#i refuse to finish this so here you go. in all it's half fucking drawn glory

[marcyonacross]

cause if she's got a pulse then she's not my type

[stepinthyme]

The Red Means I Love You

Alice Wu Gulliver x Necromancer!Reader

Your girlfriend told you she'd be gone to finish some buisness, and you feel her death happen. You refuse to let her go.

Word Count: 1k

Content: second person, no use of Y/N, ressurection, kissing, fluff, blood and gore, Alice is naked but that is not the focus here. Reader is refered to as "girlfriend" at one point, but otherwise this could be read as gender neutral

A/N: If no one will feed me, I will feed MYSELF. I may cross post this to ao3 in the morning, but I needed to get this out of my head while it was all still fresh. This is very heavily inspired by Marcille's ressurection of Falin from Dungeon Meshi, but fuck it, if Billy's allowed to ressurect Tommy by putting his soul into another kid's dead body, then theres gotta be at least one other person able to do necromancy, and why not do lesbianism. Alice is probably a little ooc but I did this in like an hour, cut me some slack.

Today, running the butcher’s was very slow, predictable for the sleepy little metropolitan area of Eastview and Westview. It was run of the mill and average, what everyone in the town basically forced it to be ever since the scarlet witch scared half the people within a three mile radius.

You were just finishing the last of closing procedures and headed into your apartment above the shop, making a quick dinner and settling in for a simple night watching tv when you could feel it. The moment Alice's life was snuffed out. No, more like drained out of her, in a drawn out action. She had told you she was just going to finish some family related business, that she'd be back before the night was over. She'd be back before you knew it. Kissed you on the cheek and everything like she did when she'd head off to work.

Before you had even really processed anything else, you were already setting up the ritual, drawing out a sigil with chalk, placing candles in the appropriate places, scouring your cabinets for all the assorted offerings needed.

You and Alice had met because you were outcast witches. She had distanced herself from the craft after the death of her mother. And you were known as the disgrace of all green witchcraft. You were an odd duo, but you were happy so long as you were together. She had asked you a few times how you had earned your title, and you always laughed it off.

She was going to finally learn why you were called that very quickly.

You were grateful for your day job as a butcher, as you used magic to carry large cuts of cow and lamb, bones and all from the commerical freezer to the living room. plopping them haphazardly onto the sigil. It wasn't her body, but it would do in a pinch. You would deal with any consequences later. You lit the candles and got onto your knees, placing your hands on the sigil as you began the incantation you had done at least a dozen times. Your voice almost seemed to echo through the room as forbidden magics are called upon.

In a basement a couple miles away, death reaches out for a soul, only to see her violently yanked away from her grasp, disappearing from sight.

You continue to shout as the meat and bone fuse together, almost melting as it reformed itself into a human shape, features slowly refining itself to resemble the soul now bound to it. The last touches are added as your girlfriend, albeit covered in blood and naked, now lies in the middle of the circle. You nearly collapse, but you stare anxiously, hoping, praying, that it worked.

Alice's eyes snap open as she bolts upright, gasping for air. You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding as the tears finally roll down your face and pull her into a tight hug.

“Alice! Alice, I thought I lost you, I..”

You continue to squeeze her, kissing various spots on her face, not caring about the copper taste of the blood. Alice seemed to be finally coming out of shellshock as her hands found their way to tangle in your hair. Her eyes met yours.

“Is… is this real? Am I really here?”

“Yes Alice, you’re really here, I promise. You're here. I'm here.”

Without much warning, you were pulled in for a deep kiss. If you didn't know any better, you'd have thought she hadn't seen you in months with how desperate it was. Your tongues danced with no clear rhythm as you tried to get enough of each other, only stopping when you both needed air. Alice let out a huffy laugh of disbelief.

“How did you… how did you even do this? I was dead. I saw death.”

You glance away, picking at some of the melted wax on one of the candles, suddenly conscious of what you had done, how much of an overreach it might have been.

“It's. A long story, trust me. I understand if you don't want to be around me anymore after this, I just-” Alice gently takes your hands in hers, rubbing circles with her thumbs.

“Hey, hey. It's okay. Look at me?” You meet her gaze once more, her warm eyes looking softly at you.

“It's okay. What happened was weird, yes. But I think quite literally breaking the laws of life and death is maybe the most romantic thing a girlfriend has done for me. Just don't make a habit of it, okay?” You can't help but laugh at that.

“Only if you don't make a habit of it. What even happened?” Alice paused at that.

“It’s also a long story. I’ll tell you after I get cleaned up. You should probably too, considering” she gestures to your now bloodsoaked clothes, and you nod.

“I’ll take care of the cleaning in here while you shower, and I'll meet you in the bedroom later after I get washed up. If you're still awake by then, we can exchange stories. Otherwise that can wait till morning. Alright?” She nods, placing one last kiss to your forehead before attempting to get up and then immediately falling over. You stand up, offering a hand to her.

“Need help?” She takes it, and you help pull her up, resulting in a much more successful attempt to stand than the last one.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one protecting you.” You can't help but giggle at the remark.

“Everyone needs help once and a while. The usual doting can wait for later.”

You walk with her to the bathroom to make sure she doesn't fall again before even making it to the tub, before heading back to dig through the supply closet. You pull out the cleaning supplies and head back to the living room area, and the now giant stain of blood and chalk on your floor. Necromancy is a bitch, but it's all worth it now that you have Alice back with you. Whatever happens next, the two of you can sort it out together.

[t4t4tclethian]

The moment Joel realizes he has a crush on xB is, objectively, quite a funny one. He’d almost certainly be laughing about it if it had been anyone else. As it is, though, he’s hopping mad, extremely indignant, and deeply embarrassed about the whole thing. Who ever heard of a hitman falling for their mark? (Well, a lot of people have- it’s a whole romance cliche for a reason. But it wasn’t supposed to actually happen!)

(ao3 link)

————————————————

It had all started a few days earlier, when Joel had been hanging out with the other Magical Mountaineers in the breakroom. Gem and Impulse were poring over some papers together, Skizz was on a phone call in the corner, Mumbo was politely watching as Scar fumbled through some magic tricks, and Grian was sitting on the couch with Joel, listening to him rant about his failures at killing xB (he’d drawn the short straw). Everything was normal.

And then, when Joel paused his tirade to take a breath, Grian said those fatal words. “From the way you talk about this guy, Joel, it’s almost like you’ve got a crush on the mark!”

Which was ridiculous, of course! He does blummin’ not, thank you! His relationship with xB was a perfectly platonic contract killing, and Joel is a professional! He knows better than to fall for his target, and he indignantly tells Grian as much.

But, of course, Grian is Grian, and the second he senses he’s touched a nerve he doubles down. And so he did.

“Contract killing? Give me a break, Joel! Your contract on this guy expired ages ago, and you’re not the type to work for free.” Grian’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he continued to needle at Joel. “Admit it, there’s something else going on here, isn’t there?”

Joel spluttered, and took a deep breath as he glanced around the room. Fuck. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen in on him and Grian now. He had to say something to throw them off or he would never be able to live this conversation down.

“My contract might be done, but unlike some people I finish the things I start, thank you very much!”

Grian squawked in indignation, and as he did so the others chuckled and turned back to their own conversations, unfounded accusations of romance forgotten. Grian’s tendency to leave things unfinished was well-known, and something that every assassin at Magic Mountain had teased him over many times.

But that thought refused to leave his brain. It had wiggled its way in like a worm. Did he have a crush on xB? Is that why he kept coming back when any sane person would’ve just given it up already? And the answer, of course, is no. All of Joel’s actions here have perfectly reasonable and professional explanations.

————————————————————

Joel waits patiently on the rooftop across from Horse Head Farmer’s Market (which, despite the name, is actually a grocery store/money laundering scheme, not a farmer’s market), rifle at the ready, just as he has been for the past three and a half hours. You can’t rush a good sniping, after all, and xB’s schedule varies enough that Joel’s never quite sure when he’ll head out for lunch. (He’s pretty sure xB has done this specifically to spite Joel- the guy’s obsessed with him.)

Yes! Finally! xB steps out of the store, starts walking down the street, and- turns to look at Joel’s rooftop, makes direct eye contact with him, and gives him a friendly little wave, the infuriatingly sincere kind that makes Joel want to kill him even more. Dammit. He’s been caught. Also, wow, even from here Joel is a little wowed by how blue xB’s eyes are. Or maybe he’s just remembering how they look, because there’s no way Joel can actually see his eyes from here. They are definitely a very nice blue, though, and oh, huh, Joel realizes that Lizzie has blue eyes, too. Maybe he’s got a thing for blue-eyed people, and- OH SHIT RIGHT HE’S KILLING THIS GUY.

Joel fires, because even if he’s been discovered a vantage point is still a vantage point. Of course, xB somehow manages to not be in the bullet’s path, just like he always does, and then he gives Joel a disapproving look, like he’s actually disappointed Joel didn’t do a better job at trying to kill him.

God, he’s so cute, Joel’s brain has the audacity to think, like it’s trying to add insult to insult to injury. To Joel’s horror, he realizes in this moment that he’s had dozens, maybe even hundreds of thoughts like this, that just slipped through the cracks and went unnoticed.

Then, xB smiles at him again before heading on his way, and Joel falls off of the rooftop. He has time to think, Oh, I’m gonna kill Grian, as he plummets towards the ground. And then, everything goes dark, and he dies.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 634

Previously On...: You and Bucky are probably going to be okay.

A/N: IT'S OUT EARLY!

This is it! The last chapter! OMG!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

10 Months Later

“I refuse to accept this.”

“Well, unfortunately, Boss, it’s my decision to make, not yours,” you told Tony as you finished stacking up the last of your moving boxes. Sixteen years– almost half of your life, now condensed into neat stacks of cardboard, waiting to be loaded into the van that was waiting downstairs.

“What the hell am I supposed to do without you?” Tony asked, dramatically flinging himself on your now bare mattress. “How am I supposed to survive?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s not like you won’t see me every fucking day, dude,” you admonished him. “I still work here, for fucks’ sake. Besides, you refused to let your realtor show me any place you couldn’t see from your terrace.”

“I thought it would be nice if we could wave to each other during breakfast,” he said, his face drawn into a pout now, “that’s all.”

You sat down next to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to cut the umbilical cord, Tony,” you said. 

“But you’re still such a kiddo, Kiddo,” he sighed.

“I meant your umbilical cord, Boss,” you laughed. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll try it for a year or two, figure out I absolutely hate it, and come crawling back, begging for my old room.”

“Don’t press your luck,” Tony said, sitting back up. “I’ll probably turn it into a sauna, or an indoor golf simulator as soon as you walk out that door.”

“Ah, there’s the Tony I know and tolerate,” you said with a smile.

“I’m just going to miss having you around,” he said, his voice now laced with sadness. “Sixteen years together– probably the longest stable relationship I’ve ever had. It’s not going to be the same around here without you.”

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m going to miss you, too. But you know I need this. After everything that happened last year with Carthage, and Barnes… me spiraling, losing a baby I didn’t even know about, getting shot, and the… complications; all that shit with Steve. I just think I need a fresh start, some place where I’m not reminded of her every time I walk around a corner. It’s the only way I’m going to truly heal.”

“I told you I’d move you to another floor. Hell, I’ll tear down the entire Tower and start from scratch. We can build a whole new compound Upstate or something. You’d never have to set foot in this hallway again,” he said. And you knew he was telling the truth– there was little Tony wouldn’t do to ensure you were comfortable in your old home, but you couldn’t rely on him forever.

“You’ve saved me so many times already, Boss,” you said, looking back at him fondly, “and you know I’m always going to be thankful for that. But it’s time I started working on saving myself.”

“Well, when you make it sound all empowering and shit,” he began, “I start to feel like a dick for protesting.”

You laughed as your phone beeped. Looking at the message, you told him: “Movers are on the way up. I guess this is really it.” You both stood and embraced, Tony leaning down to speak softly in your ear.

“You know you always have a home here, Kiddo,” he said. “Whenever you need it. Even if it’s just for a night, or if you decide you want to come back for good. Door’s always open.”

“And even if it’s not,” you said as the two of you broke away from one another, “I can always hack the system to break myself in.”

“I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

“You think Mr. Mitchell’s still practicing law?” you asked with a grin. “I can definitely afford to have him represent me, now.”

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

[biscuitblinkeu]

Build A Bitch [1]

Park Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

Word count: 3884?

