#i've suddenly forgotten how to tag things

[cowardlychimera]

AAAAAGH I'M NOT DEAD I'M NOT DEAD!!!! SO SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING I'VE BEEN FACING THE HORRORS </3 </3 GIVE ME LIKE A WEEK I'LL BE BACK SOONNN

[chuluoyi]

𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

he is your husband and you are his wife. but of course you know the bitter truth—you will never be able to replace her.

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, drunken sex, mentions of injury, blood, hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here), spoilers! from zayne’s bond story nostalgic sweetness

note: wc. 8k ! i've been having these bits and pieces scenarios for zayne in mind and then i thought what if i combined it all into one angst joyride? :)) tagging per request: @kissxcore @rjreins @i2s2m @tom-pls-fuck-me @yueyoonie @sanriosatoru

07.15 p.m

Zayne would be getting off work soon. He had just finished an emergency surgery, and it had been exhausting. Now it was quite late.

“Dr. Zayne! Great job today!” Greyson exclaimed, suddenly strolling into his consultation room with a grin. “Want to grab dinner with us?”

Honestly, he was starving too. “Where?”

“Oh, you know, that new place that just opened nearby! They have the tastiest tiramisu, or so I’ve heard. C’mon, we’re inviting the nurses too!”

He knew he needed to head home soon, but fatigue and hunger blurred his thoughts at the mention of dessert.

“Alright.”

. . .

08.25 p.m

Getting together with the hospital staff was always nice. They were rowdy, but it was definitely a great way to unwind after a hard day.

The tiramisu was as great as Greyson said. Speaking of his assistant, he and Yvonne were having a blast. Other doctors were getting drunk. Zayne could only shake his head, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had been here quite a while.

It was only when he turned on his phone and saw the time that he realized, with sinking heart that—

He was supposed to meet you at six.

If you were asked how you felt about your life now, you’d be hard-pressed to say you were completely content.

You were a stellar fighter in the Hunter Association, more than content with your job, and you had a good husband. To some, you had what they would call the perfect life.

The wife of the Dr. Zayne. True, it was a flattering title, yet unbeknownst to everyone, also a humbling one.

And the notion struck you once again when your husband of almost two years stood you up on your dinner date without so much as a notice.

“Miss... we’re about to close now...” The waitress approached your table for at least the third time, and you nodded sheepishly, finally finishing your meal.

You paid for it and left the restaurant. The chilly night air hit your skin, giving you goosebumps as you walked home. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Granted, Zayne had a packed schedule, and you figured he might've had an urgent matter to attend to that he forgot to let you know.

Still... it hurts. Knowing you were not a priority in your husband’s eyes wasn’t a fun feeling.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket the moment you arrived at your shared home. Your husband’s name flashed on your screen. The time now was 08.40 p.m.

“Hello, Zayne?”

“Y/N?” Your husband’s voice sounded frantic. “Are you still at the restaurant? I’m going—”

“Ah, no need to. I’m going home.”

“I’ll pick you up then. Stay there—”

“I’ve already arrived.”

An awkward silence settled between you, and you could clearly hear the noise on the other end. Greyson’s laughter was unmistakable.

You forced a laugh, still trying to sound cheerful for him even when realizing that he had completely forgotten about you. “It’s totally fine, Zayne! Are you heading back?”

“Yeah...”

“Take care then. See you at home.”

You ended the call with a sigh, trying to shake off the sting in your heart. As you made your way upstairs to your bedroom, you passed by a large portrait on the wall, and a bittersweet sensation washed over you.

Your wedding photo. Both of you were smiling on what was the most wonderful day of your life. Zayne’s smile was reserved, but yours was radiant.

It is the most wonderful thing that has happened to you... but is it the same for him?

At that time, despite everything, you were convinced a lifetime of happiness awaited you, yet now... it got harder to fool yourself into believing it.

Your marriage has always been lukewarm.

Zayne wasn’t an overly excited person, and you were his opposite—but try as you might, some things between you just didn’t work out. As a result, both of you tended to keep certain things to yourselves.

Most days, this didn't bother him. He valued his privacy, so the way things were suited him just fine. However, several days later, when Greyson approached him with a worried expression and a news, even Zayne had to draw the line.

“Dr. Zayne? Uh, how do I say this? I think I saw your wife being wheeled in earlier with the injured from the hunt zones raid…”

. . .

“Your husband is a doctor here. Why aren’t you calling him?”

Xavier, your fellow Deepspace Hunter who was partnered with you in this mission, questioned you with a hint of annoyance as he observed your pathetic state on the stretcher and crossed his arms. “Why do you have to bleed out in ER when you can get him?”

You winced, pressing the bloodied cloth against your stinging abdomen as you felt yourself growing faint. “He’s... a surgeon,” you panted. “He’s busy.”

Above all, you didn’t want Zayne to see you like this. You could already imagine his angry face, and that mental image alone made you recoil.

“What sort of husband is busy when his wife is injured?” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least notify him?”

You shut your eyes, feeling a migraine coming.

“I will then.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you—”

“Shut up, Xavier—”

The curtain was suddenly pulled back, and you braced yourself for whoever had come to check on you next. To your surprise, the cloth in your hand was snatched away, and you felt your uniform being torn open with urgency.

When you opened your eyes, you barely made out your husband’s figure through your hazy vision. “…Zayne?”

His expression was stern, unforgiving even, as he started to disinfect your wound. Despite the tension, you couldn't deny the relief that washed over you. You knew you were in good hands, even if you had to face his fury later on.

Your consciousness slipped away not long after that.

. . .

The next time you woke up, you found yourself in a private room, with a nagging itch where you had been injured.

You groaned, your limbs stiff and heavy, and the room slowly came into focus—along with your husband's face.

"Zayne?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper. He stood pristine in his white coat and glasses, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Your wound is, thankfully, shallow," he said flatly, his tone lacking any real concern. "You'll be discharged tonight. I'll take you home as soon as my shift is over."

"Ah..." You blinked several times to clear your head. "Good then. Sorry for showing up out of nowhere. Xavier and I were on a rescue mission, and I accidentally—"

He walked away before you could finish, the abruptness snapping you fully awake. He was furious, that much was clear.

"Ha ha..." You forced a laugh, fiddling with your fingers, trying to ease the awkward tension between you. "It doesn't hurt much, actually. You're right—I'm fine..."

Zayne shot you a sharp glance. "You passed out due to blood loss."

"This isn't the first time it has happened and nor will it be—"

"And it didn't even occur to you to inform me at all. I found out that my own wife was wounded because Greyson passed by the ER and saw you."

His words left you silent, caught red-handed, but your annoyance was reaching its limit. You had imagined how nice it would be if he panicked about you, showering you with care when he found out. But instead, Zayne chose to rebuke you the moment you woke up.

“I’m not a child,” you reasoned, keeping yourself calm. “I’m a hunter. This is nothing new, and you should understand that.”

“The least you could’ve done is to tell me—“

“Do you know why I didn’t? It’s because I know how you’ll react!”

“—and it would do you better to prioritize your safety and not rush headfirst into danger.”

“Believe me, I do but—!”

Suddenly, Zayne spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with fury as he raised his voice. “I’ve told you so many times already, you have to stay back, or you’ll end up—!”

He stopped abruptly, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, but right at that moment, you knew all too well who he meant, and what the implication was.

His, without a doubt, greatest love. His childhood friend, a hunter like yourself, someone he had vowed to save but succumbed to her illness before he could do so, died on arrival.

The irony was sharp. You had become everything she once was. You knew her well, too. When she passed, the entire Hunter Association mourned her loss. And more than that, on the night she died, you had been with him.

Looking back, you should have seen it coming. Still, it hit you like a splash of cold water. Your husband was still preoccupied with thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, and worse yet, he saw pieces of her in you.

And you suspected he had for a while—perhaps even, from the very beginning.

For a second there, not for the first time, you felt your heart shatter.

“I don’t have Protocore syndrome,” you stated, steeling yourself against the heartbreak. “My heart won't suddenly fail because I get injured. I’m not that weak.”

You turned away as Zayne refused to respond, missing his look of disdain as he stormed out of the room.

That was when your first tear fell.

Right from the start, you knew you had to brace yourself for this. You knew that eventually, this tragedy would overshadow your marriage. Because while Zayne might be your husband by law, deep down, his heart still belonged to someone else.

To her.

You two are too much alike.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed it. And it wouldn’t be the last.

On bad mornings, when his eyes were bleary and he hadn't had a good sleep, he would see her instead of you in your shared bed. And with that mistaken sight came a fleeting sense of relief... until his vision cleared and he remembered she was truly gone and it was you.

