table. It’s the only piece in the entire house that is a neutral color, a fine hardwood. You couldn’t tell what it was at a glance, not that it was important anyway.

“So, let’s talk about this book that you’ve been struggling to write now. Could you tell me what it’s about?” He asks, taking a swig of his water, you stare at his side profile while he does, sharp yet delicate features, his Adam’s apple bobbing from his drink.

Bro’s so majestic.

“Well, it’s about an artist who’s losing passion for his work, told from the perspective of his lover. It’s a spicy romance, with, in my opinion, a correct amount of sex scenes-”

“Give me a percentage of how much of it is smut.” Minghao interrupts you,

“Like… 75 percent?” He snorts at this, “Anyway, I’ve been stuck on the last spicy scene of the book, the climax, pun not intended,” You take a swig of your water, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have experience writing that sort of thing, or lack experience in sex either, but my sex life’s been such a drag with my husband being gone for long periods and-”

Minghao interrupts you again, “And he doesn’t fuck you right, does he?”

The forwardness of his words made you freeze, you contemplated whether to reject him here, to tell him it wasn’t appropriate to talk about this with you, especially about your husband. You know how Minghao looks at you. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he wanted you, but he never acted in any inappropriate way. He never makes you uncomfortable.

This was no exception. The swirling in your stomach wasn’t because of unease, no, this was because of arousal.

“No, no he doesn’t.”

He leans in, kissing you. This time he's not rushing, no more pushing and pulling, no more things left unsaid. He wants you, he'll have you. That was a promise.

He lifts you from the couch, lips never parting as he carries you to his bedroom, peeling each other's clothes, bumping into walls and furniture. But you couldn't care less, you were lost in each other's embrace and you can't think of another place you'd rather be.

Half-naked on Minghao’s bed, who, need you be reminded, was not your husband.

His hands roamed your sides, the heat from his palms warming your skin, causing it to flush, his soft, plump lips pressing feather-light kisses to your neck. You could feel his breath behind your ear, his hair tickling your cheek.

“How would your husband feel if he knew what you were doing with me right now?” He asks, clearly getting off on the fact that you were in his bed, getting ready to fuck him, a man who wasn’t your husband.

“I hope he’d be disappointed, but at this point, I think he forgot about me.” You say with a chuckle at the end, trying not to ruin the mood.

Minghao gently pulls away from you from that, “What?” he asks quietly, the word almost getting drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning, “Sorry, I know this was supposed to be a taboo, forbidden relationship thing but… I’m angry at him.” He says, avoiding your eyes.

“I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but I never felt this way before. It fucking kills me to think that a woman like you would be forgotten, for what exactly? Work?” He said anger gradually filling his voice. His hand reaches for your face when your eyes meet, thumbs pressing down on your cheekbone. The controlled and purposeful movement reminds you just how pliable you are under his touch. He sculpted you into what he wanted you to be; beautiful, strong, unashamed.

You gently cup his face, still hovering above you, “Kiss me, Minghao.”

And he did.

His lips met yours in a searing embrace, just the force of his passion against yours was dizzying, fiery desire clashing to make fireworks behind the eyelids that fluttered close. You never felt this type of longing from your husband, never felt his devotion being kissed through your lips like Minghao’s tongue was exploring it.

At that moment, you knew you were gone.

Minghao pulled away from you, hazy eyes meeting yours as the string of saliva that connected your mouths broke. At that moment, Minghao was stuck in a trance, his lips coming to meet yours over and over like he couldn’t stop tasting your lips even if he tried. A sweet ambrosia, too saccharine to stop. He’s become addicted to your lips molding onto his like sickly sweet honey sticking to his lips.

Out of breath, he grabs hold of your waist, rolling over to get you on top of him. He reaches behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra and letting your breasts fall free from it. He cups both of them while you sit up, grinding on his hardening cock through his boxers, he groans at this, reflexively squeezing your boobs.

Placing both of your hands on his pecs, you also give them a gentle squeeze. Minghao notices this and his gaze darkens, passing his thumbs over your hardening nipples. Your pussy clenches onto nothing at this, a soft gasp leaves you as you started to grind harder against Minghao.

His nails started to dig into your hips, his own desperately grinding up against you for more friction. Soft moans leave him as he throws his head back against the pillows, eyes fluttering close just so he could focus on the sensations of your clothed cunt grinding against his cock through his boxers.

“God, get off of me before I cum in my underwear like a teenager.” He says with a playful groan, lifting your hips off from his crotch.

“Right, you still need to cum inside of me.” You say back playfully, his eyes darkened at this.

“Fuck, you make me want to keep you forever,” taking one of your hands and placing a kiss on your palm.

He lifts his hips only enough to get his boxers off, shimmying them off to somewhere on the floor near his bed. You also take this time to take your underwear off, secretly hiding it under his pillow when you lean down to kiss him again.

When you both pulled away, another string of saliva connected you two. You took two fingers to swipe at the liquid, bringing it down to rub your clit while you lowered yourself down to grind on his bare cock now.

Minghao hisses, “Fuck, I can feel how wet and warm you are, sweet christ.” he breathes out a shaky breath as you grind your bare wetness on his cock, lubricating the shaft for later. You moan at the contact, body slightly shaking from the friction of the tip of his cock hitting your clit occasionally.

“God, Minghao, fuck I need you inside me.” You desperately whine out. You lifted your hips up to finally hold his hard cock to align it with your pussy, slowly sinking on the thick girth. You throw your head back at the satisfying stretch his dick was making you feel.

“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight and warm,” He moans, he’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels with how vocal he’s being, he takes your right hand and holds it tightly, pressing it against his chest. You could feel his racing heartbeat under his skin, “Let me keep you forever, please, don’t make me beg, run away with me.”

You openly gape at him from this, You’d be a fool to accept this, especially since you’ve only known him for a fraction of the time you knew your husband, but god dammit.

“Take me with you, anywhere you want to go. I’m yours, please take me.” You say desperately. You’ve never been wanted this badly before, and god, you wanted more, for the rest of time.

Minghao abruptly thrusts up into you from this, tightly clenching your hand in his, still pressing on top of his racing heart under the skin. You cry out in pleasure, somehow the sensation of his heart under your palm elevates your pleasure, making you go dizzy at the thought that you’re doing this to him, and only you.

You come close to your climax embarrassingly quick, the sensation of his cock rubbing your velvet walls so perfectly made your head spin. Your ears are ringing so loudly that it almost drowns out your sounds of pleasure, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Minghao isn’t far from you either, the same dizzying effect taking hold of his mind too. He’s so close to finishing that he could almost taste it, his moans and whines of your name leaving his lips like a mantra, a prayer, even.

“Minghao I’m gonna cum-!” you say frantically, pressing your forehead onto his as he meets your lips with his for the nth time. You swallow the moans he spills into your mouth as you both climax at the same time. His heart still beating frantically under your palm.

“Did you mean that?” You ask breathlessly, “When you said you wanted me forever, did you mean it?” you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Exactly, I meant it word for word. Let me replace the ring on your finger with mine.” He smiles at you.

In the end, he did replace the ring on your finger with his, much more extravagant, and elaborate. Your husband wasn’t surprised at your sudden request for a divorce, since your marriage was already failing before you met Minghao.

Still, time was the ultimate truthteller.

Your husband found out about your High Infidelity around the middle of your divorce proceedings, and in a rage, he threw you and all your belongings out onto the driveway. In the middle of winter rain.

The rain soaked into your skin, cold and icy piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

You finished your book, it received critical acclaim and it was a New York Times Best-Seller.

And you got to marry Minghao, the love of your life. Who you were happily married to until the both of you grew old.

FIN.

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cheapshrimpysheep · 1 month ago

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How I make my Covers and Dividers

Hi.👋 So, the idea to make these posts came about because @cat1705 asked me in private how I made my dividers and that made me wonder if other people would be interested in knowing how I made my covers and dividers. I made a poll and a lot of people were interested in knowing how I made them.

I make them in Canva, so anyone can make them, but I would like this to be more of a help for you to create your own and not for you to do exactly like me. Even though I'm always playing around with the font and the way I place the images, I have a guiding line, so to speak, and that's what I'm going to try to show you.

👉COVERS

Well, first things first, apparently I use the dimensions of an Etsy cover photo template. I just chose it because the dimensions looked good. Choose any one and delete all the elements in it until you have only the white background.

To make covers with several characters I use these frames that serve to drag the image inside and adjust it within the defined limits.

I always use only official images from the game so as not to steal anyone's fanart. I usually get the images from the wikis.

You can also upload the image by just dragging it.

To make sure the title won't cover the characters' faces, I put some temporary text on top to adjust the images.

After uploading the image, drag it to the correct frame and drop it.

To adjust the image, double-click, enlarge, rotate, reduce and move it as you wish. When you think it is ready, click outside the image or press the enter key.

When the image is ready, I remove the text and download the image with the characters.

To download, click the button in the top right corner that says "Share". Then click on "Download", the first button on the last line. It should already be in PNG format, so you won't need to change it.

Attention: If you have more than one page: in "Select pages" choose the option "Current page", click “Done” and only then click on "Download". Otherwise, you will download ALL the pages you have and not the specific one you want.

On another page I usually have a gradient background and a little frame. I make the gradient by clicking on "Background color" and in "add a new color" there is the option "Gradient". I don't remember where I got the frame I use, but you can look for some free ones in "Elements".

Use the colors that you think look best, I usually put the light color in the center and the dark color at the ends. For this example I will use white and a golden yellow.