Warnings: this applies to every chapter: Profanity is used, and there is trigger warnings

A/n: Don’t ask why this chapters so long because I have no idea what possessed me to write that much, it’s practically two chapters in one… And, maybe, just maybe, I waited till I reached 400 followers (Wow! Thank you!) to post this series.

“Why is it that I always find you hiding in here?”

…………………………………………………………………………

Multiple times, when you have nothing to occupy your mind, the question is drawn about and you find yourself asking: what makes someone a Crazy Bitch? The term most indefinitely applies to women, and is said by a “friend” or man in most cases.

Is it a woman that has emotional problems?

“I don’t know how you deal with that crazy bitch. I’d never put up with her antics.”

Is it a woman who after a break up slashes the tires of your car, burns your clothes, and tries to get you fired from your job, that calls you the next day to reconcile?

“That crazy bitch keyed my car!”

Is it a woman who has suffered during their childhood, and as a result of the experience matures to be simultaneously lascivious and sexually aggressive?

“I refuse to go clubbing with her, she’s constantly acting like she’s going to fuck everyone— it’s embarrassing, you can’t go anywhere with that crazy bitch without getting into some kind of trouble. She needs to get help.”

You believe, contrary to the stereotypes that come with the term, that a “crazy bitch” is an intelligent woman who will call you out on your behavior. That will not put up with your bullshit and will hold everything in until you push her to the point that she explodes, and tells you everything about yourself. Verbally destroying your existence, and exposing you for the true piece of shit you are. There’s little to nothing (at all) mentally wrong with these women. Calling them crazy is the only defense a person has to make her seem unstable to everyone.

You slide into a chair, dropping your backpack to the floor with a sigh. You decided to go to your on-campus Starbucks to pass time till class starts. The campus is partially empty because no one takes morning classes. You’re here because you are, in fact, a morning person— though it doesn’t feel like that today. Today, you’d do anything for an extra hour or two of sleep. You’re here because you’re an art major, because your professor, Mr. McCarthy, believed waking up at the (ass) crack of dawn is the most effective way to get those “creative juices” flowing. In short, you and your peers had no choice.

On any other day you would’ve enjoyed your 8:00am life drawing class, but your head is killing you, and so are your feet (you should’ve taken the train) since you wanted to walk across campus and enjoy the morning dew of spring. You’re thirsty and you have half the mind to go and get free water at Starbucks but you don’t want to get up. Everything is just so bright and dizzy. Thus why your head is situated on the oh so cool table top, offering you short relief and bliss.

“(Y/n)!”

You groan, slowly lifting your heavy head from the table in hope of easing the splitting throb and squint at the woman who’s robbed you of your peace. She finishes the journey to you and pulls out a chair next to you and you wince. Everything she does is too loud for you right now.

“Lisa,” you sigh, exasperated. “Would it kill you to be a little more subtle?” You sound tired and your voice is a little raspy from the lack of hydration.

Lisa stops talking about her multiple cats and pauses, finally giving you a look over. “Oh.” She whispered, looking apologetic. She gives you a deprecatory smile. “Hangover?”

You nod numbly and Lisa gets up without another word. You close your eyes, only to feel the back of them throbbing in tandem along with your head. About two minutes later, Lisa is back with a Gatorade and banana walnut and pecan loaf.

She sets them in front of you, smiling. “Here, for you. I hope you feel better.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to Lisa, thank you.” You uncap the Gatorade and take a few sips, feeling much more comfortable now that your throat is wet. What would you do without Lisa?

The Thai befriended you freshman year when you shared the photography-I class with her. You didn’t even know how to use a camera if it wasn’t your phone’s. She helped you get through the class with good marks. She ignored what others told her about you and approached you— and you don’t know why she did, because freshman-year you was a trip. You bonded over your love for the arts and animals, quickly becoming close friends. Now, it’s your junior year and you’re still close as ever. You wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your friendship.

You and Lisa don’t share as many classes this year as you did prior, but you still hang out often. Lisa shares the photography-III and English class with you this year. She majors in dance. Lisa excels in all her classes— especially dance. (This girl can really move!)

As you eat the banana-pecan bread, you wonder why Lisa hasn’t asked you why you have such a bad hangover. Usually she’s on your tail about that, lecturing you on why you should stop going out so much. She knows you went to a party in the upperclassmen’s dorms last night with your Fine Arts major friends.

You observe Lisa, who rambles on about the new choreography she’s learning that she wants to show you, and wonder. Has she finally given up on making you a better you? Is she dissatisfied and disappointed that you still went to the party against her wishes? That you continue to mingle with those:

“Poor excuses of a friend group.”

“Bad influences.”

“Scrooges.”

“Substandard stick-figure drawing shit-heads.”

The last one makes you laugh because it’s the first time you heard Lisa use obscenity and curse. She was really mad that time: when she found out the art portfolio assignment you worked on won the drafting to get featured in a student art showing at a popular museum, she was ecstatic for you. But it failed to be submitted because you were suspected of plagiarism.

For some reason your work looked incredibly similar to your friend’s. It was obvious she copied you. Lisa thinks that your friend had very obvious intentions. If she doesn't win, you don’t win. You go down with her. So when it was obvious you were going to win, she pirated your hard work. Even acted like you stole hers— and the fact you were “friends” didn’t make anything better.

You were devastated at the time, but got over it. Lisa never did, and with a vengeance, she even got her law major friend Jennie involved. Now that? That was a whole mess.

“Why are you staring at me?” Lisa pipes up, and you realize she’s finished her rant and has been calling for your attention for quite some time now.

“You’re not going to ask…?”

“Do you want me to?” Lisa smiles knowingly.

“Yes, actually. Please bestow some of your wisdom on me.” You joke.

“Well,” Lisa begins. “How was the party?” Internally letting out a sigh at her broad question, you know she has to start somewhere.

“It was…interesting.” You say, trying to give a noncommittal response, which you suppose will suffice, considering that you were drunk and can hardly remember the whole event anyway.

“Interesting how? What were you up to?”

Oh, just your usual sexual escapades— can’t tell her that, though, can you?

You shrug and sip from your Gatorade, avoiding eye contact with her. “I don’t remember much…just drinking, dancing, I might have kissed a few people too.” You mutter, almost to yourself.

Lisa furrows her brows. Her gaze flickers to your neck, scrutinizing the expanse of revealed skin. She does this for a moment more before speaking again, seemingly satisfied with what she saw: no marks. “Did you hook up with anyone?” She asks, and the hint of concern in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Lisa wasn’t fond of you sleeping with people you or she didn’t know well, even if those said people went to your college. Lisa may not approve of some things you do, but she’s a loyal friend who just wants you to stay safe.

Your face feels warm. “No,” you assure her. “Just kissing.”

Right.

She lets the topic go after that, and she tells you what’s happening in her life right now. Along the way, she got up to buy herself a drink as well, having to stand in a line now that more people are arriving.

It's then when you get a text. Upon opening the chat, your heart drops to your stomach. A text, followed by a chain of photos of you that are absolutely humiliating. The pictures seem to have the one focus to show you in some type of lewd way— like you’re some kind of horny bitch.

The first attachment has you captured during a passionate kiss as you're grinding onto a man’s lap, arms hooked around his neck as he holds your hips. Another shows you with hands slightly under a woman’s dress, you have her pinned against the wall, your lips together in an eager manner. The rest of the pictures follow a similar fashion, some even having inappropriate comments edited on the bottom.

Your phone dings again. It’s a message this time.

Oh God. Your stomach lurches and that deep feeling of anxiety begins to boil. You reread it over and over, irrationally hoping the words are just an illusion and that if you read it again and again the words will change. (They don’t.)

What if I were to post these online?

Your first thought was that whoever this is, is joking. This is just some sick prank from someone who was at that party last night. Who would be that invested in your life to go to the extent of stalkerish behavior?

You must’ve taken too long to reply because another one is sent a minute later.

Everyone knows you're a crazy bitch, what harm will it do?

Oh?

Your jaw is clenched and you stare at the images and texts, seething. That two worded term gave them away. There’s only two people who still call you that, so it’s either both or one of them responsible for this.

With trembling fingers, you turn off your phone. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes. Hundreds of thoughts are racing through your head— but the recurring question lingers: How dare they?

It’s another thing that you’re not even disappointed. A little shaken, yes. Shocked? Totally. But disappointed? Not at all.

You knew.

So, it feels like cold water was poured on you, it feels like being slapped; with reality. It’s the long awaited, big and regretful I-told-you-so moment— because Lisa told you so.

And because Lisa told you so, you’re going to do what Lisa told you not to do (if this situation was to come).

You open your eyes to Lisa, still in line, looking at you in concern and confusion, probably wondering why you look so distressed. “You alright?” She mouths, brows knitted. You smile weakly, giving her a thumbs up before looking at the white marbled floors.

A moment later you open the contact again and stare blankly at the screen, thinking about your plan of action. This is considered blackmail, isn’t it? That means that the course of action you should take is talking to a blackmail attorney and reporting who sent those photos. And as satisfying as that sounds— that whoever sent those would be fined or sent to prison— you don’t plan on doing that. (Yet.) There’s much more satisfying ways to deal with this, afterall.

You nearly fall out of your chair when a hand touches your shoulder.

“(Y/n)? Who sent those?” (Thank God) It’s Lisa, who now stands directly behind you looking over your shoulder. She’s frowning and looks as if she’ll blow a fuse if you don’t answer her, and quickly too. But all you can think about is finding the person/s who took these. The chair you were sitting on skids on the marble as you abruptly stand, shoving your phone into your sweatpants’s pocket and gathering your things at a fast pace.

“Where are you going?” Lisa asks, alarmed as you start walking towards the building exit. “Wait!” She reaches out and grabs your arm. “…Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, alright?”

“I won’t.” After today passes, you think.

Loud laughter that turns silent, turns into grumbles and bitchy whines very quickly.

“Hey guys!” You shout when you’re a few footsteps away from their little circle, moving towards them quickly. They’re always in the same spot, it wasn’t hard to find them. Iseul, Ramus, Riley, and Krystal were all surrounded around Jackson, looking down at his device giggling like little girls. They barely had time to react as you bulldozed through. “What’s so funny? What are we laughing about? Let me see,” you forcefully snatch the phone out of his hand much to his shock.

So funny. Just fucking hilarious. They were laughing at the pictures of you— of course, and they seemed to have had lots of fun coming up with captions at the bottom of the photos and playing with the dumb filters.

Almost immediately, you delete the file from the photo editing app they used, exit out, and click onto his photos. Krystal, the Barbie wannabe is on her toes a moment later, ready to snatch the phone out of your hands. You see, you have to be careful around her; you all call her “Swiper” (no swiping) for a reason. She swiped your ex; Jackson; your cash, your clothes, your art, your— you get the point. But she’s the clumsiest person you know, so you're not really surprised she tripped onto her ass when you dodged her outstretched arm.

You deleted the photos from the Camera app on his phone, and then you had to go to the Photos app and delete them again, permanently. On to the Messages app now.

You can’t help but question why this is so easy. Your little group has five people, but only two of them are actually trying to get the phone back. Jackson chases you down and wow, is it hard to run and tap on a phone at the same time. You’re lucky you ran track in highschool. Eventually you ran out of places to run due to the lake behind you that cuts the campus halfway into two parts. Maybe you shouldn’t have ran onto the dock. It’s not like it was built all the way to the other side, so you’re trapped.

“Give me my fucking phone back (Y/n),” he growls. You shake your head.

Just as you deleted where every trace of those pictures you can guess were saved, he’s lunging towards you. And you do the only thing you can think of— kick him in the groin. He falls to his knees right after a curse leaves his lips, crumpling into a ball as he holds that area.

You gasp. “Oh I’m so sorry, you can have your phone back now.” You purposely place the phone near the edge of the dock where he lays and walk away. His hand reaches out for it but, not surprisingly, it falls in the water. “You fuckin’ crazy bitch!” He all but screams, fist hitting the wood of the dock. You roll your eyes and pick your bag up from the picnic table before heading to class.

…

Lisa doesn’t ask you what you did when she came to your dorm in the late afternoon. (It was just you and her, no Krystal).

You shake your head. “I can’t stay in this dorm anymore, Lisa. I was lucky to come back and see my things still intact but she’ll make my life a living hell if I stay, I know it.”

Lisa bites her lip as she looks elsewhere, presumingly thinking. “Well. I have a friend who doesn’t have a roommate right now. She hasn’t for a while, somehow,” you raise a brow, interested. “If you ask me, I think the school gives her extra attention but she denies it every time. She even has one of the big dorms with a kitchen and bathroom, and she turned the extra space into a living room.” Lisa laughs.