Zayne knew how wrong this was on so many levels. It was terribly unfair to you.

Still, his concern for you was genuine. Seeing you lying still on the stretcher brought back that very same nightmare, and really, he truly never wanted you to be hurt.

After his outburst and your clipped response, the two of you barely exchanged any words for the rest of the week. To make matters worse, he was sent on a business trip the following week, and all in all, you went two weeks hardly speaking to each other.

And before he knew it, her death anniversary was only a couple of days away.

. . .

"How much is this?"

"Ah, the bow is 50,000 Gold, sir!"

Inside the airport's souvenir shop, Zayne examined the intricate light blue and white bow clip. Made of tweed and adorned with small pearls, it looked nice.

He thought it'd suit you well.

"I'll get this then."

"Right away!"

As the clerk went to wrap the trinket, Zayne reflected on these past two weeks. A nagging feeling twisted in his gut as he thought about how curt he had been with you in text messages and how often you had left him on read.

Husband and wife shouldn't be this way. He wanted the unbearable air between you to end. Determined to resolve things, he planned to talk to you when he returned. He was on his way to the airport taxi when—

"Zayne!" He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar voice, and turned around.

There you were, waiting by his car with a smile.

It was never in you to stay angry for long. It was a blessing and a curse, really, because while you no longer wished to give your husband silent treatment, a part of you still felt conflicted.

"How was your trip?" you asked as you started the engine, pushing the events of the past two weeks to the back of your mind.

Zayne didn't immediately answer, and you felt his gaze on you as you drove the car. "It was okay."

You hummed in acknowledgement, and he followed up with, "How is your wound? Do you dress it daily?"

"Mm-hm. It's getting better."

"I'll have a look at it later."

"Sure."

Silence. Usually you would ramble to distract him, but now, even you weren’t sure if you should.

Then, he said, "You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have made my way home on my own."

To that, you pasted on a smile. “You always pick me up whenever I have to go on business trips. It’s only fair I do the same for you, husband.”

Ah. Was it the wrong move? The word had slipped out so easily that you didn’t realize it until after you said it.

But to your surprise, Zayne let out a chuckle and played along. "Well, thank you then, wife. It certainly felt quite off without a certain someone the past week."

So, he actually likes having you around...? The thought made you almost giddy. Despite his usual taciturn and sarcastic demeanor, you knew he was genuine in his own way.

"Bet you missed me," you teased, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

"Nope. But I did miss getting new snowmen."

"...why do you like them so much? I've made plenty for you already."

"No particular reason. Snowman just kinda reminds me of you somehow."

The tension between you had melted away, and you felt a sense of relief. Beside you, even Zayne couldn’t hide his smile. For the rest of the drive home, you chatted like you used to.

When you arrived back at your shared home, he suddenly stopped and presented you with a little box. "I got you something."

"Huh?" you paused, bewildered, as he took your hand and placed the box in it.

"Open it."

With curiosity, you lifted the lid, and were surprised at the sight of a pretty bow clip inside. "Whoa, how cute..."

Zayne eyed you expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Your eyes lit up with delight, and a smile spread across your lips.

"Yes!" you beamed at him with zero hesitation, and in that moment, something struck a chord within him. Zayne had always thought you were easy on the eyes—

—but when you smiled like that, you were truly charming.

"It's healing nicely."

You felt somewhat self-conscious as your husband examined your bare abdomen, where your injury was, as you lied on your bed. His hands, cool and practiced, tenderly removed your stitches.

It wasn't as if Zayne had never touched you. You two had been married for almost two years, and of course you had been intimate several times, but it wasn't as if you were a passionate couple to begin with—so you often found yourself flustered.

"Mm." Despite yourself, you squirmed. Noticing this, he looked up at you, his unfazed eyes meeting yours with a frown.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really... It just feels as if you're tickling me."

He was positively unamused. "I'm not trying to tickle you."

"I know!"

Zayne wrapped your midsection securely with the bandage. When he was done, he let out a sigh and you felt like you had to show him your gratitude somehow.

“Thank you, Zayne…” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. But in the next second, your heart skipped a beat as his hand rested gently on your head.

"You can thank me by being more careful next time." Your husband looked at you with the smallest of smile. "Your safety comes first, always remember that."

Without either of you realizing it, you both had tried to bury that argument from two weeks ago, yet it was still gnawing at you all the same. The thought that he too was bothered with it made you warm.

"Noted," you cheekily grinned. "If I'm not safe and sound, a certain iceman will get angry at me."

Zayne shot you an unimpressed look. “If you come to me injured again, I’ll start charging you fees.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. "How stingy! I'm your wife, not just some stranger!"

"A very uncooperative wife, you are."

You huffed, and he chuckled. You really thought all was well between you two now, until Zayne suddenly stood up and grabbed the car keys. “Well then, rest. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stop by the florist—”

And it hit you. In two days. The day everything ended three years ago.

Zayne seemed to realize it too, but you quickly masked your falling smile with a faux one. "O-oh, right..."

No matter how, it's still going to be an important day to him. You had nothing against it, really. Your husband's late girlfriend had once been your colleague too, and you mourned her just like everyone else did.

Still, even with that understanding, in your heart of hearts, it remains just as bitter.

You didn't want to, but you needed to find closure. You hoped that by doing this, it would finally put an end to all your insecurities.

"Let's go together, Zayne. I want to pay her a visit too."

Two days later, you and Zayne, a bouquet of flowers in hand, stood before the grave bearing many colorful flowers and postcards.

You supposed you knew already, but seeing it firsthand, you realized just how deeply she was loved still. The outpouring of respect from the Hunter Association was evident in the tribute left behind.

"It's been a while," Zayne, dressed in his most formal black suit, said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the pristine stone.

You watched as he knelt to place his flowers and then brought his hands together in prayer. You followed his lead, placing your own bouquet beside his.

What should you even say to her? Your mind raced with countless thoughts, but none felt right to voice before the woman who had so deeply captured your husband's heart.

In the end, when you sensed that Zayne had finished with his prayer, you decided to remain silent and rose with him.

. . .

“Does it get easier?” you asked out of curiosity afterwards. “Three years has passed already.”

Although Zayne wasn’t one for drinking, even the need won today. He didn’t meet your eyes as he sipped his wine, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhat. As they say, time heals.”

You two stopped by a fine restaurant after visiting the grave. The cemetery had been a two-hour drive from Linkon City, and now it was already evening.

“She loved jasmines,” you remarked, recalling the pot of them you once saw on her desk and the flowers overflowing at the grave earlier.

“She did.” The alcohol seemed to loosen his tongue as he continued, “She loved old popsicles and macarons too.”

“And you like them as well.”

“To be honest, I started liking them back when we were kids…” Zayne had this pained, faraway look in his eyes as he had another sip. “She cried over her melted popsicle and it got me to wonder if it was really that tasty...”

The idea that you had to compete with a dead woman for your husband’s affection left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you had failed thoroughly as a woman.

Despite hating yourself for asking, you needed to know. “Do I help you… in any way at all?”

Zayne was clearly taken aback by the question. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto you, mind whirred as he tried to grasp your meaning.

“Y/N, you...”

It was foolish, you knew. But you waited with bated breath for his response, even when one wrong word could shatter your heart beyond repair. You were ready for any sort of unfavorable answer, but then—

“I... am glad it is you.”

His words made you look up, and you found yourself caught in his gaze. Zayne’s ashen eyes were steady, piercing into you.

“You were there on the hardest days. And ever since, you’ve always stayed by my side.” He held your gaze firmly, voice was thick with emotion you couldn’t quite name. “I’m grateful for that.”

And then, with a sincerity that pierced through every uncertainty, he added, “What I want to say is... I’m glad I married you, Y/N.”

You have loved him for so long. Since the days when you know he isn’t yours to love, until now.

Your heart swelled with so much warmth that tears brimmed in your eyes. His acknowledgment of your presence filled you with a profound sense of belonging you never knew you needed before.

Was it the alcohol?

You suspected it might be, because in nearly two years of marriage, Zayne had never lost his control like this. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, he pushed you against the wall and devoured your lips hungrily.

“Mmph!” His hands gripped your arms while his lips and tongue pried yours open. The kiss was searing, almost forceful, with the faint bitterness of wine still lingering.

“Zay…ne…” you gasped between his kisses—teary, breathless, your voice trembling.

But your breathy grunts only seemed to spur him on. His dark eyes, clouded with lust, fixed on you as his hands slipped beneath your blouse, deftly unclasping your bra with a flick.

He is hot. Your husband was everything a woman desired in a man. Cool, handsome, blessed with hands that could do wonders—

In no time, he had you naked and wet before him, and with alarming speed, he too discarded his own suit and pants, throwing them away in flurry. And you could hardly believe what you were seeing next.