Then, I upload the previous character image and make it 50% transparent. On top of the white frame too (It's just my thing, I don't have a reason to do it, I just think it looks good)

Then I'll put the title. I usually use the "Chewy" font. The font size depends on the size of the title I decided to give it, but it's usually around 80/90. And I add the Effect: "Neon"

To finish, I look for some images in "Elements" to decorate a little more. Searching for "line art" is usually a good tip.

When you're ready, download the image and you're done.

👉CHARACTER DIVIDERS

The dividers follow a similar pattern to the covers to match. Create a new page with the same background color gradient.

For the background, I use game backgrounds that match the theme of the fic. For this example, I'm going to make a generic Riddle divider with an image of his room with transparency at 50%.

Then I reduce the height of the image until it is half the height of the canva and place it in the center. Remembering that you can adjust the image by double clicking.

I keep the color of the ends the same, but I adjust the color of the center to the color of the dorm to which the character belongs. In this case, red from Heartslabyul. But I will leave an image with the colors I use for each room, taken from the colors of their personal icons.

For the character name, copy and paste the title, as the font and effect is the same, and adjust to the size of the divider.

And also change the color of the letters to the dorm color.

Then I upload the png image of the character's chibi that can be found on the wikis. In this case I'll use the chibi with Riddle's dorm uniform.

I crop the image to help me orient myself better, but you don't need to do that.

Then I upload the character's personal icon, also found on wikis, adjust the size and set the transparency to 60%.

To finish, I download the image and crop the top and bottom in Paint.

Yes... in Paint... it works ok, shut up!

👉LINE DIVIDERS

Finally, for the line dividers, you can copy the Cover because the background colors are the same and erase everything except the image with 50% transparency.

Then I cut it in half, like in the character divider, and again in half to make it thinner, and I place it in the middle of the canvas. (These measures may not be exactly the same as the ones I use today, but the logic in the beginning was this.)

I replace the image with one that seems to fit the theme of the fic. You can do this by dragging it. I usually use game backgrounds, but when none of them seem to look good I look for images from Canva, in "Elements"

That's what I'm going to do to show you. In Elements, write what you want to search for, I'll simply write "background" and choose one of the images without the crown icon (this icon means it's a paid image).

I'll choose any one.

Then I upload the personal icons of the characters that are the focus of the fic. For this example it's the overblot students (because they're my favorite)

Drag them in, place them in a line and adjust the size to that of the line. You can do this one at a time or all at once by selecting them all.

When it's just one character I put one icon upright and the one on the side upside down.

To repeat the pattern, select all of them, copy, paste, and drag until the new set is next to the first. Repeat until the entire line is filled.

Then select all the icons again and set their transparency to 50%.

And finally, download the image and crop the top and bottom parts in Paint. Or wherever you want.

Aaand... I think that's it.

If there's anything you'd like me to explain better, you can ask in the comments. I hope you enjoyed it and that it can help you if you create your own covers and dividers.😘

#cover art #tumblr dividers #tutorial #twisted wonderland #twst #cheap shrimpy sheep

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purplephloxpress · 10 months ago

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Another year, another Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day!!!! If you are a writer of fanfic, please know just how appreciated you are!! Fandom would be such a different space without your creativity and labors of love. 💜

Holidays are all about making traditions, and the bookbinding friends with @renegadeguild once again came together to bind copies of fics for their authors as a show of our appreciation. This year I had the absolute joy of binding Emergency Help Wanted by the wonderful @piyo-13 and even got to collaborate with her on some of the design elements! It's a Modern AU Jiang Cheng/Lan Xichen fic that starts with a "help wanted" ad.

EMERGENCY HELP WANTED

I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.

Ok. So. I may have gone a little feral with this one. Online "help wanted" ad spiraled into loading wheel scene dividers, spiraled into fake Google search result headers, spiraled into FULLY committing to those authentic looking text messages. In full color. (There are so many. I typeset in MS Word. It was SO worth it, but god what a struggle at some points.) And don't forget the "recent searches" title page! Or the computer cutout on the cover! (It's bluescreening, just like Lan Xichen through this entire fic!) Also that cover/title page image that I just kept adding details to. (It's supposed to be Lan Xichen's desk, so it simply didn't feel right until it had sticky notes on the computer, #1 dad on the mug, scissors and measuring tape, scribbles on the sticky notes) Did I have a ton of fun designing this one? Perhaps. Couldn't say. Maybe just a tad. (This is a lie I had an ABSOLUTE BLAST!)

Historically, I've waited until I finish at least the typeset before reaching out to the author, but not so with this one! I got the idea for the fake google search results from Piyo's authors notes, teasing the contents of the next chapter. But! Those didn't start until about chapter 4! So I reached out and asked if we could collaborate and I'm forever glad I did! Not only does this have teasers for each chapter, I also got to bounce design ideas off of her, including what shade of blue and purple for the text messages. Because my friends, that is a serious matter and changed SEVERAL times throughout the process.

Also shoutout to all my Renegade friends who gave input and encouragement over the past year while I worked on this (what endpages to use? how to make this shade of green perfectly Nie Huaisang? how do we feel about this text message design? or how about this one?) - I love you all dearly and appreciate you so much for putting up with my nonsense at all times.

Binding details below the cut!

Fandom: The Untamed/Mo Dao Zu Shi

Pairing: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin / Lan Huan | Lan Xichen

Bookcloth: Aqua/Purple Dubletta from Colophon Book Arts

Endpapers: Craft Consortium Ink Drops - Ocean pack

Textblock paper: short grain cream from Church Paper

Titling: We R Memory Keepers foil quill

Endbands: leather cording core, DMC embroidery floss for the bands

Body Font: EB Garamond

Title Font: Berlin Sans FB

Text Messages: Roboto

Additional fonts: Times New Roman, Kunstler Script, Magis Authentic

Title page image from Rawpixel and designed in Canva

Various computer graphics from The Noun Project

Tumblr insists on eating and doubling text in this section at its own whim, so if there's something missing that you're curious about, feel free to DM me an ask!

#purplephloxpress #adventures in bookbinding #renegadelovesfic24 #ficbinding #fanbinding #bookbinding #renegade bindery #ffwad #the untamed #mdzs #xicheng #jiang cheng #lan xichen #emergency help wanted #piyo13 #fanfiction writers appreciation day #did I stay up until midnight just to post this as soon as possible? yes I did. yes I am aware there is a queue button.

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jenchan-writingmultis · 1 year ago

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This was for the best, right? (Vil x Fem Reader)

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Genre: Heavy angst/ No comfort

Pairing: Vil x Fem Reader & One-sided Rook x Fem Reader

A/n: Hi! So do you guys recall the idea I had with Vil x Reader angst? So this is it! If you want to know about it first, I’ll link it (here) I hope you like this one, I gave my best effort on this, hopefully, it fits Vil, I love him so much.

Credits: The design was made by me in Canva and the art that was used is all from the Official Twisted Wonderland Cards. The line breakers are from Kaomoji dividers!

Warning: This is ANGST NO COMFORT! Panic Attacks on Vil’s side, Breakups no reconciliation, misunderstanding and Insecure Vil, relapses of Trauma on Vil’s side, talking bad about Reader’s appearance, although vague it still is there.

!PROCEED WITH CAUTION! Masterlist

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Sypnosis: Your face got leaked throughout social media when you went to have a date with your boyfriend Vil. It made him hate his reputation; he would understand if people bashed him instead, after all, he wouldn't let those words affect him, he's more worried about you, you're not used to the media watching you, having you be seen with him by paparazzi. He kept thinking of ending things with you to protect you from the backlash. ⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

He is usually unbothered by the fact that he gains hate often, he plays villainous roles, having to only reach till halfway or even before the story’s conclusion. It was normal for people to threaten him just because his character did something horrible to the main character. At least he is aware of how well he performed in acting by how despised he was. However, what he wasn’t prepared for was you being the one gaining hate.

People are hypocrites, they cuss him out and throw the worst insults they could think of towards him, and at the same time, they view him as a perfect human who deserves someone “better for him”. He didn’t expect that his selfishness would get in the way of his relationship with you just because he wants one normal date outside of school but when one of his paparazzi caught a picture of him with you out on a simple date in Pyroxene. The picture showed your face fully without any filters, those uncouth journalists milking his fame with their horrendous illegal articles; anything to gain a higher footing in their industry than anyone else.

When he found out about the article, you two were cuddling in Pomefiore in his bedroom. He had a separate, massive bedroom since he was the housewarden, watching the film that he was recently cast in. As usual, he was given the role of a villain, it was the same old same old, except this time, the villain won, and it was satisfying to see him reach the end. He didn’t tell you though, so while you lay your head on his shoulder, watching; complimenting his looks and joking about how you’d date him even if he was that crazy.

He loves your little antics, you’re the only one who had an odd mind falling for the roles he has. “You have a peculiar taste for characters sweetheart” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer while you giggled.

“Funny how I’m dating you” You cuddled closer to him, what you said earned you a playful glare. He was about to tickle you as punishment, but his phone suddenly vibrated, showing the name of his manager, he went to kiss your forehead before he untangled himself off you; “Give me a second, I’ll take this call real quick” he informed you which you gave a nod, letting him out of the bedroom and to his bathroom.

"What is it?"He examined himself in the mirror, fixing his hair while his manager spoke, "Vil, check what I sent you, it's a link." Vil glanced at his phone and clicked on the article, wondering what it was, he waited for a bit, and as soon as it finished loading his heart drops.

“Famous actor Vil Schoenheit caught dating!” It was a stupid title, but he didn’t give any thought about It, fearing for the worst he scrolled further, finding your face unblurred on it. “What is the meaning of this?” he frowned, gripping his phone before his manager answered.