“So you think she might let me move in?” You ask hopefully.

“We’re talking about Roseanne here,” she muses. Lisa watches your eyes grow wide, recognition highlighting your features.

You melt into the beanbag chair lazily, looking at the ceiling. “Roseanne is really nice,” you start, and Lisa nods. “But I’m sure she likes her privacy. And me? I’m nosey as hell and loud— unintentionally. What if she thinks I’m annoying? Or what if she remembers how I acted Freshman year and immediately says no? What if she thinks I’m some mean bitch?” You groan, every good trait of yours you can think of is canceled by a bad one.

“Hey,” Lisa raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t write yourself off yet, you never know. I don’t believe she thinks that either.”

“How do you know?” You question.

Lisa throws her hands up, smiling teasingly. “I don’t, but my words still stand.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You’re about an hour into a movie when Lisa move’s suddenly. “Shoot,” she says, looking at her watch. “I have to go out for dinner with some of the dance majors, but I’ll bring the roommate thing up to her tomorrow and we’ll see what happens, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks Lisa.” You hug her goodbye and then with a click of the door she’s gone.

***

True to her words, Lisa seeks out Roseanne in a free time period they share. She had traveled from the new arts building to the old arts building, and hoped to find her there. (A part of her hopes she wasn’t in that creepy building.)

The building’s lights still worked, but there was no one using the classrooms, so dust and spiders made them their homes. You had to have a key to get in the main door, and only one person had it. Lisa walked down the long hallways, jumping at little noises or shadows (including her own), and looking around wearily. Lisa knew Roseanne was slightly odd, maybe that’s why she’s able to be alone in an empty abandoned building.

Further down, she hears it, and makes her way to the soft melody that escapes from a familiar battered oak door. Lisa pokes her head in, and just as she suspected, she was there.

“Why is it that I always find you hiding in here?” Lisa muses as she squeezes past the door frame, blowing out a puff of air. That door only opens so much, and she thinks she might have skinned her knee on the lower hinge. (That’s gonna burn in the shower later…)

Slender fingers once gliding across ivory keys halt their movements. Roseanne rests her hands in her lap and turns to her friend with a smile. “Who said I was hiding? And what if I like being holed up in here?”

Lisa rolled her eyes playfully. “You know what I mean and I know you like being holed up in here.” Looking around, she spoke again, “I see you cleaned up some more and moved things around.”

The room was an old music classroom that was abandoned when classes were moved to a newer building, the old equipment stayed. It was a small room but now that Roseanne had moved and stacked up the old music stands and chairs, it was spacious. The curtains were open and the sun shone through, enhancing the satisfying rustic look of the room. She had to have also dusted and swept the floors since Lisa didn’t sneeze immediately upon walking in. “It looks nice.”

Roseanne hummed, eyes flickering across the painted vines and colorful roses on the piano’s surfaces. “Thank you. But you never come back here without very good reason to, what’s up?”

Lisa shrugged and sat herself on the windowsill. That was true, Lisa doesn’t do spiders, spiderwebs, dust, or creepy, mostly empty hallways. “I missed you, that’s one thing.” Roseanne was in Melbourne on vacation, so they haven’t seen each other since break.

Roseanne’s expression shifted into one of amusement. “I missed you too Lisa. It’s good to be back,” her fingers began picking idly at the piano's edge. “But what else brings you over? I can tell you want to ask me something.”

“Ah, do you remember (Y/n)?” Roseanne nods. “Well, the relationship between her and her current roommate is sour— it’s always been sour if you ask me, so she wants to move dorms.”

“And?”

“I told her that you don’t have a roommate...”

Roseanne knew what Lisa was implying already yet asked her to continue as she found amusement in Lisa’s nervousness. “And would ask if you’d consider letting her move in. But it’s totally okay if she can’t, she knows you like having the privacy.”

Roseanne let out a heavy breath and leaned against the piano, running a hand through her hair as she thought.

Other than some factors, she doesn’t see why she would deny. If she agrees, it would save you the time of being put on a waitlist with the other students who want to move dorms. It could be fun to have a roomate again, she thinks. It’s not like you’re total strangers either, both friends of a friend, Lisa being the link between.

“Okay.” She says.

“Okay?” Lisa repeats.

“I won’t say yes till I talk with her.” Roseanne runs her fingers across the small dips in the piano keys. She’ll have to lay down some groundwork and ask you some questions. The worst thing she wants to do is let someone nasty into her dorm— not that you are…hopefully.

“Oh! We can arrange that, um when did you want to meet up? I can tell her,” Lisa looks happy.

“Tomorrow is fine.”

“Alright then, thank you for considering this.” Roseanne nods and Lisa stands up. “I’ll head back for dance class now,” she says, “Stay safe okay? Watch out for ghosts too— I swear I’m hearing things.” Lisa shivers.

“I will Lisa,” she cocks her head to the side, “don’t get scared walking back.” Roseanne’s teasing earns her an eye roll.

“Yeah, yeah.” After Lisa slips out the room, she waits a few seconds to see if Lisa will come back; she does. Lisa pops her head back through the door and yells, “if you get a call in a few minutes you better answer it!” Lisa may need to call her if she gets scared walking through the hallways.Then she is gone.

Chuckling under her breath, Roseanne scoots back to the edge of the bench, her back straight with her arms relaxed and in front of her, before resuming to play. An upbeat song, she began with and played, before the music slowed to something soft and melancholic, and Roseanne closed her eyes at the sound, allowing herself to be drawn into the world of the music. These keys— any piano keys really— to her, were like a past memory. Something she can fall back on whenever her thoughts get the best of her.

And tomorrow, she’d have to meet up with you.

-

Would you like to continue?

-

Another A/n: Y’all don’t know the hell I went through italicizing words. Like why doesn’t tumblr do that for me? Why don’t you transfer exactly what I write on a google doc here? (😭)

[summerwritesfics]

🗺️My Fingers In Creases Of Distant Dark Places

Pairing: Hanzo Hasashi/Kuai Liang Length: 1245 Words Rating: Teen Warnings: University AU, Fantasy AU, Magic School, Student!Hanzo Hasashi, Elemental!Hanzo Hasashi, Student Librarian!Kuai Liang, Qilin!Kuai Liang, Libraries, Studying, First Meetings, Kuai Liang and Bi-Han are half brothers AU-Gust 2024 Day 3: Dark Academia

AU-Gust 2024 Masterlist

Notes: I have no idea if I did dark academia right, but well… I tried so *shurg* Kuai Liang as a Qilin is a concept I’ve thought about before (and drawn a lot tbh) but never written about so :D Title is from Set Fire To The Third Bar by Snow Patrol

Hanzo huffed at the book in his hands. In the dim lights of the library, he was just about able to make out the information he needed. He hated studying, and if it were up to him he’d never do it again. But he’d made a promise many years ago to his mother that he’d go to this specific university and get a degree. She may have lost her life years ago, but Hanzo still remembered that promise, and knew he had to honour it.

… I still hate studying though.

He squinted at the book, trying to write down notes as he read. Fire magic is strong to ice and nature magic, but is weak to water, air however feeds it and makes it stronger, while it’s neutral towards light, dark and earth. This was pretty basic information, the sort you learnt when you first started studying elemental magics. Still, he wanted to go back over the basics so he could understand the more complex theory later on.

When he’d chosen to major in elemental magic, he figured he’d ace it, on grounds of himself being a fire elemental. And well, he did ace it, the practical parts of it that was. He was top in his class for control and mastery of his magic.

But theory? God, he didn’t realise there was more to that than just weaknesses and strengths. There were entire books about the history of each element, about techniques and how they were developed, about notable users, ways they were used and battles won using such magic. It was enough to give him a fucking headache if he was being honest.

He could pass all the practical classes, but if he couldn’t get the theory down he was fucked.

I won’t fail. I refuse. I need to make Okaasan proud.

“Excuse me.”

Hanzo jumped at the voice. It was so late in the night he’d forgotten he was in the Universities public library and not his own room. He looked up to be met with a young man looking at him. He wasn’t a human though, he had a branch like horn on his head, pointed ears, scales in various spots of his body breaking up human-like skin, and a long scaled tail with a fluffy mane running along it. If Hanzo had to guess, the man was a Qilin. Other than that, he had a large scar running down one side of his face, he was wearing a cheongsam and had a pair of glasses on.

As Hanzo’s eyes flicked down, he could see a lanyard around his neck, with an ID badge that read “Student Librarian; Song Kuai Liang”.

“Sorry to disturb you, but are you finished with any of these?” He gestured towards the piles of books on the table. “Just if I can put some away for you, I’d like to be able to do so.”

“Oh. Uh. Those are the one’s I’m done with.” He pointed to the pile of books he had finished reading. Wait, those were the ones I’ve read, right? He stared at them. “Ye- yes. Yes, those are the ones I’m done with.”

His eyes flicked between his piles. His done pile consisted of two books. He still had about 7 he still needed to read. He’d been here for like 2 hours and it was almost midnight already.

“Aw fuck,” he groaned throwing his head into his hands. “I’m never going to get out of here.”

Kuai Liang chuckled, and Hanzo lifted his head up in time to see Kuai pick up the two books. “I guess studying isn’t your thing, hm?”

“Not really,” He huffed, staring down at his notes. “I didn’t expect there to be so much writing in this major to be honest.”

Kuai’s ears twitched slightly and he tilted his head at one of the books in his hand. “Ah, you’re studying elemental magic?” Hanzo nodded and watched as Kuai opened the book and started to leaf through it. “My brother’s studying that. I wonder if you share your classes with him?”

Hanzo paused at that, because now that he thought about it, he did have a classmate with the surname “Song”. But he wasn’t sure he believed that person was related to Kuai Liang. Mostly because as far as he was aware, they were fully human, and not half qilin. Still, it was the only person in his class he could think of.

“His names not Bi-Han is it?” He asked, and when he saw Kuai’s tail wag in excitement, he knew he’d gotten it right. Oh. That’s… pretty fucking cute.

“Yes, that’s him,” Kuai confirmed, but given the slight grin on his face it was clear he knew Hanzo was confused. “We’re half brothers, if you’re wondering. We share a father.”

“Right. Sorry, that should probably have been obvious.” He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t considered that. There was another reason that Bi-Han wouldn’t have been exactly his first guess without the surname being involved. “Me and him don’t exactly get along though.”

“You and about 90% of the world,” Kuai replied with a giggle. “I grew up with him, trust me, I know what an asshole he can be sometimes.”

Hanzo actually laughed at that, “damn, it must be bad if even you’re saying that.”

“He just takes time to get used to people,” Kuai explained, still looking through the book a bit. “But if he does start to become a real bother, feel free to find me, I tend to be able to get him to stand down.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He suspected it would never come to that. Or at least he hoped it wouldn’t. Bi-Han was a bit rude and very stubborn, but outside of that it wasn’t like he was a bully or anything. Just a bit of a dick sometimes. Hanzo sighed, looking back at his notes and grimaced. “Sorry, I should probably get on with this.”

“You know…” Kuai said in a long drawn out way. “Sometimes, when I’m studying, I find it useful to have someone to read aloud to. I just find it helps the info go in better, somehow.”

Hanzo had never considered that before, but weirdly it made sense. At this point it was worth a shot. Anything to make studying feel less like pulling teeth. Although, he got the weird suspicion that Kuai Liang was bringing it up for a very specific reason.

“Are you offering?” He jokingly asked, watching as Kuai looked away nervously. He was biting his lip, and a small blush came over his cheeks. More interestingly, the end of his horn was glowing blue. Qilin’s horns glow when they’re embarrassed? It should be illegal to be so adorable! “Just, I figured you’re working right now. I wouldn’t want to take you away from that.”

“Ah, well, I’ve done all of the other work I was supposed to do, which is why I was bothering you about the books.” Ah, so he was trying to find something to do with himself. “Plus you’re the only person here right now. So…”

Hanzo looked Kuai up and down, before smiling and patting the seat next to him. Kuai Liang jumped at the chance, hurriedly coming to sit down next to him as he peered at the book Hanzo was holding.

“Well. I hope you’re ready to learn the history of fire magic, because this is gonna be a long one.”

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Damage Control - 1x12 Faith

Dean is so unlike Dean when they leave for Nebraska the next morning, it hurts to see. He’s acting like Dean - the bravado, the self-deprecating jokes, the refusal to accept help - but he’s so weak that it’s a complete shit show, and Sam can see right through it. His brother moves like an octogenarian, slowly and using every surface his hands find for support. When he comes out of the shower, he has to sit down and catch his breath, his lips tinged blue, and no amount of complaining about the water pressure or claiming that all he needs is coffee will mask his frailty. Frailty. Not a word Sam thought he’d ever use for his unstoppable brother, but here it is.