He spitted on his hand, ran it along his member—stroking himself with a practiced ease, never breaking eye contact with you. The next thing you knew, he yanked you into another burning kiss and made you topple on top of him—

“Ah!” his hands guided your hips with precision, positioning you and entering you. The instant he did, you whimpered at the sudden, sharp sting of pain.

“Does it hurt?” he asked almost in a growl when you clung to his shoulder with uneven breaths.

It was too sudden, and you hoped the discomfort would pass, so you timidly shook your head.

“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.” Zayne tangled his fingers in your hair, turning your face to his. “Understand?”

There was always a distinct, almost commanding aura about him whenever the two of you were in your marital bed. Perhaps the way his voice sound lower, but it just hit different.

And you are a willing prey... whenever he becomes that beast.

He inched inside you slowly, making you moan with each instance. He was thick, warm, and taking him in was a challenge in itself. And when he finally sheathed himself fully, your nails had made its first scratch on his skin.

You felt full, and the way your womanhood stretched and clenched around him with each breathe you took made you dizzy. Panting, you finally met his gaze. Zayne’s silver eyes were still clouded with desire as he placed his hands firmly on your hips. Unable to resist, you reached out to caress his face.

"Hmm..." he subconsciously leaned into your touch, pressing his eyes shut together. "You smell nice," he huskily muttered.

Right this moment, all negative thoughts eluded you. It felt gratifying that your husband sought your touch like this as you towered over him.

And yet, despite that...

“Do you... finally see me now?” you asked, trailing your other hand down his toned chest and starting to grind against him. Zayne drew in a sharp breath and groaned, his fingers gripping your bum tighter.

Depending on his response, you would either find peace or face another heartbreak. You had placed your happiness on this pedestal more times than you could count, and it was a cross you had to bear.

But you never received your answer.

Your husband merely gazed up at you with a dangerous gleam. And oh, you could've sworn, this sight of Zayne eyeing you as if he were about to ruin you right then and there, would live-free in your mind for many days to come.

He then buried his face in your bosom, sucking on you with such fervor that your hands instinctively reached for his head to massage his scalp. The room was soon filled with your erotic groans and the squelching sounds from where your flesh were joined together— as he thrusted inside you over and over.

Right in this moment, you felt truly desired and wanted.

You are so happy. Incomparably so.

At the crack of dawn, Zayne woke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was how spent he felt, his limbs stiff and a throbbing headache pulsing at the back of his head.

Then he turned to his side, and the sight that met him twisted his gut in such a way that snapped him fully awake—

You were beside him, barely dressed and still deeply asleep. Your hair was a mess, and love bites were scattered across your skin, some on your chest looking almost like bruises.

It dawned on him that he, too, wasn’t decent. A sudden coldness gripped him, though it wasn’t just the morning air.

Him and you... last night...

Yesterday marked the third year. He meant everything he said to you, but the fact that he did this, with you, on the day of her death...

There was... nothing wrong with what he had done. You were his wife, no one could condone him for what he instigated. Yet, it still made him shiver.

And to make it worse, his thoughts from last night echoed back with vengeance, and—

He suddenly feels so immensely guilty.

. . .

It was the best sleep you’d had all week.

When you woke, sunlight had seeped through the window, and you discovered yourself already in pajamas, tucked snugly under a blanket. Still groggy with a dull ache in your lower belly, you relished the lingering afterglow, sighing in pure contentment, until you noticed Zayne wasn’t beside you.

Where did he go? You wondered amidst your haze. Sluggish, you stumbled out of the bed, flinching when your foot met the cold floor.

You eventually found him downstairs, sipping coffee at the dining table still with messy hair. "Zayne?"

He glanced up at you and nodded. There was something different about him, a subtle shift you couldn’t quite place. As you took a seat across from him, you hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Before you could find the right words though, he spoke first.

"I'm... sorry," he said, his tone laced with regret, causing a sharp pang of unease inside you.

"What?" you stared at him, feeling small and unsettled. "What are you sorry for?" you questioned as you gripped the hem of your shirt.

And then came the killing blow—

"Last night," Zayne muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. It was a mistake."

Mistake. The word echoed in your mind, but it was still hard to grasp its full weight.

"How was that—" you faltered, trembling, as the realization hit you like a truck and you gasped in disbelief. "Oh..."

Her. Again, and again, and again! Even when he was married to you, even when you were the one next to him each and everyday— even so!

Your husband considers that a night spent with you—his wife—a mistake!

The last of your patience snapped, as you broke down in sobs before him. "You're the worst!" you screamed at him amidst your mournful tears.

Zayne seemed taken aback at your outburst, his eyes wide. "Y/N, wait, you don't—"

"Screw you!" But you were beyond explanations at this point. You fled back to your bedroom. Zayne followed you suit, but you slammed the door in his face and locked it. As you collapsed onto the floor, the realization hit you with full force.

No matter what you did, you would always come second—or not at all.

The fracture in your marriage was undeniable.

Things had changed. Your home felt colder, and the tension was so stifling that you sometimes spent the night at the Hunter Association’s dorm just to escape it.

Zayne initially tried to reach out, but you were unwilling to listen, and eventually, he gave up. Before long, nearly a month had passed with this strain in the air.

You threw yourself into more rescue operations, using work as a distraction from the turmoil that lingered in your mind. Despite your best efforts to distract yourself, the unresolved thoughts and feelings clung to you.

"Xavier, am I lacking as a woman?"

Your frequent partner these days cracked open an eye despite his attempt to nap before today’s rescue mission. "What...?"

"No, forget it."

Things couldn't go like this forever. It was obvious by now—as long as he couldn’t let go of his past and you couldn’t accept him as he was, this marriage couldn't be saved.

Just as you headed towards the printer in the room, Xavier responded. "You talk a lot, eat a lot, and always bothering me when I'm about to sleep..."

You shot him an irked glance, disbelief evident on your face. "Hey!"

"But—" his clear voice cut through the air as he turned to you with half-lidded eyes. "You're exceptionally kind. If anyone can't appreciate that, then it's their loss."

At that moment, the ice inside your chest melted. To know that your own co-worker thought that kindly of you gave you a little boost of confidence.

But then Xavier added, "Sometimes you're stupid too. It's funny to watch."

"—?! You're so mean!"

A subtle smile curved on his lips as he turned to his side, ready to resume his nap. "Anyway, what are you printing?"

You feigned a huff as you gathered the papers and brought them to your desk. "Just something I need to submit when necessary."

A part of you wasn’t fully committed to it, of course—it was just that your emotions had no proper outlet even until now. As you pushed the drawer shut, a wave of bitterness washed over you as you reread the title on the blank form:

Petition for Divorce.

Zayne genuinely wanted to treat you well.

You were a nice girl. Too nice even. From the moment he laid his eyes on you some years ago, as a friend of a friend, he knew you were nothing but kind and cheery.

He still remembered that morning vividly: the hurt on your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, and then you breaking into inconsolable sobs. That sight inflicted something in him—it felt as though his own heart had been split in two.

Believe it or not, he cherished you too.

That night, even though he didn’t show it, he was still mourning her. When alcohol took over his mind and he saw you, you seemed like a perfect escape. He thought that even if he forced himself on you, there would be no consequences.

He hated that he had thought that way. He hated that how, in the end, you had become a means of relief for him.

Now you couldn't even look him in the eye, and Zayne didn't want to risk trying to coax you further. You were angry with him and rightly so, but when you ignored him and went home late more often, he was worried.

It was what drove him to volunteer for the rescue mission. When he saw your name on the hunter list, he felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

. . .

It was strange to see you on duty.

With your hunter uniform and your hair tied up, you were the picture of a very capable hunter. Zayne found himself unexpectedly following your movements as you came and went.

"Dr. Zayne, are you checking your wife out?" the EMT next to him teased with a grin. "Well, when you have a pretty wife such as Y/N, of course..."

He cleared his throat and the EMT giggled as he sauntered away.

So, you were also considered attractive here. Of course you were. Zayne knew it, but he just didn't expect that anyone here would blurt it out so openly.

But that wasn't the most surprising of all—

"Xavier, shush!" you playfully punched the blonde man next to you in the chest, your broad smile lighting up the moment. The two of you whispered closely, and Zayne found himself feeling uncomfortable, like being prickled by several needles.

He has never made you laugh so openly like that. The nagging feeling inside him grew stronger as he watched you—even if it was just in a platonic sense—with another man. It stirred something within him, making him want to pull that blonde aside, give him a word or two, and overthrow him altogether.