“I’m not sure how they found out about the café you and your lover frequent but I’m trying to track down the owner of the article and threaten them with a lawsuit, but with how the media eats up everything, I’m afraid the damage has been done” Vil could hear rustling from the other end his manager taking out which he thinks is paperwork, most likely about the process of lawsuit, he was growing restless as he looked at how many comments and likes did the article gain. He didn’t even notice that his Magicam was being blown up by “fans” questioning him for his taste, and criticizing you.

He was starting to feel chills around his body when he continued to investigate the whole thing, Vil was close to having a panic attack, gripping the edge of the sink. He tried to calm himself down, remembering what his father taught him.

“Deep breath in, deep breath out” he recalled, causing him to loosen his grip a bit and relax. A knock on his door snapped him out of his thoughts when he faintly hears you from outside.

“Vil? Are you okay? You’re taking a while there” you asked which he straightened himself up, composing himself before looking at his phone, who still had his manager on call. “I’ll have you deal with this; I need to go.” He walked to the door opening it after his manager agreed and ended the call.

“Sorry, it was just a minor nuisance at work” He smiled at you, he was a good actor but when it comes to you sometimes, he can’t seem to lie. “Are you sure? You sounded pretty agitated when I went to check on you” You touched his hand, entangling your fingers with his, which made him sigh.

“it’s…” he hesitated for a moment; does he tell you? He can’t drag you into all of this, he was planning to have it stay hidden till the article was gone, but at the same time, you’re bound to know about it once your friends find out and question you about it.

“Can we talk?” He finally caved in, gazing at you with a mixture of worry in his eyes; how could you say no to that?

When you found out about the article, Vil was worried that you’d be upset at him, not once did your expression change when he was explaining it. He didn’t expect you to smile and kiss his cheek, telling him that “it’s okay, the media will die down on it, at least if they found out, they won’t bat an eye if we go on dates more publicly, right?” you told him.

He was amazed with how well you handled the news; what about the possibility of receiving backlash? No, actually you both were receiving backlash already. “You’ll have to stop using social media for a while and deactivate it just to be safe” he warned you, looking at you for any signs of distress, he was concerned that you were just hiding it, you’re not someone who’s made to handle the eyes of strangers, he thinks you might not even understand what it means to have your face be doxed by media.

"Darling," he said, enveloping you in his embrace, which you gladly returned. He said, "Listen, this is the media we're talking about," stepping back to look directly into your eyes. You'll be receiving insults left and right, and I worry that if your friends choose to drop you because of our reputation, it will negatively impact you. I'm capable of managing myself and safeguarding you from the public eye, but what if this also concerns your friends?" he knew that the possibility of your close friends dropping you for something trivial like this was unlikely to happen but there’s still a possibility.

“If they drop me for something so stupid, I guess they don’t deserve to be my friend,” you said firmly, “Vil, I don’t mind this," You replied firmly, "but it seems like you’re bothered by it” You pointed out, touching his face, it was true, he is bothered by it, he’s scared of the outcome, he’s afraid that every day when you go out in public, people will try to hurt you or coerce you into doing something you don’t like.

“Once the article is down, it’ll fizzle out” You comforted him, noticing that his breathing started getting a bit ragged. Was it really going to stop once that article was taken down? There might be people who saved that article and reposted it.

In the next few days, you two would often just stay within school grounds, Night Raven College is big enough for you two to roam around and have your usual dates; Despite his frequent work schedule and dormitory maintenance, he still made time to have meals with you. During those times, everyone seemed to keep testing his patience, when he was on set, his unprofessional coworkers kept festering him about you, and when outside, he felt restricted, not being able to walk freely without eyes catching him, so he was advised by his manager to use his car to go back to school and work. He kept his social media muted as well; he couldn’t scroll around Magicam cause every article in those past few days has been nothing but hatred towards you.

“That woman looks so average, what the hell did Vil see in her?”

“Honestly, I would even accept if he’s gay for Neige, whenever those two are together they look so cute!”

“She looks like an extra://”

Comment after comment of users trashing your looks, your whole being even without knowing you.

It angers him, so for the sake of his mental health and yours, he made sure that you also kept your social media muted, although often, he saw you scrolling on it, reading the comments, or just chatting with your friends.

He doesn’t understand why you do it, it frustrates him a bit when you do, but he couldn’t tell you to just delete social media entirely, he’s not toxic.

During lunchtime, he was late to meet you, rushing through the cafeteria, he found you with Deuce and Ace, chatting away. He was going to greet you till he heard what Ace said.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna stop this act?” he munched on his egg sandwich while Deuce looked at Ace like he had just grown a second head.

“What the hell are you talking about Ace” Deuce said before Ace glared back at him. “I mean! Being unbothered by whatever nonsense Magicam’s got on. You have your face everywhere and people are talking smack about it!” He pointed out in which, Vil couldn’t even see what your expression was right now. "If I were you, I’d confront him about why his agency hasn't gotten to the bottom of this." Deuce wanted to hit Ace that time, but it was true, both your friends were confused as to why it continued to circulate.

“You don’t have to listen to Ace” Deuce paused, not knowing where this could possibly lead to what he meant. “It’s okay, I understand the concern.” You voiced out, placing the fork down, fiddling with your fingers, “It does affect me, but It’s not Vil’s fault that It got way out of hand.”

Vil frowned, hearing that, so it did affect you, why didn’t you tell him? Was it because of his incompetence? He thought about how many times you told him that it was okay, that you didn’t mind it. He knew that the article was stupid, but the evidence was evidence to journalists, and that caused you to be in the middle of the crossfire between him and his “fans”.

Was it worth sacrificing your peace dating him? He smiled bitterly to himself, how stupid of him to have these kinds of thoughts. He looked at his phone, he was going to send you a message that he was in the cafeteria but decided to go against it.

“I don’t think I can make it. You can go eat.” He sent the message before leaving the cafeteria and going back to the dormitory, he needed some time for himself.

When he reached his living quarters, he sat down on his bed, noticing the way the curtains were covering any light coming inside. It was like the state of his mind currently, he didn’t feel like doing his daily routine today, which is funny, if he didn’t push himself to keep a perfect image, he would be nothing but average; but if he did look average, would that give both of you the pleasure of living a normal life?

He scoffed to himself, he can’t just throw his career away, he needs it for your future; both your futures, he stood up, grabbing all the necessary cream, face powder, and other stuff for his face, but the moment he saw himself, looking tired, he stiffened up. Will there be a future where the two of you would be together?

Vil didn’t realize that he started to avoid you. His bedroom was inaccessible, you would knock on his door, but he wouldn’t confront you. Staying silent and just waiting till the knocking subsided and you were out.

He still showed up to needed House warden meetings, or event planning, he did his duties as usual, he just didn’t do his duties being your boyfriend.

It was as if his insecurities when he was younger were relapsing whenever he thought of talking with you, was it okay to talk to you right now? He still thinks it’s not the right timing. He isn’t his usual self right now and he doesn’t want to risk doing anything bad.

However, it breaks his heart to see the sorrow in your eyes when you meet him and to see him neglect you. He was aware that the distance between you and his unwillingness to communicate about the situation was making your relationship unstable.

After three days of no contact, he was on top of Pomefiore’s garden, he missed you dearly, he gazed down to see his dormmates having tea under the recently renovated garden, then he noticed someone familiar within the garden, focusing his eyes on it, it was you! You looked… happy?

That was the smile that you usually only reserve for him, what’s going on? Vil thought to himself, confused as he ripped his eyes off you, only to notice Rook Hunt, touching you the way you would with a lover, giving you a gaze he never saw from Rook, but he knew what that was.

Rook liked you, both of them did, but he decided to step down in favor of letting Vil court you. He knew that feelings would never fade that easily but he didn't expect to see this sight. You two looked so perfect for each other, his hand touching yours as if you were having the time of your life, even without him. He clawed the railing of the balcony, not feeling his fingernails scrape the paint off of it, his eyes blurring as he walked away, fearing that he might fall if he ever passed out. His heartbeats were the only sound he could hear, aside from the static his ears were hearing.

“Breathe.”

He fell back into his bedroom, feeling his whole body shiver as he grips on his arm, numb to the pain that his nails were digging into his flesh. Cold sweat trickled down his face, he didn’t know if he was even breathing or not, his brain foggy, like an impending doom was going to happen if he once tried to “breathe.”

Vil ended up passing out, and unfortunately, the moment he woke up, it was already 5 am, he jolted awake, standing up, hearing a continuous knock from his door, He flinched as his head throbbed, touching it gently to try to ease his headache, he moved to the door, opening it, not expecting to see the person he least wants to see.

“Roi de Poison” Rook greets him, smiling brightly at him, Irritating. “I noticed you haven’t gotten up and gone to work yet, did you take a sick leave?” Rook continued, his voice filled with worry, he was about to fix the hair covering Vil’s face when he got his hand slapped away, startling him, he noticed the way Vil’s eyes darkened a bit.

“I’m fine” Vil affirmed, groaning a bit, he pinched the bridge of his nose as another headache hit his head again. “I’ll get ready, for the meantime, please take care of the dorm in my absence” He continued, replying curtly as he slammed the door shut before Rook could even say anything, He was sure that Rook would do as he says, if he didn’t, he’ll find a new vice housewarden.

Vil was already late for work, his disheveled look was barely noticeable but his manager noticed the slight imperfection in it. She walked up to him, fixing the sleeves of his outfit. “You’re late Mr. Schoenheit” She buttoned the sleeves, waiting for a response from Vil, who just sighed, “I apologize, something came up, can we start?”

You were getting worried, Rook went to your dorm, telling you about the state of Vil and that he was worse for wear, you decided that this time, you were going to visit and you were going to talk to him even if he didn't want to. It’s been dragging on for too long—the avoidance of your lover and the media is hurting you. You need to do something before your relationship reaches a breaking point.