Sam inconspicuously helps him pack, placing Dean’s items within reach to speed up the process. When they’re finally in the car, Sam insists on two stops - one for a healthy breakfast to go, and one at the hospital to pick up the medication Dean left behind when he checked himself out. One of them - a diuretic to take the strain off Dean’s ailing heart - makes him have to pee every hour or so, and the jokes about it quickly turn into sullen silence when they have to stop at yet another gas station.

Dean sleeps a lot between bathroom breaks, and while he’s always been able to immediately drop into slumber in the safety of the Impala, no matter how uncomfortable his position in the passenger seat, it’s a different kind of sleep now. Not the deep-breathing, childlike oblivion Dean usually has about him, all fanning lashes, parted lips and loose limbs. Now, his shallow breathing is barely audible, his brow is furrowed, and he looks so grey that Sam feels the urge to check his pulse every now and then. 

How did this happen? How did Sam let this happen? 

He should’ve been with Dean. Could’ve kept the idiot from using a taser while sitting in a puddle of fucking water. Physics, man! Had Dean never paid attention in school?! He wishes it’d been the other way around - Dean taking the kids to safety while Sam finished off the Rawhead. None of this would’ve happened and they’d be on their next hunt now instead of on a Hail Mary tour to a faith healer to keep Dean from dying of goddamn heart failure at twenty-six.

As if feeling Sam’s anger, Dean stirs beside him, one hand lifting to his chest to rub at it even before he’s fully awake. His face creases in discomfort, and his eyes flutter open, disoriented and bloodshot. 

“You okay?” Sam asks immediately.

“Yeah.” Dean coughs dryly and sounds anything but okay. “Where are we?”

“Bout halfway. You need anything?”

Dean grimaces. “Gotta take a piss.” He shakes his head, looking drawn. “I swear, Sammy, this is the last time I’ve taken those stupid pills. I feel like a fucking sprinkler system.”

“You can’t stop taking them, Dean. They keep fluids from building up in your system. If you don’t take them, you’ll—“ Sam stops. He can’t go there.

“My ankles will swell to elephant size and I’ll drown in my own gunk,” Dean finishes cynically. “I heard what the doctor said, Sam. But frankly, I don’t care. If I only have a couple weeks left, I’d rather not spend half of them in front of urinals.”

“Dean…” 

“What?” He throws up his hands in frustration, and even that small gesture looks like an effort. “It’s my life — well, my death. I get to decide what to do with it!”

He coughs again, and his breathing turns into that of a spent runner. Not for the first time, Sam thinks they should have brought the portable oxygen kit the hospital had offered, but, of course, Dean had refused. 

“Hey, easy!” Sam says, cranking the window open for a little more air. “One: You’re not dying. I’m taking you to a specialist who’ll fix you up. And two: You’re taking the medicine. If this works out, you won’t need to take it much longer. And I don’t mind the pit stop. I need coffee.”

“Make that two.” 

“Dean, you’re not supposed to—“

“Coffee, dude! And pie.”

At least his appetite is still normal.

Sam finds a Gas ‘n Sip and pulls up to the entrance as close as possible. Their short walk inside is this new tug-of-war of Sam offering assistance and Dean rejecting it until he loses to his weakened body and ends up leaning on Sam with an expression of grievous defeat. Sam helps him back to the Impala before getting their order of coffee and pie - pecan for Dean - and getting back on the road.

To his dismay, Sam watches his brother lose interest in his favorite food only halfway through, and that’s another unsettling new development to add to the quickly growing list. Dean listlessly picks at the pie with the plastic fork until he just stops and deflates, looking out the window with a thousand-yard-stare.

Sam’s own heart clenches in his chest. He can’t imagine Dean going down like this - frail, defeated, drained. And with no resistance whatsoever. Dean’s always been a fighter. Where is that fight now? 

“It’s only a couple more hours, Dean,” he feels compelled to say. “We’ll get you right. You’ll see.”

Dean trains his big, wet, deeply shadowed eyes on him. “No, we won’t, Sammy.”

“Dean!” Sam grips the steering wheel harder. “How can you say that! I found this specialist, and he can save you!”

Dean shakes his head. “No, he can’t. Whatever hotshot doctor he is, Sam, it’s not gonna save me. It’s too late. I can feel it.”

Anger rises in Sam. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well, there’s this heart condition I have…” 

“No, you fucking idiot!” Sam’s not taking it. “I mean what’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you fighting this? Why are you just giving up? That’s not you, man!”

“Because there’s nothing to fight, Sammy!” A blotch of color creeps into Dean’s pale cheeks. “I know how to gank a monster. I know how to torch a ghost. But this? There’s nothing to go up against! We always say ‘If you can grab it, you can kill it.’ But there’s nothing to grab here! Nothing to kill! There’s no way out, Sammy! And you gotta accept that.”

“I’ll never accept it,” Sam answers, and he fixes his brother with a determined stare. “I’m gonna save you. You’ll see. You’ll see.”

Dean huffs as if he’s dealing with a basket case and shrinks back into his seat. “Whatever.” The conversation seems to have depleted him. His lips have taken on that bluish tint again, and he’s holding his paper cup with both hands, shoulders tucked in, as if huddling for warmth.

“Want a blanket?” 

“Shut up.”

Sam steps on the gas. If Dean doesn’t want to fight, he’ll have to do it for the both of them.

Read the entire series on AO3 here:

[hellborn-bitch]

“And I don’t need you to try to make me feel better.”

Alastor made his final lap around the hotel lobby, ensuring everything was up to his standards, before retiring to his radio tower for the evening. He had made it to the top of the staircase, when his eye caught something moving behind Husker’s bar below.

He saw the heart-shaped point of a tail occasionally moving, and could see familiar horns poking out over the bar counter. Cocking an eyebrow in curiosity, he dissolved into shadow and nothingness, only to reappear before the bar.

He peered over the bar and saw the succubus sitting on the floor, tucked behind the counter. Had it not been for her tail, she likely wouldn’t have been found by anyone. Which was likely why she was hiding there.

“What an odd place to spend your evening.” Alastor stated matter of factly.

Azira flinched at the sound of her owner having found her, but refused to lift her head to look at him.

“What do you want, Alastor? I already finished the list of errands you gave me.” Her voice was shaky and weak, wildly unusual for her.

“Nothing at all dear. Simply wondering why you’re hiding back here, on the floor all by yourself.” He looked at the spread of various familiar items she had laid out on the floor in front of her.

Five small candles were arranged in a pentagram, connected by lines of salt and a small border of tiny rocks. Alastor recognized a few sigils that had been drawn in what appeared to be blood.

Multiple empty bottles of wine were strewn about, with one singular glass left full and untouched. He assumed, due to the slight slur to her speech, she had consumed the rest of the wine herself.

“Don’t worry about it. Just leave me alone.” She drew her knees into herself, still obscuring her face from his sight.

“May I ask what you’re trying to do with this ritual, dear?” He prodded further, ignoring her request.

Her frustration won over. She felt like she was going to break at any moment, and wouldn’t dare do so in front of Alastor. “UGH I didn’t ask for your fucking help!! Why won’t you just go away!?”

“Is there a problem here?” Another voice echoed through the half-lit hotel lobby. Zira didn’t dare look up, but groaned in response anyhow. She knew exactly who it was.

“Not that I’m aware of…” Alastor responded all too happily, “… is there Azira?”

“Just go. Both of you.” There was a lack of usual malice in her voice, and Égalité immediately knew something was off.

He began walking towards the bar, while Alastor started his nonchalant walk away from it. When they met halfway, Alastor held out his staff to stop the angel momentarily.

“I’d tread lightly if I were you, my fine feathered fellow. She seems to be in quite the distasteful mood tonight.”

Égalité rolled his eyes and pushed past the much smaller man with ease, earning him a glare and small growl from the Radio Demon.

Alastor didn’t understand why this angel had a penchant for loitering around his hotel. And he certainly didn’t understand why he and the succubus continued to entertain each other’s company.

With a shrug of his shoulders and small huff of annoyance, he sank into shadow and disappeared, leaving them alone.

Égalité peered over the bar, having to bend over slightly to fit under the attached roof. He took notice of everything surrounding her, unfamiliar things he assumed to be some form of dark magick. A small part of his brain screamed to retreat from the witchcraft immediately, but he was more concerned with her at the moment.

She looked so small curled up on the floor. He wanted to scoop her up and hold her, but knew better than to attempt it.

“You don’t seem like you’re alright.” He spoke as softly as his deep voice would allow.

“Oh for Satan’s sake… can no one hear me when I say to LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE??” Her voice finally broke, betraying her state of sadness.

The second man to ignore her wishes that night, Égalité walked to the side entrance of the bar and got down on his hands and knees to crawl over to her. He silently cursed that she had chosen to be in such a small cramped space, as his wings bumped into the counter loudly.

The sound of him cursing in Latin, and the whole bar shaking from the force of him knocking into it, caused her to finally look up at him.

It was like she had taken one of her many daggers and pierced it directly into his heart. He’d never seen her look so upset before. She’s never allowed him to see her upset before.

She’d been crying. Her normally sharp and pristine makeup was a smudged mess, and her two-toned eyes visibly irritated from tears.

“Fucking Hell Bird-Boy… I don’t need-“

“Did he do this? Did that demon hurt you?” Égalité interrupted her, failing to hide his anger at the thought.

She shook her head with a bitter laugh, “Alastor? Please… I’d never let him upset me like this.”

“So you are upset.”

She paused for a moment, annoyed at her own slip up. “And so what if I am? What the Hell do you care?”

“Of course I care… I wouldn’t want to see any soul looking as tortured as this.”

She scoffed and attempted to wipe some of her smudged makeup off, “Gee thanks, fuck face.”

“No! That’s not what I…”

“Just go away. I’m a big girl, I can handle my problems all on my own.” She glanced down at her hands, drawing his eyes to follow unintentionally. She was absentmindedly tracing a small finger around a large laceration in the middle of her left palm.

“Perhaps I can help.” He offered sincerely.

“I don’t need you to help. And I don’t need you to try to make me feel better.” She huffed, this time a little quieter, “It won’t work anyways.”

“Perhaps it will.”

“FUCK! Why are you so stubborn?!” She snapped. Under different circumstances he would’ve laughed and asked the same question of her. But now was not the time.

He saw that familiar demonic rage in her eyes that he had almost grown to appreciate. He didn’t offer her a response, only keeping his blue eyes locked on hers.

“You think you’re some kind of Savior… but you can’t fix me, Égalité.” She spat with a venom that rivaled Hell’s own acid rain.

And yet his heart still skipped a beat when he heard her use his actual name, rather than the typical derogatory pet name.

“I’m not trying to fix you. Just asking you to allow me to listen to whatever troubles you. That’s all.”

He watched as her glare slowly softened, and eventually dissolved into defeat. She really must have been in ruins if she was caving to him that easily.

That or those empty wine bottles seemed to have helped lower her guard even the smallest bit. Either way he would take what he could get.

“It involves demonic witchcraft… are you sure your fragile existence can handle that?” She retorted with just a hint of her usual playful edge.

“I assure you I can handle it.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes, a sight he was familiar with and happy to see again. She sat cross-legged in front of him, still looking drained and exhausted. She leaned back to rest her upper body against the cabinets under the counter.

He copied her and leaned back on the opposite wall making sure he was still facing her. His long legs and massive wings were awkwardly scrunched into the small space, but he ignored it.

“It’s the Autumnal Equinox. One of my favorite nights of the year, normally celebrated with loved ones and rituals…” she trailed off. “And I guess I’m just missing it all.”

“What kind of… ritual… is this?” He gestured hesitantly to the various unknown accoutrement assembled carefully between them.

“It’s a piss poor attempt to get back what I once had.” She said bitterly. He didn’t answer her immediately, and she reluctantly continued.

“When I was still traveling to Earth, I had a side project that I loved.”

He cocked his head in confusion, “A side project?”

“Yeah, it… wasn’t necessarily frowned upon, but it wasn’t exactly what I was supposed to be doing there either.”

“What do you mean?” He asked tentatively.

“I mean, I was supposed to be fucking and corrupting human souls. Sealing the deal to ensure they’d end up in Hell under contract to Asmodeus.” She shrugged, “Y’know.. succubus shit.”

“I see…” the thought horrified Égalité in more ways than one, but he maintained his calm demeanor. “And you were opposed to this?”