Amidst the growing storm inside him, you suddenly turned sideways and caught his eye, and Zayne could've sworn... he felt time stopped at that moment.

It was so candid that it took his breath away. The way your earnest, unclouded eyes met his. How natural you were while loading your gun...

Ah, they were right. His wife was exceptionally pretty.

But before he could fully appreciate it, you broke the eye contact and turned away, pretending as if you hadn’t seen him at all.

Zayne wondered then, why did he feel so hurt all of a sudden?

Battlefields were always a place of chaos, and Zayne was no stranger to it.

He was on standby at the makeshift hospital as patients surged in, continuously aiding first-aid. Some were hunters on duty, and his heart was in his throat the entire time, anxiously hoping you wouldn’t be among them.

"Doc... it still hurts," a little girl sniffled right after Zayne wrapped her injured arm with the gauze. Despite the anxiety, seeing this tearful girl softened his frown.

"It's just going to take a while, hmm?" he patted the kid in the head. "It's going to be better soon enough."

"My mom is still inside..." she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Doc, will they get her out?"

Zayne hesitated, his thoughts briefly drifting to you. He managed a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, they’ll—"

Crash! —all of a sudden, a loud explosion shook the hospital, the sound echoing through the chaos. The little girl clung to his coat in fear.

"Call for retreat!" someone suddenly shouted from outside. "Alert all personnel immediately!"

Retreat. The thought that you might be safe soon brought him a sense of relief. He turned to the girl, trying to keep his composure.

"Look, the hunters are retreating, it means most are already evacuated." Zayne managed a reassuring smile. "Stay here. I'll help you find her later, okay?"

He went to the survivors' camp outside, attending to the wounded and keeping a vigilant eye on each returning hunter. Even until 30 minutes later, he still hadn't seen you. Thinking to contact you, he reached out for his phone.

"Who hasn't gotten out?" Jenna, your team leader, demanded the receiver with a stern voice, standing tall several feet away from the camp, and Zayne overheard the snippets of her conversation.

A frantic voice responded, "Xavier is still inside! Y/N too!"

"Those two! They are always—!"

What?

Zayne almost dropped his phone when he heard your name. Terror gripped him instantly, and then suddenly, again, it was his greatest nightmare realized.

You are still inside. You could be hurt. It was possible you had no means to get out of there.

He didn’t register letting go of his coat or crossing the police line—all that mattered was getting to you. He sprinted away, ignoring the shouts of those trying to stop him.

No. Not again!

Debris flew everywhere, and the roars of Wanderers grew louder as he neared the building wreckage. As a splinter was about to hit him, ice shot through his palms, creating a barrier that shattered it.

"Y/N!" he shouted your name, his voice cracking with panic. "Where are you?!"

All he could think about was the memory of you bleeding out in the ER. Zayne never wanted to see that again. Should anything happen to you now...

He didn't want you to be hurt. He hated seeing you cry. For the past weeks, it had torn him apart to see you so unhappy. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, the one you looked at with love.

The realization washed over him like a tidal wave. Yet it wasn’t an epiphany but a simple truth he had always known but never fully grasped until now.

If he lost you now, it'd destroy him.

He continued screaming your name over and over. And then, after turning several turns, he finally saw you, standing alone in the middle of the wreckage—

You turned to him in surprise when you heard your name in his shout, and were rooted to the spot, in disbelief that your husband was right before you.

Zayne felt a wave of relief wash over him, until a hollow croak from above caught his attention. He squinted—

A glass panel had crumbled and was falling directly towards you.

A sense of dread so great overwhelmed him, a lump formed in his throat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. He sprinted forward, and with everything he had, he pushed you out the way.

The next thing he knew, everything went pitch black.

"Zayne? Zayne!"

A memory flashed in his mind's eye. The one memory he wished he didn't have to relive ever again.

Sitting on the deserted hospital bench, his eyes were vacant. Utter hollowness choked him, leaving him motionless. It was over. There was no blood on his hands, yet it felt as if there were.

Your grip on his shoulder was tight, shaking him. "Zayne, snap out of it!" and only then he brought himself to meet your eyes.

"She died." That was the only thing he could mutter, pain woven in each word. "She really died."

Your eyes widened in horror, an inaudible gasp left your lips. "Oh..."

He didn't really know what happened next, but he remembered the warmth from when you pulled him to your arms, when sobs wracked his body as he thought the world was ending.

Since then, you have always been there.

And subconsciously, he may have regarded you as his lifeline.

. . .

Another memory.

"Are you awake...?"

His mind was hazy, but he recognized your voice. He blearily opened his eyes to find you placing a cool compress on his forehead.

"Who would have thought the great Dr. Zayne can get a fever?" you said with a soft laugh, patting his hair. "Don’t worry about me. Go back to sleep."

You came to see him. He remembered telling you not to. But you still did, and the fact thawed the ice in his heart.

Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out and pulled you closer. "Don’t go."

"Are you trying to make me catch your cold too?" you teased with a soft laugh.

"Hmph. Who told you to come here...?"

"Ah, so you're whiny when you're not feeling well," you observed with a smile. "Okay, I'll stay! But only if you agree to nurse me if I catch your cold!"

You were noisy, but endearingly so.

. . .

"Don't pay her any mind," you fidgeted on your seat, a frown on your face. "My mom always does that."

There was never any talk about the nature your relationship between the two of you, but it was clear to everyone nevertheless. You were always around him, and he seemed to enjoy your company just as much.

And not for the first time, your mother pushed him towards marriage with you.

"People are always getting the wrong idea," you grumbled. "Sorry, Zayne..." you lowered your head, seemingly in regret.

He was puzzled, because to him, it wasn't necessarily false. All things you did together lead to this.

"What if it isn't a wrong idea at all?"

You looked at him with slight surprise. "Huh...?"

Your presence was a gift. That tragedy was devastating, but having you constantly by his side made it bearable. He was fond of you, and the thought that if it's you, then surely...

In this memory, he was more sure than ever. What he said then, it came from the truest place in his heart.

"What if I told you... as of right now, I can't imagine being with anyone but you?"

The side of his head was throbbing with pain. Everything hurt, the hard asphalt was bruising his face as the headache set in. He could smell the scent of blood and sweat, but more than that—

"Zayne! Ah, hah— Please, please! No!"

Your voice, choked with tears, blared in his ears as you desperately shook him. You sounded so heartbroken, so utterly panicked, and your voice gradually pulled him back to consciousness.

Opening his eyes took tremendous effort. At first, everything was a blur, but then it came into focus—the sight of you disheveled, smeared with soot, with tears streaming down your face. But still you— the woman he had married two years ago.

Yet his heart lurched. You're crying again... why is it that whenever with me, you're always crying?

"Are you... alright?" he rasped, lifting his hand to touch your face.

"Why did you—" You were startled by his question, your gaze fixed on the blood pooling on the side of his face. "Your head is bleeding!"

Ah, so you're fine. The sheer knowledge brought him relief, a faint smile forming at his lips. "I'm glad..."

"I'll help you get back! Hold onto me—" you said after brushing away your tears, lifting him up and draping his arm around your shoulder. "Can you walk?"

"I'm... fine..."

"You're not!" you refuted harshly, voice trembling. "You have to go back!"

You made him lean on you as you made your way back to the makeshift hospital, each step accompanied by your sniffles as you supported his waist.

Zayne glanced at you, feeling a warmth in his chest despite the migraine. "D-Don't cry... I'll be fine."

"You're an idiot!" you choked out, struggling to hold back your tears. "Why did you even come out here?"

"I... have to find you. They said you haven't returned."

"There are still civilians inside! I'll return eventually!"

"I can’t wait for that. I... have to know you're safe."

His response only fueled your frustration. "You don't have to—!"

"You are my wife—" he snapped, turning to you sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. "How can I not worry— for you?"

The forceful tone in his voice went straight to the most tender part of your heart. It really struck you at that moment that he had come out here for you, that his concern for you was that profound.

And that after all these weeks, he still keeps you in his thoughts.

He had pushed you out of the way, even at the cost of himself, barely missing the fallen billboard in that violent crash. If he was in the wrong position, he could've lost his life.

You stared at him, tears glossing your eyes.

"That's enough... Don't cry again." Zayne reached out to wipe your cheeks. His hands, however, were smeared with his own blood, leaving streaks on your face. "Ah... I got blood on you..."

But in that moment, you couldn’t care less. There was this indescribable sting of grief, but also paired with a sense of relief so great in your chest the very second you realize that now, he sees you.

You threw yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly as you sobbed, calling out to him in broken voice. “Z-Zayne...!”

“Why are you crying again...?” he let out a resigned sigh, but still embraced you regardless. “What a crybaby...”