When you arrived at the modeling agency where Vil works, you were graciously allowed in. You were familiar to those at the agency; some supported you, while others did not. However, the only support you needed was Vil's.

The moment you stepped inside the photoshoot, you saw Vil, working with another model, he looked gorgeous as always, although it seemed that he was tired; it was unusual for him to be in a state where it was obvious.

The manager noticed you before she ushered you further in, just to get nearer where Vil could see you, and Vil froze, stopping the shooting when he saw your face.

“I’m going to take a break,” he said to the crew members, seeing you, his gaze remained unfazed, “Let’s talk on the lounge” he murmured, walking past you.

You didn’t know what else to do but follow him, understanding that Vil wasn’t feeling well. The moment the two of you were alone, he went to give you apple juice, the one that Epel’s family sells, you give a gentle smile to him, but he didn’t reciprocate. It made your heart ache.

“What do you need?” he asked, sitting down on the opposite side of you. Reluctant to look at him, you fixed your gaze on the apple juice. “Are you feeling alright?” you asked, which made Vil chuckle, “That’s a funny question Y/n”

“I just wanted to know, You’ve been avoiding me for a while and-“You were cut off by Vil who placed the half-empty apple juice on the table. “I just needed some time to think, plus we agreed to lay low” He answered, which frustrated you “Vil, I heard from Rook that you turned up late during work" you were feeling nervous, and for the first time, your lover made you uneasy. "that never happened before,” you said, wanting to touch his hand, but he pulled it away, his eyes showing a trace of betrayal.

“What?” he asked, heart breaking as he looked at you, “Rook told you?”

“Of course he did, he’s a close friend of yours!” you protested, feeling a sense of desperation when Vil kept rejecting you, for the past few weeks, or months? You don’t know, but it’s been so long since you two last saw each other and stared at each other for more than just a glance, now you’re on the receiving end of his glare?

“You…” Vil murmured, before he finally let his body relax, his expression turning soft. “I think we should break things off.”

“What?” you gasped, gripping on the apple juice a little bit too hard, “Vil- “

“Why?”

Why? Vil wanted to answer why, there were plenty of reasons why, you two were just way too different, and the fact that if he pursued this relationship further, it’d hurt both of you more. It was clear that Rook liked you and you liked Rook, what is there to continue this relationship? Plus, the media will continue to see you as inferior, this will continue for a lifetime, and no matter what he can’t see why and how your relationship with him will continue without it getting toxic. He finally understood that he is way too much for you, his feelings would slowly wrap you around vines that contain poison, HIS poison. He was thinking of the future, and he can’t see it going beyond the challenges you two face.

He eventually responded, "I lost interest, I’m sorry, we both should focus on our careers first” He lied, not looking at you as well, you both were too hurt to even gaze at each other. You didn’t move or talk, so he decided to stand up, fixing his attire and looking cold. “I’ll be leaving now, hopefully, we can put this all behind us, I’ll have a taxi be ready to get you home when you’re ready.” he said, his heart aching, he wanted to hold you, but he stopped himself, “Just talk to the manager when you plan to leave” he continued, turning around before leaving the lounge.

The moment you left, the manager went up to him excitedly, he didn’t feel like celebrating at all when he found out that they tracked down who the journalist is and are now filing a lawsuit against them; at least on a positive note, you were out of the picture, out of the prying eyes of the media.

This was for the best, he thought to himself, feeling numb while he felt his chest tighten when he went back to work.

Word Count: 3418

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #angst #vil twst #vil x reader #vil x mc #vil x yuu #vil shoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #angst no comfort #angst no happy ending #rook x mc #rook x reader #twst rook #rook hunt

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ellethespaceunicorn-masterlist · 2 years ago

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🌸Elle the Space Unicorn's Masterlist🌸

Reader inserts will have no descriptors, OFCs will be black and plus-sized(unless otherwise stated). I love being able to give girls/femmes who look like me the chance to romance some of their faves.

🌸Bless my muse...🌸

I love to write fanfiction. Right now, my main muse is Henry Cavill. But I also like some Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan characters (see actor masterlists to know who I will write for - send prompts or requests to @ellethespaceunicorn HERE).

Masterlist is under the Cut... ...now sorted by actor!!

Sweet Treats Event 2024 Masterlist

Henry Cavill Masterlist

Chris Evans Masterlist

Sebastian Stan Masterlist

An Angel Without Wings - Explicit - Frank Castle x Unnamed!Black!OFC - When she needs him to take control, he’s there for her.

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz, so far only these categories 😁 Let me know if you ever want to be removed!

General Fanfiction (Everything)

Henry Character Fanfiction

Chris Character Fanfiction

August Walker

Bright Like The Moon

Love, Napoleon!

Daddy Knows Best

Don't Take My Sunshine Away

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest

~Please DON'T ask me to tag you in a series that you've never 'liked' or 'reblogged'. It's just kind of rude. Also, don't ask for an ETA on the next chapter.~

*Blog Header, Cover Art for fics, Masterlist Header/MDNI 18+ Banner, Support/Reblog banner and Masterlist Dividers made by me in Canva*

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keystonepublishing · 2 years ago

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The Saga of Hermitcraft on r/Place (1 April 2022 - 4 April 2022)

On the 1st of April 2022, Reddit unveiled a white blank canvas where every user had the ability to place one colored pixel in every 5 minutes. At its height, about 4 million people participated in one of the biggest internet collaborations ever made. The ripple effects reverberated into news reports as far away as Turkey, and the final canvas represents a snapshot of the multiple communities, events, memes, and what was popular around the world at that time.

This is a documentation of the Hermitcraft mural on r/place 2022.

aka.

Remember what I said about my latest ficbind being a distraction? This is what I wanted to be distracted from.

After Reddit's API fiasco of this year and the subsequent controversial event that was r/place 2023, I decided to save as much documentation about the 2022 event as I could. Luckily, I remember how there are already a series of posts by @riacte who documented the progress of the Hermitcraft mural throughout the whole event, from beginning to end. Her blogposts form the bulk of this book (like, 95%!) and I cannot thank her enough for preserving the happenings of the block men mural.

With that said, I quickly realized that someone who's not a Hermitcraft fan - or me if I'm older - might not get the gist of who's who on the mural. The solution? Make several pages dedicated to just listing who's who on the murals! Because of the sheer number of heads, the mural was divided into several pieces for easier labeling. As a bonus, I also threw in another mural nearby which was connected enough to the Hermitcraft community.

For consistency's sake and preserving focus, I decided to not label the peeps from Dream SMP or the MCC secondary mural. Wrangling Microsoft Word to create an infographic was hard enough, let alone 3! If I inadvertently left out a few bits of extra context from this decision, mea culpa.

When it came to typesetting the entire text block, I decided to make some consistent rules. Titles denoting each day or stage of the mural are on their own pages. New sections are titled using the Bahnschrift font and colored blue, while the first paragraph has their beginning lines look Minecraft-coded and topped with a drop cap (aka. those super-large alphabets).

The names of Hermitcraft and Minecraft players in general are bolded when they first appear in the text. Afterwards, they are bolded if they are contextually important to what's being said.

Extra context would be placed in the footnotes section at the bottom of the page. This is also where I dump some background information that would be invaluable for any readers who aren't Minecraft fans, which is why the SpaceX page looked like... uh, that.

My image policy is to go with the flow; I used as many images from riacte's posts as possible, but I also added-in some of my own if more context is needed. Placing them to look smooth with the text was harder - some are small enough to not cause any problems, others are large enough to fill entire pages without any problems, but a few like the Dream SMP mural (hey there! I managed to put you in!) are too wonky to fit perfectly without leaving no empty spaces.

So in that mural's case, I placed them to the side and let the contextual text flow around it. This principle was also used for the Dota2 / Love Live images and in a few other places throughout the book. The biggest case of this are the few images that are just too wide.

Like this one.

Making double-page spreads is not the easiest thing to do in Microsoft Word, and there are a few r/place images that are too wide to fit perfectly in a single page. Confining them to one page would also mean losing all their details, so making them a double-page spread was necessary.

Didn't make it easy though, especially when there are paragraphs of text and other images that needed to be shuffled around. Mess up the double-page images, and they won't meet in the middle. Mess up the text and other pics? There goes the layout and overall flow!

In the end, making this book took a lot longer than I expected, but I am still grateful to have made this as I have now read through many posts from Tumblr, Reddit, and even Youtube - people expressing joy that they have collectively made something together. I can only hope I have made some justice to them by compiling their work and (even if a small sliver) preserving their testaments.

May this r/place be remembered.

#r/place #rplace #Hermitcraft #reddit #MCYT #rplace 2022 #r/place 2022 #bookbinding #fanbinding #documentation #my bookbinds #hermitblr

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study-core-101 · 6 months ago

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How to do Visual Supports/Aids for an Oral Presentation

A Power Point, a poster, a Canva presentation. It is so easy to get them wrong to the point they end up being more an annoyance than a helpful tool. There are a few things to keep in mind to avoid these:

1. They are VISUAL, not blocks of texts

When you are doing the presentation, your visual supports helps your audience connect the ideas you are explaining (with arrows, diagrams, etc) and help you remember what you should say next. If you forget what you have to say, the information needs to be easy to find in your visual support. This means:

NO blocks of text

NO small text

NO hard to read font

NO extra information

NO compressing of information

NO images as background

What you should do instead to make it easier to find and read:

Use a big and undertandable font

Use arrows, diagrams, concepts maps, etc. Anything that isnt a block of text

Separate ideas with font size. Title: gigantic. Primary ideas: Major big. Secondary ideas: big

Only write the nessesary information, dont overwrite (we'll revise this later)

Look at these. If you were in front of your professor and needed to quickly check for a number, a word or a concept you forgot, which one would you rather find when you turn your head to your visual aid?