“Well… sort of?” she tried to find the right words to explain.

“We had a quota that we had to fulfill in order to be permitted to travel Topside legally. I would do the bare minimum, and then immediately run off to continue on my side project.”

“And the side project, I’m assuming, is this dark magick?” He gestured once again to the mess of sigils and salt between them.

“Essentially, yes.”

She wasn’t sure why she was sharing so much. It felt odd and uncomfortably personal, divulging such details about her life. What kind of irony it was, to disclose the habits of a succubus witch to a literal angel.

“Might I ask what prompted you to learn such things?” His tone lacked the normal sound of arrogant judgment she would’ve expected, given the less than Holy subject matter.

Zira hummed in contemplation, as she started tracing the cut on her palm again.

“I doubt an angel could understand this.” She half-heartedly laughed. “But when you’re told what you’re supposed to be your whole life, you begin to resent it and want something… more.”

Égalité nodded, silently. He ironically had thought the same thing. That a Hellborn demon could never understand what it was like to have aspirations thrust upon them, only to wonder if that’s all they were made for.

He however was not in a state of being able to admit that to himself aloud, let alone to someone else. Every day he spent in Hell made him question everything more and more. Especially her.

A small cry shattered the silence and brought his focus back to Zira. She had brought her knees back up to her chest, hugging herself for any sliver of comfort she could find.

A sad smile crossed her face, “You know, humans are just so good at forging their own identities. They’re not forced into one box of what they have to be.”

“I felt so free around them. Embraced by them.” Her voice was breaking with more small cries, tears welling up again. “I felt like I could be anything I wanted to be. I felt like a real person.”

“And now…” a small sob that managed to shake her whole body, “Now it’s all gone.”

Égalité was at a loss for what to do. This was the most genuine side of her he’d ever seen, and he was speechless. Every energetic fiber in his body was screaming at him to go hold her. To tell her he knew exactly how she felt.

But he knew better. He knew her better than that. The last thing he wanted to do was drive her away when she had already opened up so much to him.

She looked up at him, a sight that shattered his heart for what felt like the millionth time. “All I want is to find a way to go back. I miss seeing the beauty of humanity.”

He felt his heart ache for her. He knew the feeling well. He’d always had an appreciation for humanity as well, especially given it was his job to protect it. He’d never considered the possibility of being banned from experiencing humans in their creative prime.

“I’m sorry.” Égalité finally spoke.

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes, a poor attempt to regain her composure. “What are you sorry for?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “That you’ve been dealing with this. And all alone, no less.”

She raked her good hand through her hair, sighing, “What else is new… I’ve always handled everything on my own.”

“You know you don’t have to.” He said quietly. She silently nodded, and he took that as his cue to get her out of there.

Égalité slowly maneuvered himself out of the bar, not without difficulty, so he was standing again. He extended a hand in her direction.

She placed her small hand in his, and allowed him to help her up to her feet again. Which she quickly learned was a mistake, as the alcohol-induced dizzy spell nearly took her back down to the ground.

He placed a steady hand on her back to prevent her from falling as she attempted to take a few shaky steps. It seemed the combination of alcohol and emotional exhaustion was getting the better of her.

“Fuck why are we going so fast, slow down!”

Égalité laughed to himself, having made his mind up. He scooped her up with one arm and carried her through the lobby towards the stairs. He was expecting her to verbally protest or physically assault him for the unwelcome attention, but it never came.

She must’ve agreed she was in no condition to walk all the way to her room. That or she actually enjoyed being held by him. He preferred the latter, but had a suspicion it was the former.

They had almost reached her room, when she spoke again, “I was wrong by the way.”

“Excuse me?!” Égalité couldn’t help the utter shock from hearing that phrase leave her mouth.

“You did help.”

[soapdish290]

I initially read 'In The Woods' by Tana French in 2013, after seeing a recommendation basically saying that, after reading a Tana French novel, the reader "has to go and hug my dog for a long while", to paraphrase.

Re-reading it over a decade later I wasn't expecting to finish the book feeling just as desolate and affected as I did the first.

I know we here all love the phrase "doomed by the narrative" and let me tell you, there are so many characters here doomed in so many narratives. Sometimes the reader knows the details from minute one. Sometimes you can feel the doom, formless and cloying, and have to read on, aching and helpless, to watch it land.

French is an absolutely stunning writer. She fully leverages the first person perspective to create all the isolated inevitability the format can give. A sad, lonely, nostalgic autopsy of interwoven tragedy. Actually that's my blurb quote, fuck it.

I choose the word "nostalgia" very deliberately. It's a strangely butter feeling, to me. A sort of empty longing. French evokes it frequently and beautifully.

French writes slow and lets the characters and atmosphere breath and grow and move, in fits and starts, to the preordained (but, to the reader, still hidden!) conclusion.

I'm chucking a line break here because below this I'm going to spurt a bunch of spoiler shit I want to talk about and there's a (very faint) possibility that someone might read this and be pushed into reading a novel.

If you are planning to read, however, know this: The narrator is a bit of a prick. He's 100% written that way on purpose. He is what makes everything work.

Embarrassingly, when I first read the book as a 20 year old eejit, I saw Ryan as a likeable, sympathetic protagonist. I do not like who I was as a 20 year old. Luckily, inall subsequent readings, I recognised him as an extremely well drawn example of the casually misogynistic, genuinely thinks he's a good guy, thinks "political correctness has gone mad" prick everybody knew at least one of.

Honestly these days I think it's a testament to French's writing - he's very well drawn, entirely realistic, and completely vital to most of the twists. If he wasn't a fucking arsehole half of it wouldn't work.

One thing I noticed this time, is that it's heavily implied Ryan did to his flatmate Heather what he did to Cass, in part. When he fordt introduces Heather, he says he took the flat in part because he fancied her, but "we both worked out that Harry and Sally were never going to materialise" (page 103 of my kindle copy).

Later, when Heather works out that Ryan slept with and is now shutting out Cassie, Heather says "she doesn't deserve that, [...] any more than I did." (Page 491).

I'll admit this might be really obvious to everyone but my aro/ace arse, but it hit me like a truck this time around.

Another very tenuous thing I noticed and really fucking like is right at the end, when Ryan drunkenly calls Cassie and she leaves the line open and he hears her and Sam. The narrative is unsure whether this was accidental or deliberate. I choose to interpret Cassie's word choice in a way that leans deliberate. She tells Sam it was a wrong number. "He told me he loved me [...] but he turned out to be looking for Britney." (Page 587).

Now it's very likely I'm reading faaaar too much into this, but the phrasing matches Cassie and Ryan joking around about a hypothetical personal ad for Ryan, "male, six foot [...] seeks his very own Britney for..." (Page 188). I love this interpretation. Gives the scene such a delicate, devastating impact. If its a callback its so soft and intimate in its kindness or its cruelty.

There's literally an entire essay topic based on close reading the archaeological dig mirroring Ryan digging up his past, the respective value of one over the other, the effects on the present etc. On the way Ryan goes back at the end and the wood is almost gone, he connects to the people destroying the past, the arrowhead pendant he refuses, etc etc etc. The symbolism be RICH.

Fantastically written novel. I'm rambling.

[pumpkinupsidedowncake]

Live(ish)blogging my reaction to The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost, for posterity, part one: the long ass introduction I feel obligated to read.

Introduction by Louis Untermeyer:

Every time I read the lore behind poems I know, which is three times, I learn something that fundamentally alters my perception of the work. Only once have I appreciated the insight. This occasion was not that time.

Additionally, and I don’t know why I’m surprised by this, but this guy is such a Robert Frost simp. I truly don’t think there’s a better word to describe it. When explaining how at first only one magazine wanted to publish any of Frost’s work, Untermeyer basically calls all the other magazines cowards with shitty taste:

They were totally uninterested in poetry that refused to repeat the pretty platitudes of verse; they were afraid to consider a new kind of pastoral poetry which, instead of using the shopworn stereotypes of exaggerated country sentiment, showed the country in its quiet, sometimes drab, but always true colors.

Like, wow. Rip to those other poets. Who, you know, were well-liked enough to get published and all that. But no, I’m sure their art was nothing but unimaginative drivel, Frost’s number one hype man says so and surely he wouldn’t be biased.

Moving on: how the hell is “poetic radiator” a job description?! Now I’m picturing Frost sitting against the wall, making loud humming noises and intermittently saying things like “Poems are cool, yo! You should write one!”

Okay, finally some valuable insight. By my definition of valuable which is extremely relative.

Preferring a reality of experience to a retreat to a fantastic dream-world …

Idk if that’s the right way to end that quote. fuck it we ball. This quote is referring to Frost, and it interests me because of what it could say about Arthur’s gravitation towards Frost’s poetry in Malevolent. It also explains why I’ve never felt particularly drawn to Frost.

Yeah, I should say this for context: the only reason I am reading this book, the only reason I bought it at half price books in the first place, is because I enjoyed the poetry included in that podcast. Well, that’s half the reason. The other is that I don’t really get Frost. I appreciate his artistry, but the emotions he conveys are not immediately relatable to me.

Take, for example: the big one. Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening. The first time I learned of it was through the story behind Eric Whitacre’s choral piece Sleep. I don’t remember if I read it then or not, if I did it made no impression on me. Years later when I actually read and reflected on it, an admittedly childish dominated my mind:

why not just go into the woods for a time?

It’s bad weather, just get wherever you’re going late and blame it on the snow or forgetting something. Cell phones don’t even exist yet, you’re free! Nobody needs to know. The miles will be there when you get back.

I know what the poem is saying. I can understand the experience it’s speaking to, even. But unless I really try to get what it’s going for, I don’t. And that’s why I’m here, reading the longest introduction known to humankind, instead of working on the large assignments due tomorrow, as Robert Frost intended-in-reverse-as-in-definitely-would-not-appreciate-especially-since-he-was-apparently-a-teacher.

I want to get Frost’s poetry, or at the very least make my best attempt at it. I’m a nerd, I basically get a stat boost to this type of thing. I can do this. All I have to do is make it through this introduction. And then the actual poetry collection.

I did it. The introduction is finished. I’m being overdramatic, there were only like two pages left. The last thought I have to offer today is on the last line of the excerpt from Frost’s “The Lesson For Today”:

I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.

It’s described as what he wants written on his tombstone. My first thought was “same”, my second was “wait a minute, is this just a universal thing?” and my third was “no, it’s because I refuse to pick a struggle.” Meaning not everyone would describe their existence as such, but plenty of people probably would.

So yeah. This has been a journey and it’s literally just passing through the gateway. Thanks for watching, like and subscribe, I will be back with more at some point.

[piratesfromspace]

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw.  Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are. 

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

[from-a-reckless-writer]

RE: the tags about being tempted to post a half finished fic and guess the ending, well you are a reckless writer for a reason

this is long overdue, so here have a fic.

It has come to the point that nothing fazes her anymore.

A kidnapping? Been there, done that. It means calling Sam Arias to intimidate the board of members into temporary submission.

An explosion at the office? Just a typical Tuesday. It means relocating to the 23rd floor and sharing the desk with two other interns for 2 months tops.

An assassination attempt? It means bracing herself for at least 3 deliveries of donuts and coffee for the two following weeks that Kara Danvers would be protectively hovering over L-Corp, until her boss snaps and shoos her away back to CatCo.

She’s seen it all, endured it all and she sure as hell is prepared for it all. She’s got three different ironclad statements ready to publish for whatever PR disaster will most likely turn up that week. She’s got contacts from the FBI, DEO, CatCo, Daily Planet, Gotham Gazette-- hell she even has Lillian’s personal cell (just in case the Luthor matriarch ever tries anything y’know? ) and yes, even the number of that 'Mexican place at 5th and Spring, you know the one Kara likes, Jess?'

She’s got two pairs of heels, a raincoat and four sets of outfits neatly folded in a duffel bag, at the back of the office, reserved for any emergency that requires a change of clothes.

The point is, she is an independent Asian-American woman who has worked her ass off for the better part of the decade and has long learned to take no shit from anybody.

Not even stupid superpowered Kryptonians.

See, it takes a lot to be her. It takes unlimited patience to put up with a woman like Lena Luthor, not because she’s a terrible person. Oh no, no, the complete opposite, actually. She is so overwhelmingly kind to a fault, and she doesn’t want nor let anybody see it. It’s infuriating to see sometimes. Okay, fine, she sides with the Krytonian on that one matter. But oh, ho, ho, not today. Today, she’s mad.

She’s livid, actually and it’s all Supergirl’s fault. (and Lena Luthor's too.)