You buried your face deeper into him, shaking uncontrollably. “You... saved me...” you managed to say amidst torrent of tears. “Y-You... got hurt...”

“I’ll be fine,” he retorted in your ear albeit in a hoarse voice, holding you close, even as blood trickled down the side of his face. “And I’d do it again. I refuse to see you hurt.”

You cried harder, and he pulled you tighter, his chest aching at the sight of you so inconsolable. And in that moment, he made the decision right then and there.

He will protect you so long as time will allow him to.

It was as if the invisible wall between you had crumbled to dust after that incident. You stayed by Zayne's side night and day, monitoring his condition.

And one night, several days later...

"Here, don't move..."

You carefully dressed the wound on Zayne's temple, sitting close beside him. He quietly observed your worried eyes and trembling fingers without a word.

"You even need stitches..." you lamented, biting your lip as you wrapped the bandage around his head. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by the concern you were pouring into the task.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," he gruffly insisted in an attempt to erase the sadness from your face. He felt the delicate, almost hesitant touch of your fingers on his face. "It'll heal with time."

Even as he said that, a part of you was still troubled at the sight of the wound on his head and cheekbone. No matter what he said, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault.

"I'm done. Now go rest," you said softly, your voice tinged with bitterness after tying the gauze. You rose to put the kit away, but even after you finished, Zayne remained upright on the bed, so you leveled a frown at him.

"What, why aren't you— Ah!"

Before you knew it, he pulled you by the arm, and you tumbled into his chest in surprise. "What are you doing?!" you yelled at him, clinging to his shoulder and looking up at him with ire. "You could've hit your head!"

He looked down at you with a flat expression, or is that a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes? “Can't a husband cuddle his wife?”

You blinked dumbly, caught off-guard. “Yes, you can, but...”

His arms then enveloped you, fitting you on his chest and he sighed against your hair. “Then there’s nothing wrong with it. Let’s just stay like this for now.”

And so, that was how he decided to sleep throughout the night—with you on top of him, held close. You felt self-conscious as Zayne had never initiated this closeness with you since that night.

"Are you sure you want to sleep this way?" you wriggled a bit in his grasp.

He draped an arm around your waist, pressing his eyes shut. "Mm-hm."

"You..." A part of you recoiled at the vulnerability but decided to ask anyway. "Won't this be… a mistake...?"

That caught his attention, as Zayne's eyes fluttered open. He looked down at you, who avoided his gaze with a pout and a torn expression, making yourself small in his embrace.

It dawned on him then that this persisting issue in your marriage was thoroughly his fault. His past was something he could never—and would never—trade for anything, but right now, you were that sense of peace that grounded him.

At one point, he has to let it go. These feelings inside him… they drive him to.

He softened, his gaze full of understanding as he gently brushed your hair back. "No," he said quietly, his voice tender. "We’ve come too far for it to be one."

Your clear, innocent eyes reluctantly met his, and at that moment something akin to clarity resonated within him.

He once thought nothing could ever mend the hollowness in his heart. And once, he indeed hoped that being with you would provide some form of relief or replace what he had lost.

But right now, feeling how vulnerable you were in his arms like this, he understood that you were not, and could never be, a replacement for anything else. Even before he realized it himself, what he felt for you was something entirely different— something dear that had grown and evolved into a genuine affection different from what he had felt for anyone else before.

Those times spent with you, wanting to protect you... Now that he reflected on it, it was never about filling a void, after all.

“I... want to treasure you better.”

Oh. Your heart thumped loudly as those words left his lips, warmth spreading through your entire being. Overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice, you clung to his chest, feeling a surge of love and a profound sense of being freed from the chains of insecurity that had taken you hostage all these years.

Most precious. Zayne smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This time for sure... I will.”

And at last... he could say it without any lingering guilt.

[flowersforbucky]

down bad

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.9k

author's note: i couldn't stop thinking about bucky being able to use his metal hand as a vibrator and therefore this was born.

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (female receiving), fingering, bucky being used as a human vibrator, multiple orgasms, language, consumption of alcohol, reader is afab, no use of y/n, slightly possessive bucky, 18+ only

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Natasha mutters through a mouth full of popcorn. “Tyler from the statistics department? Are we talking about the same Tyler from statistics?”

“Nat, for the fourth time, yes. Tyler from statistics. The only Tyler from statistics that I know.” You reach for the bottle of Moscato that the two of you are sharing, pouring yourself some more wine.

“Nuh-uh,” Natasha shakes her head. “I don't believe you. There's no way he could be that bad.” She takes a sip from her own glass of wine. “He's too gorgeous,” she shrugs, turning to face you on the couch. The romantic comedy you had picked out for your bi-monthly movie night plays forgotten in the background.

“Trust me,” you sigh. “I was just as shocked as you are. But I swear on my life, he stuck his tongue in my ear. In my fucking ear, but wouldn't go down on me.” You can tell by the look on her face that Nat is trying her hardest not to laugh.

“He said his dick game is ‘too good to need to eat a girl out’.” You shake your head, cringing at the memory. “Which is also what he said when I merely suggested that he use my vibrator on me instead. He looked like I had kicked his dog.”

“Well?” she asks, a pained expression across her features. “Was it? Too good?”

“I didn't stay to find out,” you admit. “I faked a work emergency and dipped.” A laugh breaks through her pursed lips.

“I'm sorry–” she says, although her face says otherwise. “I shouldn't laugh. You just have the worst luck with men. Isn't that the third failed hook-up in what? Six months?”

“Don't fucking remind me,” you groan, throwing your head back on the couch and staring up at the living room ceiling. “I think I've lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to me by another person again.”

Nat opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it when you both notice voices approaching from the hallway.

Sam and Bucky enter the room a moment later, both dressed uncharacteristically nice. You suddenly feel the desire to conceal yourself with the fleece throw blanket laying across your lap. You and Nat usually plan your movie nights for when the tower is relatively empty, so you're just wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a tank top. Bare-faced and hair unstyled, the fact that Bucky's gaze is locked on you as the two of them approach where you and Nat are lounging doesn't help. He's not smiling - but there's a look on his face that you don't quite understand. The ghost of a smirk on his lips and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

It's a look that makes you nervous - in addition to already feeling flutters in the pit of your stomach at how fucking good he looks.

“Hey, boys,” Nat greets them cheerily. “Where are the two of you going so dolled up?”

“There's a new nightclub in Brooklyn that a group of SHIELD trainees are going to tonight,” Sam answers. “They invited us and we've got nothing better to do. Figured we'd go check it out, get a few drinks. You ladies want to tag along? Or are you too busy watching - what is this, 10 Things I Hate About You?” He gestures towards the screen.

“Couldn't hurt to get out of the house for a while tonight, right?” Nat looks at you for confirmation, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Who knows, you might even meet someone,” she adds, nudging you with her elbow.

Bucky lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough, which he tries to play off as the latter. You narrow your eyes at him before glancing back to Natasha.

“For sure,” you agree, trying to ignore Bucky's bizarre behavior. “Couldn't hurt. You guys go on, we'll get ready and head there soon. Text us the name of the club?” You direct the last part to Sam in particular.

“You got it,” Sam says as he pulls his cell phone from his coat pocket. He turns to leave when both your and Nat’s phones chime with the club information. “Let's go man, our Uber's here,” he directs at Bucky.

“See you both soon,” he says before turning to follow Sam, though his gaze is still only on one of you.

“I'm gonna go throw on some make-up, curl my hair, and hope I can find something somewhat cute to–” Nat starts as soon as Bucky and Sam have turned back down the hallway.

“Was he acting kind of odd?” you interrupt her in a hushed tone.

“Barnes? Always. I've stopped reading into it too much.”

“Some spy you are,” you mumble. “Meet me back here when you're ready.”

— — — — —

One hour later, you're applying some last minute mascara and lip gloss in the backseat of an Uber on your way to downtown Brooklyn. Natasha sits beside you, ranting about an assignment that Fury has tasked her with and you swear you're trying your hardest to absorb everything she's saying - but your mind keeps going back to the way Bucky was looking at you just an hour ago.

What was with that little smirk? That curious glimmer in his eyes? Had he overheard your conversation with Nat? Had he developed the ability to read minds and knew you were thinking about how fucking hot he looked? Or was that thought simply written all over your face?

You knew you couldn't deny it. Bucky does look exceptionally attractive in his black suit, with his perfectly tousled hair - but you had found him to be ridiculously good looking since you'd first met him. Even in casual, everyday clothes, even in gym shorts and drenched in sweat, even covered in blood after particularly brutal miss–

“You girls have a great evening,” your Uber driver interrupts your train of thought as he comes to a stop in front of your destination.