It looks hard to make your aids look like that, but there are a lot of pre-made presentations you can use. I personally like Canva for that but if you know how to use (really use, the whole tricky trick thing) Power Point/Prezzi/LibreOffice are literally heaven.

2. Dont put unnesasary images

They dont help you. You ignore. Your audience ignores it. At most, it makes you waste seconds when you try to look up the info. Why is it there? Because there is an empty space and you want to fill it. Because the presentation is a block of text and you want to make it look more presentation-like. If you wont use it, dont put it. Save the space for graphs or symbols that help identify what you are saying (ex: you are talking statistics, put ten symbols of people and paint them in different colors according to your numbers). Negative space is better than a distracting image that turns away your focus of the important stuff

3. Only write important information

This is probably the hardest thing to do. In your presentation, time and space is limited; you cannot explain everything, you have to pick. And in your visual aid, specially so. My way of picking what to write is the next:

Divide your presentation in the big topics. Like, the titles of all you are covering.

For each title, think what are all the important concepts (or ideas) you have to explain in your presentation. Shortly, a few words each

Define those concepts. Not more than a line or two

Is there ant other information you cannot miss at all?

Now you have all the parts. Write only these and not even that. Sometimes, you dont need to write Point 3. When you are speaking, you can should expand the concepts, add examples, etc but in your visual aid, a few words/sentece is all you need

4. Keep it topic-appropiate

When you are preparing you aid/support, of course you are going to use different colors and add some shapes to keep it dynamic. But! if you are presenting consequences of child abuse for your psych class, adding the rainbow of colors and flowers may be a little bit insensible. Keep in mind what you are presenting, use appropiate colors/colors that fit (scale of greys for sensible topics, greens for nature, blue for corporate/bussiness and like that).

5. Have a secuence

Both your presentation and your visual aid have to be organized. There needs to be a logical order and no repetition. For your presentation you should have a draft/guide and that order should be the same for you aid. If you are presenting a problematic, you start talking about the causes and your first slide has to be the causes. Next what it involves so your slide has to have the topic and like that. The order in which you speak and the order in your aid have to be the same and they have to be organized

Now that we covered the basics, go luck with your presentation!

#studyblr #study blog #study-core-101 #study motivation #student #study #study community #study tips #jay #study time #oral presentations #presentation #school #school life #uni #studying tips #study techniques

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bambiihee · 8 days ago

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Hey, i was just wondering how you and other fic writers get all your pretty lines and stickers and whatnot. Idk if its a trade secret or if its free knowledge, but yeah..

hi sweetie !!! i’ll never gatekeep hehe ^_^ if ur talking about our fic layouts and the designs on those i can tell u where i get mine !!! ^_^

colored/faded text — patorjk.com! i often use coolers.com to extract a color palette from an image, so that my text and my photos match

graphics — for the pretty lines i usually just search up “divider” on tumblr, a lot of creators make free to use dividers for people to use!! i’ve also made my own on canva!

banners — i make my own fic title banners on canva! i scour pinterest for nice aesthetic images (tho with the recent pinterest bans that might be hard) and i edit them in lightroom so that the colors all match ^_^

text symbols — emojicombos.com! i often use the search terms “kaomoji” and “aesthetic” lol

#⟣𓂃 ( 🦌 ) bambi speaks #﹙💌 ﹚loveletters answered! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡#﹙📬 ﹚you've got mail! ꮺ ָ࣪ ۰ ͙#﹙👤 ﹚my lovely anons!! ⋆˚࿔

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alphabetatoes · 1 year ago

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tennesee whiskey (n. kento x reader)

a.n.: this is basically a drawn out version of the prompt i posted earlier. fic title is in reference to the chris stapleton cover song (felt appropriate for the bar theme) (and and also also lets admire how cute the dividers i made in canva are) does this jump around in characterization? yeah maybe. go ahead, call the whimsy police on me! summary: nanami teaches you how to play pool c.w.: reader referred to using she/her pronouns, alcohol (reader is 21+), suggestive themes, smut if you squint, jealous nanami, and the ever-present risk of writing ooc. barely beta read (though what fic of mine is lmao) w.c.: 1.4k

You and Nanami were sent out to the middle of nowhere to exorcise a curse, in hopes of stopping it before it had the chance to propagate into something worse. Even though it was a Grade 3 curse, the higher ups deemed it safest for the two of you to go as a pair.. It was an in-and-out mission, the two of you making quick work to intervene. Soon enough, you were back in the car and headed back to campus. The simple pitter patter of raindrops hitting the windshield brought a strange sense of comfort. But the calm could only last for so long. A barricade of rain began to drop, bringing a swift end to the peace. He drove until the road was unnavigable, pulling off into an empty parking lot. The two of you were stranded. Your options were to either wait out the storm in the car, or attempt to find solace somewhere nearby. You chose to press your luck with the latter.

“Over there.”, he points out, pulling your attention.

Across the street, there was a dive bar still open despite the storm. The flickering neon lights were your own personal Eden. When you enter the bar, you’re immediately hit with warmth. A concoction of body heat and cigarette smoke fill the room. You can’t seem to mind it though. It draws the attention away from your clothes starting to form a second skin on your body.

“Now don’t you two look wonderful.” The bartender jokes. He bears a giant grin, and you can’t help but to feel unsettled by it. “If you got a change of clothes, restrooms are over that way.” Today was one of the days you were grateful for the spare set of clothes you kept on hand. Missions were unpredictable, and you never knew when you’d be stuck somewhere. You seize the opportunity and head to the restroom, eager to remove the soaked clothes. While you change, Nananmi orders two drinks from the bar.

“For you and your girlfriend?” “Hell, if she’s not spoken for, I’ll have to make her mine!” It’s not like he had a claim over you or anything. But as your partner, and even more so as your friend, he made your protection a top priority. It didn’t matter if they were one off comments. Nanami had lost too many to be careless.

“She’s fine.” Nanami’s tone is dry, unimpressed by the barkeep’s boldness. You return from changing, noticing the blond standing closer to you than before. It’s probably just a safety thing. Better to stay close together than apart, right?

“Drink this.” He hands you the other glass of whiskey. “It’ll help warm you up.” The liquor goes down relatively smooth, and you revel in the warmth of it. “How about a game of pool to pass the time?” You nod over at the table in the corner of the bar. The rain wasn’t letting up any time soon, and you figured it was a good way to pass the time. “You’ve played pool?”

“I’ve dabbled in it… online.” He rolls his eyes and hands you a stick. A hint of a smile crosses his face. That stoic exterior he fronts at all times slowly starting to chip away. “We could make it fun. Loser has to do something for the winner?” An opportunity for the adult of all adults to let loose. You were curious to know what was behind that rigid exterior. “If I win, you buy me a drink.”

“And what if I win?” A virtual win does not a professional pool player make, but you weren’t completely oblivious to the game. Even if the odds were stacked against you, you weren’t going down without a fight.

“Given the likelihood of that, I’ll do whatever you want.” He breaks, immediately shooting 3 balls into the pockets. Show-off. “Where’d you learn to play like that?” Of course the man of many secrets would turn out to be a semi-professional. Or he just really wanted a free drink. “Shoko and I used to play all the time when we were younger.”

It’s your time to shine. You step up to the table and ready your shot. “You’re doing it wrong.” Nanami smirks at your rigid form.You’re stiff as a board, awkwardly hovering the stick over the table. “Then show me, Mr. Professional.” Nanami moves from his spot across the table and positions himself right behind you. He places one hand on your stomach, arching your back out to him, and lets the other rest on your waist. “Now place your hands here.” He moves your right hand to grasp the pool stick; your left hand rests on the table forming a hand bridge toward the end of the stick. “Line up the shot and pull back when you’re ready.” He guides you to move, yet never adjusts his position from behind you. Hell, if you moved even an inch back, you’d ram right into him. You couldn’t say you minded though.

Just as instructed, you line up your shot and pull back. Once you release, the pool stick makes perfect contact with the cue ball. It spins for a moment, then promptly hits a striped ball into one of the six pockets. “Good shot.” His breath tickles your ear as he speaks. “Now do that about 8 more times and you’ll win.” You line up your second shot and- “Fuck.” The cue ball bounces off the side of the table and right into one of the pockets. “You’re overthinking it. Try not to be so stiff.” His tone is soft, sickly sweet almost.“Relax yourself.” He gives you a simple smirk as you relax, albeit into him. His strong hands hold on to your shoulders, kneading into them gently. Were you not in the middle of a game, you’d melt into his touch. Right here, right now.“

Easy for you to say. You’ve got like 4 balls left!” You whine, and his smirk grows wider. “Anything could happen.” Cocky. Such an easy claim for the blond to make! He was practically prodding a reaction out of you. And you would give it to him. A slap on the arm that he’d hope would linger for a second longer, but you pull away to align your next shot.

It had to be a fluke. The two of you were tied; it could’ve been anyone's game. But Nanami slipped up, knocking the 8 ball right into one of the pockets a turn early. Meaning you had won. Despite his banter with you about playing, he didn’t seem all that upset about the loss. “Alright, winner. Name your prize.”

“Kiss me?” You test the waters, careful not to scare him off. Be it the adrenaline rush from winning or the liquor, something emboldened your choice of prize. Nanami didn’t seem opposed either. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him as you lean in. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, as you lose yourself in the intoxicating taste and feel of him. Nanami is the one to deepen the kiss, pinning you against the table with his thigh. You let your hands fall to his shirt collar, playing with it and pulling him in closer.