Jess has had her fair share of ‘I-Should-Not-Have-Been-Here’ moments, like that one time she forgot to knock and stumbled unto Lex mid-yell with Lena whose eyes were shimmering but was still keeping a rigid posture.

Or that one time when she thought her boss had long left the office, only to be greeted with quiet sobs and an empty bottle of scotch rolling on the floor. Or that time she happened upon Lena, skirt and sleeves on fire with fumes rising from a green solution.

Apparently, her staff from the lab refused to let her in after three days of their CEO holding herself in isolation with the experiment. Lena had gotten the great idea of smuggling the chemicals to her office instead. Luthors are nothing but determined. Jess still remembers the adrenaline rush of holding a fire extinguisher—as if she were the chosen 5th grader for a school fire drill—and shoving her boss out of the way.

Like she said, nothing fazes her anymore she’s seen it all, except maybe, this one. Yep, definitely this one. This one just made a hot ball of fury unfurl at her very core. This one might just take the cake.

Jess was just going about her day, returned from a hearty lunch and feeling reinvigorated from that dose of sunlight and fresh air. It was a quiet day today, she noticed, which should’ve been a foretelling.

Nothing really is ever quiet. Well, when it comes to L-Corp, at least.

She’s been sitting on her desk for about a good fifteen minutes and finished with screening a few papers from their new contractors, when it occurs to her that the latest blueprints from R&D are still on her desk instead of already being reviewed by her boss.

She grabs the drawing tube and quickly makes for her boss’s private office. They’ve spent enough time with each other that Jess could just come and go as she pleases, instead of having to knock each time. Saves both of their time, that way.

Although, usually, she buzzes through the intercom first to double check, but it was 1:20 P.M and she knows Lena doesn’t have anything scheduled after lunch. So, she pushes the door, confidently strolls in and promptly stops in her tracks.

Jess stops breathing for a moment, blinks once, twice, stares at the scene before her.

Lena Luthor sat atop her work desk; blouse open, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, neck currently being ravaged by Supergirl with legs wrapped around the waist.

She probably should’ve just turned and left while they haven’t seen her yet. That would’ve been the smart decision, right? Yes. Yes, it was so very clearly The Right Decision.

Of course, she doubts she could look Lena in the eye for the next few weeks after that, but at least she wouldn’t know that Jess walked in on them during an er- make-out session? Office tryst? Oh God, she shudders internally. It sounds even worse.

Incident? Yep. Yeah. She’s sticking with incident. Indecent incident sounds more apt really.

She should’ve left. Would have left, if her eyes didn’t just land on the desk—well, more like Miss Luthor’s as- backside—and felt the stirrings of rage make itself known. Because there, underneath Lena’s ass (Backside!! Jess, that’s your boss!) is the squished—probably crumpled—pages of a contract.

A contract they’ve spent 5 months securing!!

Jess decides to do what everyone else would have done in a situation such as this; she clears her throat. Loudly.

Classic move.

Supergirl’s head immediately shoots up and Lena’s eyes snap open.

“Jess!” Supergirl squeaks and she sees the exact moment the realization hits Lena. Her eyes widening at her girlfriend’s exclamation, whips her head to the side, spots Jess, hands scrambling to a panic to close all the buttons of her blouse.

She hears Lena hiss, “Fuck, shit. Oh my God. Shit. How did she even- You have superhearing!!!” as she pushes Supergirl—who lets herself be pushed, stunned by the intrusion, face redder than a tomato.

Lena gets off the desk, fixes herself all the while to futile results. Her hair is tugged down from her usual ponytail, her neck and chest is marked, her lips swollen.

Supergirl's hands twitch at the sides and Jess sees her gulp as blue eyes frantically dart to Lena and her, and then Lena, and then back to her.

Lena finally turns around after those few awkward beats.

"Jess," she begins, clearly trying hard to put on her business bitch persona, but come on, there's a hickey under her jaw for fuck's sake.

"It's not what you-"

Jess doesn’t let her finish, she stomps her way across the office and forcefully puts the drawing tube on the desk. It makes a hollow thump.

“Jess I-”

“Supergirl, do you know how long it takes to finalize a business proposal, pitch it to the board, persuade the board and finally have a contract drawn?”

Supergirl gulps again. Lena’s eyes are wild next to her, she doesn’t like not knowing what the next best move is, Jess knows this all too well.

“Uhhh- no?”

Jesus Christ, you’d think after years of shadowing Cat Grant, she'd had at least learned a thing or two. Then again, if somebody is full on glaring at her after getting caught red-handed, Jess doubts she could answer coherently too.

“That’s right,” Jess says, “You don’t.”

“Jess,” Lena repeats pointedly. She knows that tone. It’s a warning.

“Ms. Luthor.”

A period not a question mark. It’s a challenge.

"I've spent all my evenings working late on that, do you know how many dates I've had to cancel? Just so I can secure a meeting with Qatar and simultaneously sync it with Beijing's time? My boyfriend hasn't seen me in two weeks!” Jess bursts out.

“Two weeks, Supergirl!” She gets close enough to jab a finger to the Girl of Steel’s chest. A feat she will gladly tell all her coworkers later when she’s calmed down enough.

“Not to mention, the 10 other people who worked their ass off trying to make sure that Miss Luthor's presentation is airtight, bulletproof and waterproof!” Lena has the decency to look a little guilty at this point, nothing big though, just a slight tug at her lips, but it was enough for Jess.

“IT TOOK ME 3 FUCKING MINUTES TO PRINT THAT GODDAMN CONTRACT WHICH MIGHT NOT SOUND LONG—” Jess raises a finger in emphasis, “BUT BELIEVE ME WORKING IN L-CORP? A 3 MINUTE DIFFERENCE CAN MEAN AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT OR PSYCHOPATH PRESS!”

Supegirl of all people should already know this! For fuck’s sake!

Jess’s chest is heaving. She takes a deep breath, kneads her knuckles to her eyelids, “So, please if you're gonna have sex in the office, please, pleaseeeee clear the desk first. And at least, lock the door.”

She stares them both down, till Lena gives her a solemn nod; cheeks and ears still red. Supergirl squeaks out an, “U-understood, Ma’am.”

“Good. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.” Jess gives them one final nod before finally fulfilling what she came in here to do, “Miss Luthor,” She turns to Lena, “here are the R&D blueprints. Good day, to you Supergirl. I'll be going now. "

When she finally goes home, tells her boyfriend, and wonders aloud if she’ll still have a job the next morning, he tells her she’s such a badass.

And well, Jess can’t disagree with that.

*****

"Did I just- Did I just get yelled at by your secretary?? D-did she just chew us out?"

"She did, and she deserves a raise."

[bukguhope]

CLICHÉ | jjk 11 - final

“i held onto this”

“i kept this”

summary: pretending to date never ended badly right? especially when a darks secret is involved

themes: jungkook x f.reader, enemies to lovers, childhood friends, fluff, mature

previous.

waking up you blink your eyes rapidly at the sun bleeding through the window, the curtains forgotten to be drawn the night before. an arm is draped over you and pulls you closer when you begin to stir awake. you look over your shoulder to see jungkook sleeping peacefully, his head led gently in the crook of your neck. a gentle smile graces your lips as he holds you tightly, you couldn’t really believe what happened last night. but you knew today that a big conversation needed to be had between the two of you, not knowing when or how it was going to be brought up. seeing the time, you go to get out of the bed but are stopped when jungkook wraps his other arm under your neck and pulls you closely to him, hugging you from behind

“no” he mumbles simply making you chuckle lightly

“breakfast is in an hour and a half” you say quietly but he groans and burys his head deeper into your neck before huffing.

“fine, i want food” he separates himself from you and opens his eyes, rubbing his face a little. you get out the bed, feeling a little cold as you stand in just your underwear “damn view is good out here” you turn you head to find him smirking at you from the bed, now sat up.

“were you always like this?” you ask and he laughs, getting out the bed himself. you begin to find some clothes to wear and he does the same, once you find what you like you make your move to the bathroom

“where you going?” jungkook asks, rummaging through his clothes, back still to you.

“uh to change” you say and he turns to you now, you have to try and not run your eyes over his bare torso that’s on display for you in the morning light.

“awh is someone shy? does she not remember everything i saw last night?” you gasp as he grins at you 

“oh my god shut up!” the man throws his head back as he laughs at you before walking over to you, getting dangerously close. you just look up at him as he beams down at you

“before breakfast, let’s go for a walk” he says and you give me a little look “i know, we don’t have long i just- we need to talk” you gulp nervously but nod in agreement before stepping back and going to the bathroom to change. 

the pair of you successfully manage to sneak out the lodge without bumping into anyone, luckily. you follow jungkook as he began to walk around aimlessly. it was silent for a while, the slight crunch of the snow was the only thing to be heard.

“do you wanna start from the beginning?” he asks suddenly and you sigh a little, you never expected to have this conversation with him, you had no idea where to start

“well, i was born on-”

“y/n”

“sorry” he chuckles at you before staying silent, wanting you to start explaining properly this time. “when i kissed you at that party, it was real. it all was actually but you went to the bathroom after we-”

“fucked” you narrow your eyes at him as he crudely finished your sentence after you fumbled and he smiles at you.

“i wouldn’t have put it like that but yes. lily knocked on the door, she went on this big rant about how she knew everything about me. which included my dad” you look at you feet making their way for the snow, refusing to look at him. “well turns out he worked for her mother, she had him relocated that very next day. i couldn’t even- i wasn’t allowed to talk to you” he stops walking making you halt your movement aswell, you finally look up to him and it was hard to tell what he was thinking. “she said she’d have him fired jungkook. i was in that hallway, when you came looking for me” you could feel yourself choking up, but you tried your best not to cry. “i really wanted to say something, i was so scared. my dad he- he loved that job” suddenly jungkooks hands cup your cheeks, his thumbs wiping the tears you didn’t realise had fallen. “iam so sorry” you finish of, head dropping down but he lifts it back up

“don’t be sorry. y/n, you let me think you did this on purpose all this time? why didn’t you tell me when we saw each other again?”

“he still worked there, she managed to get us relocated so i knew it was possible to have him fired. she even warned me she would, that night you ended the deal” jungkook nods slowly, trying to process the information. sighing, he pulls you in for a hug and you held onto him tightly.

“i’ll make sure nothing happens don’t worry” he reassures and you smile at his kind nature but pull away from the hug

“actually, that’s not necessary” you start and he looks down into your eyes “the night after taehyungs exhibition, when you were drunk off your sss? my dad called, he got a new job” his mouths opens slightly in shock

“and you still didn’t tell me? did you ever plan on telling me?” his voice picks up a little and you’re worried he’s going to get angry so you quickly explain yourself

“i wanted to but remember, i thought you wanted lily. plus it’s a little hard to believe, you hated me so much i didn’t think you’d even trust me” now his eyes soften, a frown appearsed on his lips

“y/n, i never hated you.”

“well all the yelling at me and ignoring me said otherwise” you try to joke but his expression doesn’t budge.

“i hated that i still loved you. that i was still secretly waiting for you after all these years” now it was your mouth falling open, your heart warmed at what he was saying. ever since you met him again you desperately yearned for your best friend back. your cherished the memories you shared with him, you had missed him so much. “actually” he says before pulling his wallet out of his pocket, opening it and getting a small polaroid that was tucked in a pocket “i held onto this” showing it to you, tears fall again as you look at it. a picture of you and him, in your school uniforms. it was the first ever picture you had captured after being gifted the camera for your 15th birthday. your smiles are wide as jungkook held the camera high above your heads. hastily you pulled your purse from you bag, getting out something you held onto yourself

“i kept this” you say, holding it out to show him. he looks down and it with a gentle smile. it was the second picture that was taken on the camera, moments after the first. this time it was the two of you, peace signs covering half your faces with goofy smiles. this moment was surreal, after five years you finally let go of everything that was inside of you. even jungkooks eyes began to tear up as he looked over the pictures in both your hands

“god why are we being so soppy?” he chuckles lightly and you let out a laugh that was mixed with a small sob as you cried.

“yeah it’s not even that deep” you joke, making him laugh. you’re about to put the polaroid safely back in your purse before jungkook stops you

“i want it, let’s swap. we can keep these ones for another five years maybe, until we take new ones” smiling brightly, you hand it to him and you take his before both of put them away. the promise of capturing new memories made you feel so incredibly warm despite the cold weather. “right, let’s sort ourselves out and go get some breakfast” 

“ah here they are!” yoongi calls out as the pair of you walk into the restaurant, everyone else already sat down. you and jungkook make your way over and seat next to each other making all the guys look at one another.