You really need to get fucking laid. You definitely shouldn't be having these kinds of thoughts about Bucky. He's your coworker, your teammate, your training partner on many occasions, your friend…

Natasha thanks him and hands him a generous cash tip before climbing out of the car right after you.

“Thanks,” you tell her. “I'll buy our drinks.”

“Don't worry about me,” she tells you with a sly grin as you both flash the bouncer your IDs and enter the club. Despite the night still being relatively young, it's already bustling inside.

“You just focus on meeting people, mingling, maybe hitting it off with a super hot guy and taking him back to your place for some mind-blowing–”

“Super hot guy? Are you talking about me?” Sam’s voice interrupts Nat. You both turn around to see him and Bucky walking towards you, drinks in hand.

There's a roguish smile on Bucky's face as his eyes skim up and down your figure.

“You both look wonderful,” he compliments, but once again, his stare is focused only on you. If Natasha notices, she says nothing.

To be fair, you were impressed with how well you managed to put yourself together with such little notice. You found a black, backless mini dress crammed in the back of your closet that you had forgotten all about after snagging it on clearance forever ago. The form-fitting material hugs you in all the right ways, and paired with your favorite pair of strappy black heels, you're feeling infinitely more confident than you were when Bucky saw you just an hour prior.

“Thanks!” You chirp quickly, averting your gaze from him to take in your surroundings. To your left, the dance floor is lively, though not too overcrowded for your liking. To your right, there's a bar surrounded by tables filled with groups of people conversing - you vaguely recognize a couple of SHIELD agents huddled around one. The entire room is illuminated by the faint blue-green glow of the mood lighting, and the bass of the music vibrates through the floorboards.

Sam and Bucky excuse themselves to go say hey to the group of agents that had invited them, while Nat all but drags you over to the bar. You order a double shot of whiskey and throw it back as quickly as you can.

“I see what you mean now,” Nat whispers to you after downing her shot of tequila. “About Barnes,” she clarifies. “He's been eye-fucking you since we walked through the door.”

If you hadn't already swallowed your liquor, you would have spewed it all over her.

“He has not been eye-fucking me, Nat,” you say in an almost scolding tone.

“I'm just saying,” she throws her hands up. “There’s no way he could possibly be any worse than the last few guys you've gone for. I think you should go for it,” she shrugs.

“It's not that I don't think he'd be good,” you say defensively, forcing yourself to look away from where he and Sam are socializing with the small group of SHIELD agents a few tables away. “I just don't want things to be weird afterwards. We work together nearly every day, and we have a bunch of mutual friends–”

“Suit yourself,” she cuts you off in a tone of voice that very much says if you say so. “Now, are you going to dance with me or not?” She adds as she begins tugging you towards the ever-busying dance floor.

You spend the next half hour dancing with Nat before she's swept away by some black-haired doctor looking type. Good for her, you think as you watch them converse intimately at a small booth on the other side of the room.

Thanks to the liquid courage that runs through your veins, you're okay with the fact that Bucky stands just twenty feet away from you, watching you as you dance among the thick crowd of people.

You've made eye contact with him a few times now - on accident or on purpose, you're not sure at this point. But each time, your eyes lingers on his for a moment longer than the last.

You're mentally daring him to come here, to make a move, to do something other than stand to the sidelines of whatever conversation Sam and the others are engaged in.

The slightest bit of pressure on your waist snaps you back to the now congested dance floor.

You look up to find that the hand on your waist belongs to a tall man with shoulder length, sandy blonde hair. He's conventionally attractive enough, though not who you were hoping would come grab you on the dance floor.

“I'm Shawn,” he introduces himself, loudly enough for you to hear him over the roaring music. You tell him your name, pushing aside the pang of disappointment in your chest.

“Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter to talk, maybe? Let me buy you a drin–”

“There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you,” a voice booms from behind you.

Shawn immediately retracts his hand from your waist, backing up a few inches as Bucky comes into view beside you.

“Must not have been looking too hard, I've been right here this whole time,” you jab back with a smug smile.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to–” Shawn says as he starts to back away.

“No worries, bud,” Bucky says in an overly friendly voice as he moves to stand in front of you, blocking you from Shawn's view entirely.

“Took you long enough,” you tell Bucky once the man is out of ear shot, once again beginning to sway to the music. “Get bored of listening to Sam hype himself up to the newbies?”

He takes a step closer, angling himself behind you. The crowd of people surrounding you edges you closer to him - your bare back brushing against the cool satin fabric of his suit.

“Maybe,” his chest vibrates against your skin when he speaks. He places his hands on either side of your hips - eliciting goosebumps across your skin in a way that no one else has in a long, long time.

“Or maybe I just wanted to save you from wasting your time on another guy who can't make you come.”

Your movements come to an abrupt pause as his words hit you.

He had fucking overheard your conversation with Natasha.

At a loss for words, you turn to face him. There's a shit-eating grin spread across his face. He thinks this is hilarious and it's obvious.

“Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to eavesdrop?”

“Is it really eavesdropping if I have superhuman hearing?” He takes a step closer to you, closing what little distance was separating you. The peaks of your breasts brush against his chest.

“So what happens now that you've saved me from another unsatisfactory hook-up?” You challenge, staring up at him in the neon blue lighting.

You can smell hints of cedarwood and sage from his cologne in your close proximity. It's so delicious that it's dizzying.

“Let me take you somewhere more private than this dance floor and I'll show you.”

“You seem to have a lot of confidence in your ability to give me a better experience,” you say, leaning forward so that your face is just inches from his.

He responds by placing his flesh hand on the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. The tips of his fingers continue to dance down the skin of your exposed spine. His vibranium hand comes to cradle your jaw, his metal thumb tracing your bottom lip.

His mouth forms a dark smirk - and then you feel it. It starts soft and subtle and then gradually increases in intensity.

His fucking thumb is vibrating against your lip.

If you hadn't been standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor at a nightclub in downtown Brooklyn, you would have taken that thumb into your mouth and sucked on it right then and there.

“What do you say?” he asks, now tugging on your bottom lip with the pulsing digit. “Are you going to let me take you to the first empty room I can find in this place and make you come?”

“I say show me the way.”

He removes his hand from your face and turns you in the direction of the back of the club. He guides you through the throng of dancers, keeping his hands placed firmly on either side of your waist from behind. His vibranium fingers still hum softly, reminding you of what he says is to come.

Directly past the dance floor, there's a hallway blocked off by a rope with a sign that reads employees only. Taking a quick look around, you see that all of the patrons surrounding you and Bucky are paying you no mind. Bucky unhooks the flimsy rope and the two of you slip down the hallway.

He jiggles the handles of several doors that all turn out to be locked. Not wanting to waste any time or draw any attention to yourselves with picking locks, you continue down the dark corridor until the heavy music from the heart of the club fades to a muted roar.

The very last door opens without a hitch.

Thanks to the pale orange glow of a table lamp on a desk in the corner of the room, you can see that you're in a makeshift office/supply room - a couple of filing cabinets, cleaning supplies, extra glassware, and some sound equipment strewn haphazardly throughout the limited space.

Bucky clicks the lock into place as soon as he closes the door behind him.

You're going to turn around him and tell him that he doesn't have to do this - that as badly as you want this, you don't want to ruin your friendship, that as badly as you want him, he doesn't have anything to prove to you - but his lips are already on yours as soon as you start to open your mouth.

He doesn't take his lips off of yours as he guides you backwards to the rickety wooden desk. The backs of your thighs hit the table and Bucky effortlessly lifts you to sit on the edge, giving him the perfect angle to deepen the kiss - with his tongue exploring your mouth, you're unable to stop yourself from groaning into the kiss.

You fist your fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough so that he hisses into your mouth. His own hands trail from the sides of your stomach and down your thighs, until he reaches the tail of your dress. You instinctively part your legs for him, as much as the restrictive fabric will allow, and his vibranium hand shoots between your thighs.

He teases you, dragging his index finger along the cloth of your panties that you know you're close to soaking through already. Just as the tip of his finger pauses above your clit, his finger begins emitting the softest vibration.

You break the kiss, breathless as you throw your head back at the sensation. Bucky takes it as an opportunity to attach his lips to the pulse point of your throat, nipping your flesh with his teeth followed by a wet kiss.

He continues with the ministrations through your panties until you're rutting against his hand, needing more. He tugs your underwear to the side and increases the intensity of the vibration before nudging his middle finger past your entrance.

You have to hold onto his shoulders to steady yourself - despite the fact that you're sitting, your body feels like jelly beneath his touch. He adds in his index finger with ease before cupping your pussy in his palm - the heel of his hand pulsating against your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you cry against his mouth.