As he cast a pointed look towards the bartender across the room, it became clear that Nanami had no intentions of letting anyone encroach on what was rightfully his. His lips trail down your jawline, leaving a trail of wet kisses in their wake, and finally rests against the sweet spot between your neck and shoulders. Nanami nips at the skin, deep enough to leave a mark. You pull away, trying to catch your breath. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you lost on purpose.” You smile, fixing the creases in his shirt collar. Nanami’s bruised lips pull into a cocky grin as he brushes his thumb over your lips. “Don’t doubt your ability. If anything, call it a newfound talent.”

“And what if I wanted to take this celebration somewhere more private?” You raise your brows, desperate to keep going but without prying eyes. Nanami picks up on your request immediately, releasing you from the pool table. Possessive, his grasp pulls you close. It’s firm but gentle, a simple comfort as he leads you. You both shuffle into the small bathroom and lock the door. And right now, more than ever, you’re grateful for the deep drumming of the thunder and the loud pour of the rain.

#this is kind of dialogue heavy but i still hope yall enjoy 😭#x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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nekoannie-chan · 19 days ago

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Light in the shadows

Title: Light in the shadows.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Brock Rumlow X Reader.

Word count: 686 words.

Square: 2, 5 & 7 “Tent catastrophic, guiding light & cold wind”.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: You and Brock don't get along.

Major Tags: Fluff, angst, disaster.

Additional tags: My entry for the @fandom-free-bingo Sleep Under the Stars Edition.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish, so I wanna improve my writing skills in English. Please let me know if you notice any mistakes, and I will correct them.

I don’t grant permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or in other languages (I translate my work) or for the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this). I created them exclusively for my fics; please respect my work and refrain from stealing it. Some people here make dividers that anyone can use; mine is not this type, so please look for the other people's dividers. The only exceptions are those I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it, please vote, comment, give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @real-fbi @caplanbuckybarnes @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @azulatodoryuga @endlesstwanted @patzammit @kmc1989

The mission was simple. Or so they had said.

Just a stakeout in a wooded area north of Slovenia. Lay low, gather intelligence, not engage in combat. But in the world you lived in, and especially -if you had Brock Rumlow as a mission partner-, things rarely went according to plan.

The helicopter had dropped them more than 13 miles from the target. The forest was thick, the trees tall and ancient, and the wind blowing through the branches seemed to have teeth. Brock had insisted that they set up a small camp in the undergrowth just before nightfall. There was a new moon, and the sky was covered with clouds. Only infrared and Brock's red flashlight briefly illuminated the damp ground as they set up the tent.

“Do you know how to set this up? “you asked, crouching down as you held one of the stakes with your icy fingers.

“Of course I do,” he replied with that smile you didn't know if you hated or loved. “Don't you trust me?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Only if we don't end up sleeping in the mud.”

“I promise you won't touch the mud, princess.”

By then, the wind was beginning to whip harder. An icy gust made your skin prickle under your uniform, and you clenched your jaw to keep from shivering. The tent was barely standing, with the supports giving way from the soft ground and constant gusts. When Brock tried to adjust one of the zippers, one of the metal rods jumped out of position and hit the canvas hard.

“No, no, no, no!” you shouted, just as the entire structure collapsed to one side like a house of cards.

The entire tent collapsed on top of you. The awning wrapped around your back, wet from the dew, covering your face, as Brock let out a series of mumbled expletives.

“Shit, this damn thing is broken!” he snarled, struggling with the tarp as the wind howled around him.

You laughed, still covered, and that seemed to annoy him more. Or maybe it didn't. Maybe he was just pretending.

“What's so funny?”

“You said I wouldn't sleep in the mud,” you replied. “And here I am, soaking wet, freezing and crushed by the tent.”

With a snort, Brock managed to free his arm and helped you out of the mess of fabric. “Let's go,” he said. “We'll find a cave, a slope, anything.”

You walked with him in the middle of the night, flashlight in hand. The branches crunched underfoot, and the wind beat harder with each step. You rubbed your arms, trying to warm your numb body.

That's when you felt it.

Brock's hand.

It slipped decisively between your cold fingers, intertwining them.

You said nothing. You just looked at him, surprised. He didn't speak either. He kept his eyes straight ahead, guiding you through the brush as if the contact was the most natural thing in the world.

“The light,” he finally murmured, ”You, not the lantern. You're my damn guide in this darkness.”

Within minutes, they found a small slope protected by rock formations. Brock took off his tactical coat without a second thought and slung it over your shoulders. When you protested, he just gave you a firm look.

“Don't argue with me. We have enough to do with the catastrophic tent.”

You sat down next to him, wrapped in his coat, while he turned on a small emergency lamp with a warm amber light that barely illuminated his features. You noticed his clenched jaw, the shadow of the scar that crossed near his brow, the way he rubbed his hands together to warm them.

“You're shaking,” you said.

“I'm fine.”

“Don't lie, Brock.”

He sighed, took off his gloves and looked at you.

“You always make me let my guard down,” he muttered. “As if it was hard for him to admit it. Even when I don't want to. Even when I shouldn't.”

You reached out without thinking and took his hand. This time, it was he who was surprised.

“You're my light, too,” you told him. “You're not alone.”

#fandomfreebingo #August Chaos #Fandom Free Bingo: Sleep Under the Stars Edition #brock rumlow x reader

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bleach-your-panties · 2 years ago

Text

⚡mind (and body) fuck 🛸- d.kaminari x fem reader x h.shinsou

⇰n/sfw 18+. mdni. MAJOR dark content warning.

⇰written for @bastardblvd's house of slimy horrors halloween collab.

⇰warnings: gullible reader, mentally ill reader, drug use (weed), electrostimulation, hypnosis, alien abduction, NON-CON, body horror, tummy bulge, use of surgical instruments, instrument insertion, egg retrieval, time-traveling (between present day and 1970's), alternate timelines, trippy shit, misogyny, sexism, sleazy men talk, threesome ig, excessive cursing, slimeball!denki being himself and slimeball!fake!landlord hitoshi, who claims he's a licensed hypnotist. this is degenerate, psychological filth; who wrote this?

⇰(i got the title idea from shinsou's hero name. i think it's mindbreak, but i always say mindfuck lol.)

🛸inspired by the movie fire in the sky and betty and barney hill's accounts of their alien abduction in 1961.

🛸banner images from pinterest/pic collage

🛸banner/animated divider made by me with canva/pic collage.

🛸halloween divider by @/firefly-graphics

🛸4.8k words

▶️: e. t (remix). - katy perry ft. kanye west

▶️: phone home - lil wayne

"You sure you don't want another hit, pretty?" Denki turned his head to ask you as he held the lit blunt, which was quickly becoming a roach, between his long fingers.

Hitoshi, who was sitting to your left, made a small sound of amusement.

"I think she's had enough. Just look at her fucking face."

You're Denki's new neighbor, having just moved down the hall into apartment 3E. After finally securing a day off from work, he decided to do the neighborly thing and invite you over. To get to know you better.

He met you as he was preparing to leave for work one morning.

You looked so lost and gullible, easy prey for him, but if he hadn't have left then, Katsuki would have most certainly put his ass on bathroom duty for being late.

He'd have to put his quest of getting to know you on the back burner until he had more time.

And now, the day has finally come.

He wasn't very impressed when Hitoshi insisted on coming over the same day to 'work on some maintenance issues'.

Hitoshi is a bastard, a smooth bastard, that always seems to be in competition with him when it comes to nagging hot, unsuspecting chicks and taking them home, filling them up with weed, alcohol, and dick, then giving them the boot.

They even have a scoreboard, and Denki is currently just one point behind Hitoshi right now. Just one measly point.

And Denki planned to use little ole, naive you to even the score.

"What even is in that shit? It smells horrible." The violet-haired man waved his hand in front of his face to waft the weed smoke away from his "delicate" nose.

"You know, I've never seen someone who smokes cigarettes be so sensitive about a little weed. Pussy."

"Pussy? Oh, so now we're name-calling then? If I'm such a pussy, then how come I'm ahead of you right now on the board?"

He pointed a long, black-polished fingertip at the board situated across the room in plain sight.

The girls that Denki brought back here either had to be dumb, lonely, desperate, or a sad mixture of all three. Not to mention the ones with daddy issues.

“Because you use fake status and promises of discounted rent to get pussy, while I, on the other hand, use my charm and good looks. Not to mention I actually know how to fuck.” Denki smirked and crossed his long arms over his chest.

Hitoshi just snorted and Denki knew that he had won that argument.

A soft moan and a feminine hand on his jean-clad thigh made Denki jump in surprise.

"Shit, I almost forgot you were here, baby girl. Scared the fuck out of me." Denki cooed at you and then snickered.

A steaming hot box of pizza was open on the small coffee table in front of you, along with opened cans of beer and soda.

"You still didn't answer my question, pisshead. What is in that weed and why does it stink so fucking badly?"

Denki leaned forward to grab a slice of pizza out of the box: Hawaiian-style pizza.

"It's called Pineapple Express."

"Oh you just fucking made that up."

"I swear I didn't, but okay." Denki reached across your lap to ash the roach. Your small hand shakily reached out, grabbed his wrist, and rubbed it all the way down to the crease of his elbow, meeting the flannel of his rolled-up shirt.

“What’s wrong, baby? Are you tired?” Denki asked you in a thick, honey-laden voice.

What he doesn't know, though, is that he's given you a dangerous mixture.

A toxin that would soon have you spouting fairytales and complete nonsense.

You looked up at the zig-zag blonde confused, as if you were really seeing him for the first time.

"Wait, where am I? W-what…what year is it?"

Shinsou raised an eyebrow and shot Denki a concerned look.

"You're in my apartment, babe, and the year is 2023." Denki answered without missing a beat.

You were clutching his arm now in a panicked state.

"N-no, that can't be right. The last thing that I remember was walking home and then there was this bright, green light and…"

Both males leaned into you mechanically, them wanting to give you their full attention as well as them being eager to hear what you have to say.