“now, what have you two been up to since last night?” taehyung enquires, chin resting on his hands. you and jungkook share a look before your gazes turn away from one another. before any of you can say anything, lily and namjoon walk up to the table. the cut on namjoons lip is very apparent but you’re not too bothered.

“you two aren’t assigned to this table” hoseok states making the couple look to him

“we’re not in school, there’s no assigned seats” lily grins, only to meet with seven frowns.

“actually there are, i made them myself. now leave” jin orders, making the pair fluster a little as they looked at each other. “did i stutter?” he says and you have to hold a laugh that wanted to escape

“jungkook, you don’t mind do you?” lily turns her attention to him. the guys grew worried, he has a history of letting her get away with anything, saying yes to appease her no matter what.

“i would rather scoop my eyeballs out with my spoon then have you sit on this table with me” your eyes widen, as does everyone else’s. never, did jungkook say no to her. but strangely, he wasn’t even looking at her, like he was pretending she wasn’t even stood there. huffing, lily walks off but namjoon stays.

“y/n , i don’t even know where to begin but all i can say for is, iam so sorry.” you look up at him from where you sat in surprise, was this really your ex talking? he leaves before saying anything else.

“well that was weird” jimin mutters, looking over to where namjoon sat quietly next to lily at another table

“that’s my ex” you explain, and the guys whip their heads to you except hoseok and jungkook. even tae didn’t know who your ex was.

“and he’s with lily?” yoongi asks and you nod before saying something else that you were sure was about to rock the table

“yes, he cheated on me with her” jin chokes on the water that he had just began to sip, thankfully everyone starts to laugh which broke the tension.

“hm with the drama aside, my question is still to be answered” taehyung claims and you narrow your eyes at him “baring in mind, iam in the room right next to yours. so don’t lie” now it was chaos, all the guys muttering in rushed conversation. a blush crept up in your neck but jungkook was smiling to himself as he moved his eyes to your face

“i have never had a more exciting breakfast in my life!” jimin exclaims making everyone burst out with laughter as you and jungkook stayed quiet.

the couch journey home was, interesting. it was bound to be with the way it started. after walking onto the bus you sit yourself down near the back, looking out the window as the rest of the guests piled on. you thanked the gods that lily and namjoon didn’t get on aswell, arriving late they must have travelled down themselves. as you’re lost in thought, someone sits down next to you. turning your head, you’re met with doyoung and you were instantly uncomfortable.

“this seat taken?” he asked, even though he already had taken it. you were about to come up with something to answer with but someone else did it for you

“yes, now move” looking up, jungkook was staring down at the man next you, a nasty grimace engulfed his face

“well i sat first-”

“do i look like i care? move before i make you myself” he tried to hide it, but doyoung seemed a little scared. he attempted to let out a scoff before standing and moving towards the front. jungkook then plops himself next you, smiling. laughing you shake your head at him.

“someonesss jealoussss” taehyung sings from behind you and you have to suppress the urge to lean over the seat and strangle him.

then the couch begins to move, and jungkook wasn’t too shy to put an arm over you and tug you into himself.

“two birds sitting in a coach k i s s i n g” you look over your shoulder to see taehyungs head squeezed in the opening between the seats you sat on as he sung out. you flicked his forehead with your fingers suddenly and he hisses, sitting back into his chair. jungkook laughs at the pair of you as he leans his head on the back of the seat. 

when the coach finally reached your stop, you sighed in relief as jungkook stood to let you out but you were surprised when he didn’t sit back down. in fact he followed you down the aisle. five voices suddenly began to holler and you didn’t have to look to know exactly who it was. getting off the coach, jungkook pulls both of your luggage out and thanks the driver before he closes the door and drives off. once it does, you raise an eyebrow at him

“this isn’t your stop” you say with your arms across your chest but jungkook shrugs as he begins to pull both of your suitcase as he walks to the direction of your house.

“thanks for letting me know” he mumbles as he walks past you, giving you a smile as he goes. rolling your eyes you jog a little to catch up to him. the pair of you walk in comfortable silence, you try and take your suitcase from jungkook to pull yourself but he shrugs you of.

“don’t be a hero, let me have it”

“iam not, iam being a good boyfriend” the two of you stop walking in unison, the sound on the suitcase wheels coming to a dramatic stop. the pair of you slowly look over at each other because of the words he just uttered from his mouth.

“you’re being a good what now?” you ask as he looks at you, clearly trying to think of something to say. but honestly, you didn’t want him to answer. you knew you wanted to be with him, but you wanted to learn all about his life and what you missed out on. you wanted to go on dates and feel the butterflies in your stomach as you grew closer. however, you decided that you could do all that and be with him properly.

“iam sorry, it just came out” he rushes and you giggle at his flustered face, placing your arms on his shoulders you lean up and he instantly closes his eyes. obviously waiting for a kiss as his lips pout out, biting your lip to hide a smile you plant a gentle kiss on his nose.

“where you taking me on our first date tonight?” you ask simply as you begin to walk away. you look back and let out a laugh as he stays stood in his place, hands gripping the handles of your suitcases, before turning and continuing to walk.

“hey! you can’t just do that” he whines and you hear the wheels of your luggage rumble against the pavement as he rushed to catch up to you. it took five years, but you finally had your best friend back and you gained a boyfriend in the process.

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

evilkneival123@gmail.com just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

[atinysunbaby]

⏳Ateez getting mad at you⏳

💖Park Seonghwa💖

Seonghwa doesn't like when things are dirty and it's even worse if it's his belongings. He always makes sure that everything is neat, if not then he won't feel comfortable.

He had just finished cleaning the whole dorm and it took him a while. You knock at the door, waiting for him to open. When he does, he smiles at you softly.

You can see that he is exhausted, after all the work he does and the chores in the dorm too. You offered to help, numerous times, but he refuses, saying it isn't your place to do so.

You enter, drinks in your hands from the coffee shop. Seonghwa's hands aren't clean because of all the cleaning he did, so he asks you to put them on the table while he goes to change his clothes.

You do as you're told, but unfortunately for you, the wire that was in the way had other plans. On your way to the kitchen, your foot gets caught in it, and you lose your grip of the drink carriers while falling. Half the drinks spill all over the carpet in the living room.

You gasp from the impact with the floor, but mostly because of the now completely soaked material. You sit up in shock, but it's replaced with guilt and sadness when you see the look on Seonghwa's face.

"S-seonghwa I'm s-so sorry- I tripped a-and I-" You're cut off with his scoff, he looks at you clearly pissed. "You could've look at where you were going! Do you know how long this took me to clean huh?"

You're eyes get teary and your lips wobble, obliviously about to cry. You apologise quietly, your head lowered. Seonghwa sighs, feeling horrible for taking out his frustration on you.

He approches your smaller body, squatting down next to you. He caresses your hair and kisses your head. "Baby I'm so sorry.. I know it's not your fault, it was an accident.. Come here~"

He takes you in his arms and lifts you up, bringing you in his bed. He apologies again and spoils you with affection. You both lay down like this, cuddling until you fall asleep.

💙Kim Hongjoong💙

You're on your way to visit Hongjoong at his studio. He asked you to join him while he was working, wanting to feel your presence. But when you enter, the first thing you see is, him sleeping on top of dozens of papers.

The room is messy, and you can barely walk without stepping on something. You sigh and shake your head. Why didn't he tell you how exhausted he was?

You place your belongings on the couch and start to clean up. You make sure that the things your putting in the trash bag aren't important. Things that have been aggressively drawn over or teared, probably aren't.

When you're done with that, you go outside to put the bag in the trash. After ten minutes, you enter the studio once again. But instead of finding a sleeping Hongjoong, you're met with a frantic one, who looks like he's about to die from panic attack.

When he finally notices you, his eyes narrow. You watch him in confusion, about to ask him what's going on, but he beats you to it. "What the fuck did you do!? Did you do this? Did you get rid of all of my shit without asking me!!"

With every phrase he gets closer to you, until he's got you trapped between him and the wall. You cower from his burst of anger, tears spilling from your eyes.

Immediately when Hongjoong's anger dies down, he realises what he just did. Not wasting a second, he softly takes you in his arms and sits you on top him on the couch.

None of you utter a word for about half an hour. Then Hongjoong feels you moving, he takes your face in his hands. He pecks your lips and puts his forehead against yours, you hear him sigh.

"I'm so sorry baby.. I didn't mean to scream at you, you didn't deserve that. It'll never happen again I promise." You nod weakly, burying your face in his neck.

💛Jeong Yunho💛

Yunho is exhausted, just coming back from practice. You notice him closing his eyes and almost falling asleep, but he needs to stay awake. He still has some work to do.

You also saw him frowning a few times and massaging his shoulders. He definitely is in pain, but doesn't say anything.

While he's writing down some things, you sit behind him. You place your hands on his shoulders, starting to give him a massage. He groans in relief, his body instantly relaxing.

"F-fuck baby that feels good~" He sighs and you giggle. "You should've told me you were hurting love~"

You keep working on his tense muscles for a couple more minutes. Then you suddenly have an idea. You reach for the base of his shirt and lift it up.

But while doing so, you accidently knock your hand on the table and Yunho's coffee spills all over his papers. The papers that he was working so hard on.

Yunho stands up abruptly and tries to save some of them. After frantically moving around and panicking, he stops. He turns to you, a furious expression on his usually sweet face.

You watch him with big eyes, apologizing again and again. He pushes your body on the couch and holds your arms up. You feel small and your heart stops beating for a second. But then a smile breaks his fake angry expression.

"Sorry babe, can't be mad at you~" He pecks your lips and proceed to clean the desk while you stay there confused with blushy cheeks.

💜Kang Yeosang💜

"Sangie~" You sing entering the dorm with enthusiasm, but there's no response. "Yeosang?" You ask once more, this time Seonghwa's voice is heard. "Here in the kitchen!"

You walk in the kitchen to find eight pair of eyes on you, none that looks happy to see you. You frown, confused. Your gaze falls on Yeosang. His eyes don't meet yours, he looks mad.

You clear your throat. "Wha-" Yeosang cuts you off, moving away from the counter. He glares at you with what you think is disgust. You don't know the reason behind all this, but you sure know it can't be good.

"Alright, I think it's time for us to go. Guys?" Seonghwa speaks up, giving a look to the others. They all leave, letting you and Yeosang alone.

You gulp nervously, even though you probably don't have any reason to be. Yeosang's piercing gaze never fail to make you feel small though. He backs you up against a wall, the tension only growing with each second. The whole situation makes your heart clench in sadness, you don't know what you did wrong.

"Yeosang please tell me what's happening?" Your eyes swell with tears and Yeosang seeing this, only chuckles with no sign of pity. "So you cheated on me, but your the one crying!!? Huh? Should I feel bad for YOU!!?"

You cower from him, he's screaming in your face and you think he might be so mad that he could hurt you. "I d-didn't- I really don't know what you're talking about I-I swear.. Please S-sangie believe me. You know me-You know I could never hurt you. I'd never do that.."

Your sobs and the pain clearly heard in your voice makes him instantly believe you. Regret fills him and he feels like the worse boyfriend ever. He hugs you tightly and cries with you when he feels your body flinching away from him. He just hugs you tighter, not letting go of you until you both calmed down.

He apologies after and you forgive him, but you make him promise that he'll always speak with you before making any accusation. He doesn't let go of you for days after, needing to be with you. You're quite happy from all the attention he gives you.

🖤Choi San🖤

"Woo, you look so pretty~" You and Wooyoung are trying clothes on and you both complement each other after every fit. What you're unaware of though, is your boyfriend hearing everything. He came back from practice earlier and wanted to surprise you, but now he's angry.

You know that San doesn't like when you're getting too touchy or close with other boys, but you had a conversation with each other and he said that he was fine with his members being that way with you.

Right now though, he regrets ever saying that. He can feel his blood boiling, seeing his bestfriend being so flirty with you. He barges into the room, startling the two of you. "What the hell's goin' on here?"

You frown at his tone and so does Wooyoung. Why does he seem so pissed? You and the boy on your right look at each other in confusion, but it only seems to worsen the situation. San scoffs seeing your interaction, his tongue poking his cheek in irritation. To him, it looks like you both got caught doing something bad.

"Wooyoung get out, I need to talk to 'my' girlfriend." He watches as the other walks out, before turning to you with a dark expression. He steps closer to you, his hand grabbing your face when he reaches your body. "So.. You've been a bad girl~?"