“You're so fucking wet for me, you know that?” He coos, thrusting both of his fingers against the spongy-flesh of your walls.

You can feel the vibrations of his hand all the way from your belly to your toes.

You begin grinding your hips to meet the movement of his fingers, fucking yourself against his hand. There's a familiar knot forming in your lower belly as he curls his fingers inside you -

“I want you to think about me and how good I'm making you feel every time you think about letting some fuckin’ nobody touch you,” he says in a low voice next to your ear. “I want you to think about riding my fingers until you come all over my hand.”

His words send you over the edge and you do exactly that - your pussy clenching around his fingers as you ride them through your orgasm. While you're still coming down from the high of your climax, Bucky pulls his metal fingers out of you and brings them to your lips, inserting his index finger in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the slick metal as he brings the vibrations to a halt and then slowly pulls the finger from your mouth.

He picks you up off the edge of the desk and plants you back on the ground - your legs still shaking from how hard you had come.

“Turn around and lean over the desk,” he instructs you, soft but authoritative.

You don't know if it's because of the way he's looking at you or because of how good he's already made you feel, but in that moment, you would've done anything he asked of you.

You bend over the desk, supporting yourself by leaning on your forearms. You peak back over your shoulder to look at Bucky - he hikes your dress up, baring your ass to him.

He lets out an audible groan before he has even pulled your panties down to your ankles.

He kneels on the ground behind you, his face inches away from your cunt. He uses both his flesh and metal hands to spread you open for him, and then his tongue is licking up your center from behind.

God, you hope no one tries to come into this room. The door may be locked but the sounds that someone would hear if they even walked up to the door…

Bucky knows just how to make you writhe above him. He's soft when he's kissing up your folds and unsparing when he's sucking your clit between his lips. His hands hold your ass in a firm grasp that teeters between pleasure and pain.

You grind back against his face and he moans so deeply that you feel the vibration of it up your core. Your eyes roll back into your head as you clutch the sides of the desk to better support yourself.

His enthusiasm alone has you spiraling towards a second climax embarrassingly fast.

“You know,” he murmurs against your sensitive pussy. “When I overheard you say that someone had refused to go down on you, I couldn't believe it. What a fuckin idiot to pass this up.” He gives your ass cheek a firm slap with his flesh hand before diving his face between your legs once more.

It's just seconds before you feel the telltale pressure growing in your lower belly once more. You go limp against the table, Bucky placing his hands on the backs of your thighs to help keep you upright as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

You continue to lay against the desk as you regain control of your breathing. Bucky stands up, tugging your panties up your legs and back around your waist as he does. He then shimmies your dress back down into place so that you're once again looking club-appropriate.

When you turn around to face him, he's wiping your slick from his lower face on the sleeve of his suit, once again displaying a shit-eating grin.

“What was it you said?” He asks in mocking contemplation. “You had lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to you by another person again?”

“I think you've made your point. You're fantastic at eating pussy and you're a walking human-sex toy.” You roll your eyes at him and start to walk towards the door, but he grabs your wrist in his metal hand, stopping you.

He pulls you back to him and brings his flesh hand to cradle your jawline. He stares at you in a heavy, uncertain silence for a split second before bringing his lips to yours.

It's a kiss that's a bit more hesitant, and a lot less rushed than the one before. You taste yourself all over him, warm and salty. He takes his time getting lost in your mouth - you savor every second and it still comes to and end all too once.

“Couldn't help myself,” he smiles softly when he pulls away. “Just had to kiss you one last time.”

You can't help the way your heart skips a beat when he says the word last.

You clear your throat. “We should probably go find Sam and Natasha,” you say, giving him a small smile in return. “I'm sure they're both wondering where the hell we are.”

You spend the rest of the evening attempting to mingle with friends, but there's one thought that torments you for the remaining duration of the night - just a few hours ago, you doubted that you'd ever have a satisfactory hook-up ever again.

Now, you had to wonder if anyone else could ever make you feel as good as Bucky did.

♡♡♡♡♡

i left this kind of open-ended soooo leave it to your own interpretation what happens next for them 🤭

as always comments/reblogs are infinitely appreciated. thanks for reading!

my masterlist

[always-just-red]

A/N: Poured my soul into this a couple weeks ago, am dedicating it to everyone who's similarly torn between Sylus and their original LI- especially my fellow Rafayel girlies! This is not going to help! It's going to make it worse!! 🥰

Unspoken

Sylus x Reader 🩸 (implied Rafayel x reader)

Summary: You could fix all of this if Sylus would just resonate with you. Why won't he resonate with you?

Genre: Angst, so much angst, brace yourselves

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, injury detail, blood, swearing, possibly not lore-accurate (I've taken some creative liberties with Sylus' healing abilities and MC's resonance for the sake of maximum angst, because I like to suffer!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Like the first, warm prickle of sunlight when you step out of a cold shadow.”

“Hmm?”

“That is what you said to him, right?”

Sylus’s eyes are closed, his head leant back against the wall and his whole body heavy with tiredness. He doesn’t move as he asks you the question. Doesn’t fix you with that suffocating, crimson gaze— like he usually does— and you almost miss it. There’s a pain to his tone, accentuating the gravel of his voice, and a part of you thinks it isn’t all for the injuries you’ve set about tending to.

If he was looking at you, you would see it, wouldn’t you? That flicker of melancholy that sometimes likes to betray the rest of him. Maybe that’s why he keeps his eyes closed.

You deliberate his words, trying to ignore the way he tenses as you press gauze to a wound on his stomach. They do feel familiar: a simile dancing at the edge of your consciousness, just barely out of reach. It’s hard to pursue the past with the present wetting your fingertips, fresh, hot, and red.

One clue: That is what you said to him, right? Him. Him? Who was—

Ah.

Suddenly the words are your own, at the tip of your tongue, because you're saying them in a memory. You were with Rafayel in his studio, reunited and safely returned from the N109 Zone. He had been holding you close, telling you he’d missed you and that he’d been waiting forever; he was so, so bored. You’d smiled fondly. Laced your fingers through his and resonated: wanting to lose yourself in his power, wanting to forget there was any other kind of warmth. He had sighed softly. The sensation was usually buried beneath blood and battle; you’d forgotten how intimate it was.

Then he’d asked you what it felt like.  

“You heard that?” you say to Sylus.

He hums a little. “Not directly.”

“Sylus.”

His name evokes a faint interest, or perhaps it’s the way you said it: chiding, stern— like you were just getting started. His right eye opens, regarding you warily. “Mmm?”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“You’ve lectured me, sweetie.” He leans back again, eyes closed. “There is a difference.”

You resist the urge to wring his neck, especially when it’s bared as invitingly as it is now. It feels calculated. Deliberate. You can almost imagine him lying there, anticipating the fatal vice of your hands. It was what he always seemed to want: to drag you into sin with him.

“I wouldn’t have to lecture you if you actually listened to me,” you reason, releasing a breath. “You can’t keep spying on me, Sy.”

He hums again: this time sceptically. “Can’t I? But you say such pretty things to him, kitten. It’s like watching a melodramatic film. I’d hate to miss it.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Maybe,” he admits with a half-hearted chuckle. “Then again, maybe not.”

You don’t know what to say, so you pretend it’s because you’re busy. Sylus’s hastily rolled up shirt has slipped downwards, catching the edge of his wound, and you lift it delicately, your fingers skirting over skin. His jaw clenches. His hands fist. His mouth is a tight line and you’re not sure what it’s holding onto more carefully: a short hiss of pain or the rest of his confession.

There are always things he isn’t telling you, but he comes closer to it at times like this, when you could do anything to him— cut his throat, collect on so many bounties— and instead you’re just… nice.

It’s the reason he doesn’t call when he’s slumped somewhere after a shootout, his Evol exhausted and his strength draining from half a dozen wounds he can’t quite heal yet. It’s the reason he lay here for who knows how many hours before you found him, rolling his eyes as you rushed to his side, because Luke and Kieran couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

You want to shout at him— want to scold him for being so goddamn stupid— but you don’t. Here you are instead, humouring him and playing nurse, when a simple resonance would suffice. He’d tried to force it before, but now, when you had thrust your hand into his and willed him to take? He’d snatched his hand back. Insisted on bearing his pain ‘the old-fashioned way’.

He was so fucking stubborn.

“What does it feel like with me?”

Sylus’s voice is gentle but his eyes are sharp— cutting into you like a blade striving for bone. It’s an unintentional violence, a jarring: I know what you’re thinking, but I’d rather hear you say it. Kindred spirits; he sees your mind and your heart and then looks at you like it isn’t a weapon. Like you should be grateful for the knife at your throat because you can trust the hand that’s holding it.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffs, “if you can conjure up a metaphor for your little artist, you can do the same for me.”