"It was like a fire in the sky; at first it was merely a spark against the soot of the night, when all of a sudden, it was surrounding me, a blazing hot inferno, as if I had stepped onto the Sun's surface." You explained with a shakiness to your voice.

"If you even attempted to touch the Sun, you'd vaporize before you could even reach the surface." Shinsou retorted smartly.

Denki seemed perturbed by the story that you're currently spouting, but he also couldn't deny that it had sparked his interest.

"Leave it to Denki to bring home a crazy bitch and try to fuck…" Shinsou mumbled and reached into his jeans pocket for a Marlboro Menthol Black cigarette.

Said blonde swatted at Shinsou, a silent message for the lavender-haired man to shut the fuck up lest he scare away the barista's latest conquest.

"Hmm, what are you babbling about, sugar tits? There's no such thing as aliens and time travelers." He chuckled gleefully and cradled you closer to him.

How cute and funny you are.

His dick began to stir in his jeans from having you lie against him like this. Your tits spilled over the neckline of your top and brushed his chest.

Shinsou rolled his periwinkle eyes as he continued to smoke his cigarette and watch the wispy smoke curl up into the air. The minty, smoky odor mixed with the fruity one of Denki’s weed.

Those eyes then moved to the floor where your open purse was sitting by his feet. Inside, he could see a couple of pill bottles peeking out.

While you were busy whining to Denki about how you’d supposedly been abducted by aliens in your past life, Shinsou leaned down and scooped the three bottles up to read their white labels.

‘Haloperidol, chlorpromazine, and trifluoperazine. Antipsychotics?’

He rolled the bottles over in his hand then shot another look over to Denki, who seemed to have forgotten that Shinsou was even there.

The blonde's nimble fingers splayed across your back while his other hand rubbed up and down your shoulder.

Your breathing quickened and Denki took that as your arousal coming out, but your chest was constricting; you felt like you might be having a panic attack.

Shinsou stood up off the couch and moved Denki's hand off of your shoulder. Honey snapped up to meet periwinkle.

"What the fuck, dude?"

The pill bottles shook in his face, making Denki squint as he tried to read the small black writing.

"What is this?"

"Antipsychotic medication! This chick is seriously screwed up! You shouldn't have given her that weed; it's likely the only reason she's falling all over you right now!"

Denki scoffed and rolled his eyes. In his mind, Shinsou is just envious that Denki got to you first, and the lavender-haired man was afraid for Denki to take the lead over him.

"Now when it's my chance to finally get ahead, you want to be a man of morals? Spare me the bullshit, please."

"Forget about the fucking board for a minute! You-"

Denki swiped the bottles out of Shinsou's hand and brought them in front of your face. His free hand moved from your back to your belly and down into the waistband of your skirt.

"Did you remember to take your medicine today, huh, pretty?" He asked with a teasing lilt in his voice. This revelation doesn't change anything for him; he's still hard and still wants to fuck you.

Your eyes refocus on him, only slightly, and you give a faraway nod.

"I did…I think.."

He leaned forward to set the pill bottles on the coffee table. "Good girl…" He purred like a fat cat with a bowl full of fresh tuna.

Denki grabbed your exposed thigh and used it to pull your leg across his waist. Shinsou didn't miss how your cunt gripped the chartreuse lace of your panties as Denki exposed you to his sunken eyes. He bit his lip.

"You're really going to fuck her while she's like this?" His voice was thick with apprehension.

Denki didn't falter; he even smirked.

"Sure am...not like I haven't done it before. You got a problem, you can leave. There's the door." He nodded his head behind him to the metal door that leads into the hallway.

Shinsou's jaw clenched; his pride wouldn't let him be outdone by a dumbass like Denki. Not by a long shot.

Shinsou had to think of a plan and think of one fast before Denki would have your spaced-out ass bouncing on his dick in this very living room.

"Hey…I've got an idea. If she claims she was abducted by aliens, I'll hypnotize her. That way, we'll know if she's really telling the truth or if she's just a nut."

Denki laughed at the double entendre. "She is just a nut, but I'm interested now. Do you really know how to hypnotize someone?" He asked, looking at Shinsou while standing up from the couch.

"Of course, I'm a licensed hypnotist." Shinsou lied, trying to save face.

Denki positioned you in a supine position and crossed your arms over your chest.

"I'm going to hypnotize her, not put her in a fucking tomb." Shinsou rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. Just do it, before I get bored. Also, if you think you're going to trick me into giving her up, you've got another thing coming." Denki snapped.

His tone grew darker, possessive. He settled his long limbs onto the coffee table and pushed the cans and pizza boxes off to the side.

"Shut the fuck up." Shinsou mumbled. He walked over to the arm of the couch where your head is situated and stood over you.

Smoke-scented fingers caressed your cheek and jaw. You looked up into Shinsou's eyes and they turned dark like cold, jagged amethysts.

"I need you to relax for me, kitten. Breathe slow and easy, don't force them out. Just let them come slow and easy, just like that. Good girl."

His hand moved to stroke your hair and your squinted eyes shut completely.

"Keep breathing and slowly begin to count backwards from fifty. Come on, do it for me, baby. I know you can."

Denki's golden eyes watched with intent and arousal; watching you submit to Shinsou's whim so easily was making him even harder than he was previously.

"50…49…48…47…46…"

Your arms slumped by your sides as you drifted off.

—--

1976

—--

The crickets' songs were melodious in your ears as you walked through your darkened college campus to get back to your dormitory.

The women's dorms were situated far from the main campus and the only way to get there was through a thick, wooded area.

"Silly me for not watching the time and ending up kicked out on my ass at 8pm at night. So not groovy." You chuckled.

Your platform sandals thumped against the ground, the material of your flared pants swishing over them with every calculated step that you took.

It was a bit of a chilly night, not unusual for your hometown, but tonight oddly seemed much colder.

The breeze ruffled your clothes and you looked up into the obsidian night sky. The moon was high and the stars swirled behind the dark gray clouds like a vortex, waiting to swallow up the wispy bits of condensation.

"How beautiful…"

Suddenly, one of those stars began growing larger and larger. It seemed to be moving towards the Earth; a comet maybe?

No.

It's much bigger and much wider than a comet would be and it's…spinning.

Hot.

The heat was all around you at once and you were trapped. A mechanical whirring sound reverberated in your ears and drummed against your brain.

Bright, green light emanated from the flying disk as it landed amongst the trees, crushing many of them under its massive weight.

The sound of multiple tree trunks cracking and bending under it sounded like multiple whips cracking against flesh and the sound made you wince. You dropped your books and covered your ears.

"What…this can't be happening right now…"

You whispered softly and clenched your eyes shut. The biting cold was now no match for the heat that had engulfed your entire being.

You fainted.

—--

We are not the same. I am a Martian..

(Greetings from Planet Weezy,

We will begin transmission in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…)

Phone home! (Weezy)

And if you feel like you're the best go 'head and do the Weezy-wee and

Phone home! (Weezy)

—-

You awoke sometime later in a cold room with steel walls.

"What happened to me..I..what the hell?"

You tried to move your arms, but they were strapped down on either side of your head with thick leather straps.

"What the fuck?! Let me go! Let me out of here! Anybody! Somebody - help me!"

All of your racket must have alerted whoever else was on the ship with you, because the metal door opened, lifting up from the floor slowly.

Purple smoke filtered under the door and two white-robed figures walked in.

You looked at them and they looked back at you. Then they looked at each other and began speaking in a language that your puny human brain couldn't even begin to comprehend.

The two of them looked like regular humans, but you knew that they were anything but.

The shorter one of the two, a blonde with a black zig-zag stripe through one side of his hair, focused on you.

He was wearing blue visor-like eyewear that shielded his honey-colored eyes from your vision. The man began to approach your bedside and only upon closer inspection did you realize that he was carrying a metal try with various surgical tools on it.

While the blonde situated himself on a stool beside your bed, the other, a much taller man with wild purple hair, matching eyes, and a black mouthpiece concealing the lower portion of his face sat down at the foot of your bed…table…examination table.

He said something else to the blonde, who nodded without looking up from the laptop that he was now typing on.

He moved a slim finger to press something on the screen - you couldn't read the text, it must be in whatever language they were speaking - and you noticed that his skin was a sickly-looking pale green color and his fingers ended in very sharp black talons.

Definitely not human.

—-

We are not the same, I am a Martian

And I'm hotter than summer rain like Carl Thomas

Lock, load, ready to aim at any target

I could get your brains for a bargain like I bought it from Target

—-

The purple-haired one seemed content with just watching you, but he began twisting the knobs on the sides of his mouthpiece.

Greetings, human.

The sound rang inside your head like a bell. It didn't seem to have come from his mouth, but since you couldn't see his lips, you really didn't know.

"I-I…what do you plan to do with me? Please, just let me go home…!"

You pleaded to him, but your cries didn't seem to really affect him. He just continued staring at you, as if you were an insect under a microscope..

An insect that he could easily overpower and crush if you even tried to defy him or his partner.

We plan to cause you no harm, if and only if you obey us and let us perform some examinations on you…

"W-What kind of examinations?"

The blonde, now finished with his computer work, rose from the stool and grabbed the metal tray.

He joined the purple one at the foot of your bed, having pulled the stool with him to sit back down on.

The purple one said no more, but the blonde reached for your feet and placed them into stirrups at the bottom of the bed.

This setup is one that you're quite familiar with…is he planning to… give you a feminine wellness exam?

Your thoughts on that were quickly diverted once you saw the tools that the blonde had actually picked up.

He wore thick blue gloves made of, what you assumed might be latex, but it had to be stronger or his claws would've ripped right through them.