💚Song Mingi💚

You never thought this sweet baby could ever raise his voice at anyone, that or get so mad he loses control. Well, you're proven wrong when he enters your apartment screaming at you. "What the fuck is wrong with you!!"

You jump away from your computer and make your way to him, but you don't have to go far since Mingi is practically running to you. "You bitch! You fucking put my shit in the trash!! Who the fuck do you think you are ugh??"

Your lips tremble, trying to hold your sobs in. But Mingi keeps screaming in your face, making you burst in tears. Seeing you that way makes him instantly shut up. He doesn't move or speak, just listen to you breaking down. "I'm so sorry- I thought you s-said you didn't need it anymore- I was trying to help.. you were so busy- and t-tired.. I-"

He cuts you off with a hug, his arms wrapping so tightly around you. "Shit I'm so sorry baby, will you please forgive me? It's that- I just felt so mad. I had no right to say those horrible things to you my love.."

Your tears stops after a few minutes, you try to get out of his embrace but he only holds you closer. "I love you. I promise princess, I'll never speak to you that way ever again. You alright?"

You nod, burying your face deeper in his chest. You say something, but it comes out muffled. Mingi gently holds your face, making you look directly in his eyes. You see dried tears on his cheeks, showing you that you weren't the only one who cried. You sigh before a small smile apears on your face. "I love you too~ I forgive you, it's ok."

❤Jung Wooyoung❤

You're at the company, watching Wooyoung practicing. Not alone though, with a girl. It wouldn't have make you that irritated, only if she wasn't always having her hands all over him. It isn't part of the choreography, but Wooyoung doesn't seem to mind either.

"Oh sorry, I'm a bit clumsy~" She giggles for what feels like the hundredth time, making you scoff audibly. Enough for your boyfriend to hear and her too, making them both turn towards you. Seeing your eyes burning with rage, Wooyoung sighs, but the girl next to him who obviously wants to fuck your man, eyes you from head to toe.

She not so subtly gets closer to Woo, mouthing something only for you to see, making you lose it, 'Mine'. You raise your eyebrows challengingly, your feet bringing you closer to them. Wooyoung reads the situation, so he quickly gets in-between the two of you.

"Alright babe calm down!" You try to punch her, but he catches you before you have the chance. "Hey I said stop! What's wrong with you Y/N- seriously you're acting crazy?"

"Crazy? She's the one fucking with me- Woo you even let her touch you the whole fucking time!" She grins at you from behind Wooyoung, thinking she's so smart. You sigh in disappointment before getting closer to Woo. "He's mine. My man. Got it? See I can show you."

You grab the back of your boyfriend's neck, crashing your lips on his. He groans in the kiss, gripping at your hips. You both hear the girl gasping before quickly running out of the room. The door is shut pretty hard and immediately you part from the flustered boy. "Ah come on baby~ Kiss me more please."

🧡Choi Jongho🧡

When this boy gets mad, he doesn't utter a word. He gives you the silent treatment, making everything feel ever worse. At least if he let you know about what he's mad or how he feels, then maybe you'd be a bit reassured.

So you know immediately, when you come back home from work, that he's angry about something. You call his name, but he doesn't respond. At first you thought he went out, but when you enter your bedroom and see him laying and playing on his phone, you connect the dots.

"Jongho~" You pout and nudge him trying to make him react, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the screen. You sigh, hating when he ignores you like that. "Did I do something wrong?.. Jongho?"

You look at him for some time, waiting to see if maybe he'd raise his head and smile at you saying it was a prank, but it doesn't happen. You feel your heart clench and hurry to leave the room before he sees your teary eyes.

You end up falling asleep on the couch after crying for some time. Jongho comes later to see what you're doing, also wanting to speak with you, but he finds you with those dried tears on your cheeks. He feels bad for ignoring you and making you cry, but you forgot about your date with him, how could he not be mad.

When you both wake up in the morning, he explains everything. You feel like such and idiot and make it up to him. You both promise to tell each other everthing from now on.

[jadequeen88]

A Waitress’ Worst Nightmare

A/N: Written for the BNHA Degeneracy 9-5 collab! THIS IS 18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: TW.sexual harassment, TW.oral(recieving), TW.degredation TW.nipple play, TW.Mommy kink

Pairing: busboy!Keigo, linecook!Dabi, f!waitress!Reader

You’re a college student just trying to get by. The biggest worry you should have right now is if you had enough time to finish that psych paper or when you were going to meet up with your calculus study group. Instead, you’ve got a much larger problem facing you...A problem that has permeated through every aspect of your life. Your coworkers were Grade-A-Assholes who decided making your life miserable was on the top of their to do lists.

You thought waitressing at the 24/7 diner downtown would be a breeze. Money was tight and since you were 21 and almost done with your undergrad, you wanted a little more financial independence. Little did you know when the owner hired you that you’d have to work alongside the two biggest shitheads in the city.

First there’s Keigo. To the untrained eye, he could almost seem charming. But you found out pretty quickly what a dick he was. He was working as a “busboy”, but in reality he didn’t do anything but flirt with every woman within his field of vision. Keigo would leave the tables a mess until there wasn’t a clean one left in your station and you’d be forced to do his job for him.

“What, babe? Stop getting your panties in a twist. I’m real busy these days. You know I’m practically running this place now.”

Oh yeah. How could you forget? He took every opportunity to remind you of that fact. Keigo’s dad happened to be buddies with the owner, garnering a sense of trust with the old man. He slowly weaseled his way into running day-to-day operations while the elderly owner stayed home most days.

Although the diner needed another busboy to pick up his slack, Keigo refused to tell the boss to hire another. You overheard a phone conversation between Keigo and your boss just last night:

“Nah, boss. We’ve got it covered here. No need to hire another busboy. The waitresses are just finding reasons to nag. Women, am I right?”

You were fuming.

***

As bad as Keigo was, his friend Dabi was exponentially worse. The line cook was, without a doubt, a drug dealer. The only motive he could possibly have for working there is having a place to do business with his “customers”(and of course, to help Keigo make your life a living hell). It clearly wasn’t because he needed the money since you’d seen his “friends” slip him generous wads of cash when they stopped by the restaurant. If cleaning up Keigo’s messes sucked, trying to put in customer’s orders with Dabi was pure torture. 

“Eggs over easy instead of scrambled? I dunno, Princess. Sounds like it’ll be a pain in my ass. Whatcha gonna give me if I do it?”

Then he’d lick his lips with his long pierced tongue, leering at you over the counter. Gag... You wondered if that ever actually worked in his favor. 

One semi-decent thing you can say about Keigo is that he’d never actually laid a finger on you. The same can’t be said for Dabi. You learned after your first day to wear shorts under the skirt of your uniform. You were behind the counter slicing lemons when he took his spatula and lifted the hem of your skirt. Before you realized what he was doing, he was calling out to his partner in crime.

“Fuuuuuck, Kei! Look at the ass on the new girl!”

You wondered what was going on until you felt a breeze and realized it was your ass that was on display. You’d slapped the spatula away and straightened your skirt, but not before they both got an eyeful of your black, lace panties. You cried for ten minutes in the bathroom after your shift that day.

***

The day you’d been dreading was finally upon you. No, it wasn’t a big test or project due... You had to ask off work for your cousin’s wedding. That meant dealing with Keigo (who was now in charge of making the schedule each week).

You squared your shoulders and went over what you would say over, and over in your head so you wouldn’t stumble over your words when you had to face him. 

“I need to have Saturday off for my cousin’s wedding. I can work the Sunday morning shift instead.”

This was repeated on a loop in your brain as you walked down the darkened corridor towards the office. You let out a long sigh and gently rapped your knuckles against the wooden frame. The sound of shuffling and muffled voices seeped through the thin faux wood and a moment later, the door swung inward. The thick cloud of smoke and strong, skunky smell almost knocked you flat on your ass. Instead of seeing Keigo alone working on the schedule, you saw that he and Dabi were hotboxing in the small office.

Knowing they were back here getting high while you closed the diner by yourself was the last straw. You slam the door behind you and stomp forward to lean over the desk Keigo was propped up behind.

“Listen you shit heads!” you slammed you fists on the desk knocking over a jar of pens. “I am so fucking sick of slaving away in this shit hole while you two get high and fuck off back here. You’re going to let me have Saturday off or I swear to Christ, I’m calling the boss and spilling my guts! About the weed, the drug deals, the snarky remarks, the groping, EVERYTHING! I’ve had enough!”

There was a moment of silence then the two of them burst into a fit of laughter. In a blind fit of rage, you leap across the desk and grab Keigo by the throat. When you made contact and squeezed as hard as your small hand would allow, a whimper escaped his throat and his eyes rolled back.

Now it was your turn to laugh.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you gripped your fingers tightly again to see if you could pull any more sounds from him. He didn’t disappoint. This time it was a whimper followed by him nervously mumbling.

“Heh, Kid... Seriously, knock it off. This shit isn’t funny.”

Your eyes traveled down the front of his body and when they landed on the crotch of his baggy khakis, your suspicions were confirmed. This loser who acted like a certified pussy-slayer popped a boner just from you choking him.

You leaned in close to his face, using this as your chance to get revenge for all the hell he had put you through. “Aww little Keigo... Not used to being roughed up?” you cooed. “Dumb little baby Keigo...I bet if I kept this up, you’d come in your pants like a dirty slut, wouldn’t you?”

You felt movement over your shoulder and heard a deep chuckle. “Dude you’re so pathe-”

Dabi gasped as you grabbed him by the crotch with your free hand and squeezed. He was already hard. You met his eyes and see panic etched across his features. A sadistic grin spread across your mouth as you tightened your grip. His head fell back and let out a whimper almost as needy as Keigo’s. 

“You’re both going to do exactly what I say or I swear, I will tell every girl you ever try to speak to what a couple of pathetic virgins you two are...”

***

“Ungh! Plea-please... Harder! I... I need more!”

*SMACK*

Your hand lands hard across the blonde’s face, drawing a pathetic whimper from his throat. He thrust his weeping cock along your shin whimpering, craving more pressure to relieve his suffering.

“You don’t get to tell me what you need, Keigo. Shut your fucking mouth and be grateful you get this much.”

You throw your head back against the office chair and hum as Dabi eats your cunt like it’s his last meal.

“Mmm... See Keigo? See what a good boy Dabi is being? He knows his stupid mouth is only meant for one thing... Making Mommy’s pussy feel good.”

The praise causes the dark haired man between your thighs to moan into your clit sending a pulse of pleasure through your lower body. The ball of his piercing circles your clit and you feel the familiar ache of an impending orgasm begin to tighten in your belly.

Keigo starts shoving Dabi away from you with a growl. “This is bullshit! I haven’t even had a chance yet!”

Dabi elbows him, ”Fuck off Kei! I almost had her finished off!”

Furious from being jerked back from the edge of your orgasm, you grab a fist full of blonde hair in one hand and black in the other. You pull their flushed faces up to look you in the eye.

“If you want to come at all, you will shut...the fuck...up... and get me off. Now”

Dabi wasted no time in diving back into your dripping slit, panting heavily while he ran his pierced tongue in and out of your swollen entrance. Keigo attacked your neck, whimpering as he planted sloppy kisses down your collarbone until his tongue was licking long stripes up you clothed nipple.

“I think you can do a little better than that, baby,’ you cooed into Keigo’s messy blonde tresses, sweetly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He took that as his cue to remove the clothing between your hardening bud and his hot, wet tongue.

Keigo latched onto your nipple, nursing it with vigor while he gently grazed his fingertips over the other. You heard him mumble something into the soft swell of your breast.

“Speak up,” you pull him away from your nipple with a pop, “I didn’t catch that...”

“I-I said... I...”

Your attention was drawn to the man between your legs as he began to suck down hard on your clit. The hand you had wrapped in Keigo’s hair tightened causing him to cry out.

“Mommy! Please! Wanna be your good boy! Wanna make Mommy come...” He sobs as he starts frantically licking and sucking your neglected nipple. This pushes you over the edge and your long awaited orgasm rushes over you. 

After you come down from your high, you push them off and begin getting dressed while the two men you left on the floor look up at you with wide eyes.

Dabi, still panting from eating you so vigorously, chokes out a little half sob.

“But.. where are you goin? We did what you asked!”

“Yeah babe! what the fuck!”

You eyed both men and let the tension hang in the air before turning and walking to the door.

“Give me the whole weekend off. Then we’ll arrange something Monday,” you look over your shoulder, “As long as you don’t piss me off before then..”

You walk out of the office with the biggest grin you’ve had in a long time and feeling a lot more relaxed. Maybe this job was going to turn out better than you expected.