"No…no no no no…please!" You pleaded, thrashing against the table widely.

In one hand he held what looked like a transvaginal ultrasound probe but on a much larger scale then what you'd find in any doctor's office on Earth.

The blonde spoke again to his companion, his tone coming across as annoyed.

The purple-haired man slowly rose from his seat and walked over to you.

He placed his large hand atop your sweaty hair and began to gently stroke it in an effort to calm you down.

Hush now, if you don't lie still I'm going to have to sedate you.

Why couldn't you have just done that in the first damn place!?

You wanted to argue back, but thought it less than wise to do so.

The blonde continued on since you seemed to be distracted now. Deciding to not look at whatever he was about to do to you, you focused your attention on the purple-haired man.

He looked into your eyes and his own wrinkled at the corners, like he might be smiling at you. His sharp nails lightly skimmed over your scalp creating a tingling sensation.

Very good, pet. You're doing so well…

He reached behind his head and began to undo the contraption over his mouth.

The last thing that you saw was a wide mouth full of rows of razor-sharp teeth and a long, purple reptilian tongue.

—

We are not the same, I am an alien

Like Gonzales, young college

Student, who done just flipped the game like Houston

I'm use to Promethazine and two cups, I'm screwed up

And you ain't shit if you ain't never been screwed up

Flow so sick, make you wanna throw your food up

—-

The blonde man pushed the large instrument inside of you and watched from a screen situated above your bed to make sure that he was maneuvering it correctly.

The large instrument stretched the skin of your stomach so lewdly and the purple-haired man watched it maneuver inside of you, intrigued.

Then, with a very long and very thin needle, the blonde penetrated your belly in order to get to your ovaries and retrieve some eggs.

When he finished, he removed his gloves and washed his hands in a wide, oval-shaped sink made of what looked like pure white marble.

Your face was covered in sweat and you were breathing heavily, but both men were cooing over you now, stroking your arms and legs while speaking in their strange language.

You didn't exactly remember it, but you somehow ended up back in the forest where you started.

Five days later.

Your roommate, teachers, colleagues, and parents were all worried sick about you, and finally, you were found on the fifth day, curled up in a ball in the middle of the forest.

They were scared that you might have been drugged and assaulted or worse, had a delusional episode and had wandered off by yourself and gotten lost in the forest.

You had no clothes on when they found you; the only thing covering you was a thin blanket made of a shimmery-metallic colored fabric.

The story became a big sensation in your town, but many were skeptical of you because of your schizophrenia.

You went on to finish college and live a pretty successful life, but that one night all those years ago still haunted you..

—-

I never had life and I never had fear

I rap like I done died and gone to heaven I swear

And yeah I'mma bear, like black and white hair, so I'm polar

And they can't get on my system cause my system is the Solar

I am so far from the othars, I meant others

I just eat them for supper, get in my spaceship and hover, hover

—-

Present Day, 2023

—-

"Damn, it really worked…" Denki said in awe as his eyes raked over your still body. "Isn't she supposed to like, talk, though? She hasn't said a word."

Currently, you haven't really said anything or moved much. Shinsou really had no idea what the hell he was doing, but he knew that he hadn't killed you, so all wasn't lost.

"She's so cute, I could give a damn about her stupid alien story." Denki got up from the coffee table and began unbuckling his jeans.

"Whoa, you're really going to fuck an unconscious girl?" Shinsou asked, a bit taken aback.

The blonde scoffed, "Please, cut the nice guy act, will you? It really doesn't suit you. Besides, I saw her first, so I'm going to fuck her." He shrugged, uncaring.

"Wait, stop. She just moved. She can probably hear us." Shinsou looked at your face, and sure enough your lips were moving and you were mumbling something.

"Please stop…hurts…let me go…help...someone…" Tumbled out of your Chapstick-coated lips.

"She's probably talking to the aliens, so she's not unconscious." Denki snickered. He elbowed Shinsou out of the way and straddled your legs over the couch. A zipper came down and he was now palming his hard cock in one hand while the other reached to pull your top down.

His hand then slapped your face and you jolted, but didn't open your eyes.

"With that weed, her psycho meds, and whatever the hell you just did, we just made her into the perfect little fuck doll for us to enjoy."

"Us? This is crazy…I can't…" Shinsou cut himself off as he looked at the board again.

If he didn't do this, he would be behind Denki.

He would lose to Denki.

He couldn't let that happen.

"Either we fuck her together or no one does and the board remains as is. So what'll it be, Hitoshi?"

—-

I got a dirty mind

I got filthy ways

I'm tryna bathe my ape (ape) in your Milky Way (Way)

I'm a legend, I'm irreverent, I be reverend

I'll be so far u-u-u-p

We don't give a f-u-u-uck

Welcome to the danger zone, step into the fantasy

You are not invited to the other side of sanity

They calling me an alien, a big-headed astronaut

Maybe it's because ya boy Yeezy get ass a lot

—-

Shinsou situated himself back at the edge of the couch where your head was.

He pulled his own zipper down and let his dick flop right on out and rest against your soft cheek.

"So soft and warm…" His fingers curled into your hair as he began stroking himself.

"Bet her mouth is much softer and much warmer." Denki sighed. He was jacking himself off with your pretty lace panties wrapped around his condom-covered cock.

—-

You're so, hypnotizing

Could you be the devil?

Could you be an angel?

Your touch, magnetizing

Feels like I am floating

Leaves my body glowing

They say "Be afraid"

You're not like the others

Futuristic lover

Different DNA

They don't understand you

You're from a whole 'nother world

A different dimension

You open my eyes

And I'm ready to go, lead me into the light

—-

"Probably right…let's find out." Shinsou huffed breathlessly.

He leaned over you, parted your lips with two fingers, and spat into your mouth.

His cold, thin lips covered yours as he kissed you fully on the mouth, slipping his tongue inside.

—-

Kiss me, k-k-kiss me

Infect me with your lovin', fill me with your poison

Take me, t-t-take me

Wanna be a victim, ready for abduction

Boy, you're an alien

Your touch, so foreign

It's supernatural

Extraterrestrial

—-

After releasing his warm cum all over your pussy, Denki reached for a small box underneath the couch.

Inside were two electric nipple clamps.

"These will really give her the shock of her life." He grinned and attached them to your erect nipples.

"Wanna do the honors?" He tossed the small, black remote to Shinsou, who was rubbing his swollen cock over your wet lips.

Shinsou pressed a button on the remote and your body jerked from the electric shock, making Denki giggle.

—-

You're so supersonic

Wanna feel your power

Stun me with your laser

Your kiss, is cosmic

Every move is magic

You're from a whole 'nother world

A different dimension

You open my eyes

And I'm ready to go, lead me into the light

—-

"Fuck..!"

"S-shit.."

Both men moved in a rhythm; Denki thrusting into your cunt while Shinsou did the same action with your mouth.

"I'm going to…blow my fucking load..ahh shit, she's so tight for such a dumb slut." Denki groaned, his hips jerking faster and faster, making the couch scrape back and forth against the floor.

"I'm close, too…fuck…so good…such a good kitten, take all of my cum, now. Drink it all up like a good bitch."

Shinsou's head flopped forward and he grasped one of your tits while he orgasmed hard.

His cum flooded your mouth and spilled over the sides. The lavender-haired man tutted and used his thumb to push it back inside your mouth.

"Fuck!" Denki shouted and sunk his knees into the couch as he came hard into the condom. He had to catch his breath before he climbed off of you. Your panties were stuffed in his back pocket as he went to trash the condom and clean himself up.

Shinsou sank down onto the coffee table and pulled out another cigarette while he watched you.

It was now evening and the windows had darkened along with the changing sky.

Multiple stars littered the sky outside and the moon shone through the window where Denki had left the curtains open a smidgen.

When Denki came back, you were coming to with a shocked and confused look on your face.

"It's you, again…it's you! You came back!" You cried.

Without any care for how you might've looked, you sat upright urgently and wrapped your arms around yourself.

The blonde and purple-haired men just stared at you with bored expressions on their faces.

They had gotten what they wanted and now had no use for you or any regard for your well-being whatsoever.

That blonde and lavender hair, those sharp, cunning eyes…they were the same as those from all those years ago…how could you have not noticed it before?

"Stay away from me, you monsters!"

You threw a pillow from the couch at Denki and he caught it. A smirk covered his lips as he watched you run out of the door with your skirt pushed up your hips, no shoes, no purse, and your hand haphazardly holding your breasts inside your top.

"Do you think she'll tell anyone?" Shinsou asked, smoke curling from his lips as he spoke.

Denki reached for another pre-rolled blunt that had been pushed off the side of the table during your activities.

"Even if she did, who would believe a crazy bitch like her?"

—-

You ran completely out of the building, into the night.

You didn't know exactly where you were running to, but you knew that you had to get away from there.

Ahh, there you are. We've finally found you, again.

Your head whipped around behind you, where you could see two, tall, robed figures standing there. The moonlight reflected off of that tell-tale visor, while long, skinny fingers clicked and turned the wheels on the sides of a black mouthpiece.

Our little test subject…

You screamed.

—-

I know a bar out in Mars

Where they driving spaceships instead of cars

Cop a Prada space suit up out the stars

Getting stupid high straight up out the jars

Pockets on Shrek, rockets on deck

Tell me what's next? Alien sex?

I'ma disrobe you, then I'ma probe you

See, I abducted you, so I tell you what to do

(I tell you what to do, what to do, what to do)

Kiss me, k-k-kiss me

Infect me with your lovin', fill me with your poison

Take me, t-t-take me

Wanna be a victim, ready for abduction

Boy, you're an alien

Your touch, so foreign

It's supernatural

Extraterrestrial

----

*ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ!

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