Something is stoked in you, and though you bite your tongue, your careful fingers slip for a moment, pressing into the tender skin at the edge of his wound. Sylus grimaces— hisses— though you could swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

You’d sinned, hadn’t you? “You really wanna know?”

He nods, his eyes on you again. It’s your hand on the knife, and he trusts you implicitly.  

“It’s like… the ocean, I guess.”

“Inspired.”

“Shut up—” you flick his forehead— “just listen, ok? It was overwhelming at first. Zayne, Xavier, Raf… They’re all so powerful. But you? It felt like you could drown me. Like you wanted to drown me.”

Sylus is quiet. You’re running an antiseptic wipe over the smaller scrapes on his stomach, but he doesn’t flinch.

“It was consuming,” you carry on as you work. “Frightening. There was so much of it- so much you- filling my lungs, trying to take my breath away. The entire time I could feel how fathomless it was. I knew if I stopped fighting it I would sink, and that I would never, ever stop.”

You can remember it vividly, especially when you’re as close to him as you are now. Though there’s no more dark energy, twisting around you, dragging you closer, you can still feel its grasp. You can see it, too, when you look up at him: hunger, burning red.

It isn’t a command anymore; it’s a longing.

And you both know you can’t give him what he wants.

“But then I did stop fighting,” you continue, because you can at least answer his question. “And I could still breathe. I was still… myself.” You place a hand on his knee. “It doesn’t scare me anymore, Sy. It’s vast and intimidating, but it’s… exciting, too.”

You smile and give his knee a playful squeeze. “I wanna see how deep it goes.”

He’s stoic for another moment, an apathetic gaze dropping to your hand before lifting to your lips. Then he’s smiling too, leaning closer: “I want to show you how deep it—”

“Don’t ruin it.” You push him back to the wall.

He laughs, running a hand through his white hair, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a place in his mind where he’s closing the distance again, and he doesn’t care if you know it. You feel the heat in your cheeks betraying you, so you focus back on the man’s injuries: the gash on his stomach has already bled through your bandages. It’ll need stitches.

You sigh, starting to peel back your previous work.

“Does it hurt?” Sylus asks. “Now that you’ve… stopped fighting?”  

You glance up, and he’s examining his hand like it’s a gun he hasn’t yet fired and so can't know the power of. He flexes his fingers, pale in the light. “A little,” you admit, thinking of Zayne’s ice and Rafayel’s fire. Resonating was always a trust exercise: it could kill you, could burn, and you had to be willing to let it. “But I can handle it.”  

Used bandages tossed aside, Sylus’s wound looks as dire as when you’d first lifted his shirt to find it. You lean back, lips pursed in bleak assessment; somewhere at the back of your mind, Zayne is insisting this is a job for a real doctor.

“That bad, huh?”

You huff in answer, exhausted. You shoot Sylus a look of defeat before gingerly offering your hand.

His eyes flit between it and you, and you have to give another nod of encouragement before he surrenders. He holds his breath— it’s slow— his forefinger gliding tentatively up your wrist, spelling a silent question, before tracing a circle in your palm. He closes his eyes. His long fingers spread yours and he’s claiming your hand with something between reverence and sin.

His touch trespasses delicately. His Evol doesn’t.

You bite back a gasp as power surges through you, dark and devouring. Your eyes snap shut and your hand tightens around his, not knowing if it’ll ground you or drag you deeper, not caring so long as there’s something in all this everything to hold onto. This could kill you— you would let this kill you, but it won’t. Your nails are leaving crescents in his skin and you know, you know, the world will burn long before you do.

This is different than the others. Better than the others.

Suddenly your hand is empty and the darkness is not a promise but a place where you’re alone. Your eyes flutter open, searching for an anchor. Your head is swimming.

“Are you alright?” Sylus is looking at you, his hand on your shoulder, steadying you, and it takes everything in your power not to grasp it again.

So empty. So alone. “I’m fine,” you manage, but your voice is shaking.

“Tch.”

He’s not a man who wastes his time, and he knows better than to push that particular lie. Rejuvenated, he sits up, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders— reacquainting himself with the strength of his body. He’s imposing again. Looming over you, again. His wounds have all healed, and you watch as the stains of his blood lift and disintegrate, like embers on a breeze.

His hand moves to massage his neck, and he yawns as he lazily tips his head from side to side. “Enjoying the show, sweetie?”

You don’t really hear him. He chuckles, pulling his shirt back down before waving a hand in front of your face; you catch it in a heartbeat. “Stop it.”

“There you are.” 

He twists his wrist free, but then your fingers are around his hand, turning it over so you can get a better look. Your thumb traces thoughtfully over the marks you’d made. “Aren’t you going to heal—”

“No,” he smirks.

He wants you to ask him why, so there’s no way in hell you’re going to. You both have your secrets: some worn on the sleeve and others, clutched a little closer to the chest. What does it feel like with me? You turn the question over in your mind as you tidy up wet gauze and bandages. You had told him the truth, just not all of it.

Like how you don’t lose yourself in him, but feel more yourself than you ever have.

Like how every time it gets easier, but so much harder to stop.

“So,” you mutter, distracting yourself, “are you happy with your metaphor?”

Sylus mulls it over as he studies you, a faint glow in his right eye. There are also things he wants to say, but he’s thinking of you and the artist, locked in a wistful embrace in a cluttered studio, so he keeps them to himself. His gaze tells you what he doesn’t: that he will bear it with a smile, for you, and that he will hold onto it long after it makes his hands bleed.

“It was a trifle trite, perhaps. Though… sweet,” he purrs. “Who knew a kitten could be so eloquent?”

“Fuck you.”

“Mmm.” He grins as he looks at your marks on his skin. “That’s better.”

[bellaxgiornata]

Seeking Forgiveness [Part Nine]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains angst, emotional hurt, delayed comfort, pregnant Reader, mentions/fear of miscarriage

a/n: Long time no update, I know. I was stalled with this fic because it wasn't supposed to be long, but then it grew into something bigger and needed a new direction and it took me a bit to figure that out. Now I think I've found it. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Matt’s fingers slowly ran over the braille document on the table before himself, his mind struggling to focus on the work he was supposed to be accomplishing right now. He'd promised Fog yesterday at the office that he'd help him sift through some more information for a case they'd been working on first thing in the morning, but his mind just couldn't stay on task. Repeatedly he'd had to run his fingers over the letters just to get a couple of them to form words in his mind, but then in mere seconds he'd forgotten what he'd just read.

But how could he focus on work right now with what he was doing later today? The only thing he could think about since the moment he’d woken up and shuffled out of his bedroom this morning was you. Because today was Saturday. It was the day you’d agreed to meet with him for that coffee where you’d planned to have an important conversation with him. And as much as Matt had tried not to let himself hope for too much to come from this talk, he couldn't stop that hope from growing inside of himself. It had been steadily growing brighter and brighter ever since you’d first agreed to meet the other night. 

As his fingers traced the braille letters of the same line on the page yet again, Matt could feel the weight of Foggy’s eyes on him from across his kitchen table. He could tell Foggy had begun to notice his behavior, his increasing annoyance becoming apparent in the way his fingers had been steadily tapping faster against the table in less of an absent fidget and more of an agitated rhythm.

Once more Matt tried to read the line again, retracing his fingers over it as he leaned further over the document, as if getting closer to it would somehow help him to concentrate. But then he found his mind once more diverting from its task, instead thinking of himself sitting with you over coffee in only a matter of hours. Because soon he'd actually be talking to you, hearing your voice again, possibly even the sound of your laughter that he so sorely missed. And if he was lucky, maybe you'd let him hold you in his arms again, even if it was just to say goodbye.

“Alright,” Foggy said in exasperation, slumping back in his chair. “What is it that's got you so distracted? Because I've been here for almost a half an hour now and you haven't even read the page that's been sitting in front of you for just as long. Is it some Daredevil thing that's on your mind? Because buddy, that can wait until later tonight. We have actual legal work to accomplish right now.”

Matt released a defeated sigh, sitting back in his chair and pushing the document away from himself as his attention shifted over to Foggy. He felt guilty for not being able to focus on work–a problem he'd truly struggled with for far longer than just this morning if he was being honest. Ever since he'd learned you were pregnant his mind was often elsewhere.

“It’s nothing to do with that. It's just–I'm meeting with her this morning. To talk over coffee,” Matt told him. 

Foggy suddenly sat up straight in his chair, the annoyance in his body language immediately disappearing. He said your name in question, the tone of it hopeful.

“Yeah,” Matt acknowledged with a nod. “She agreed to talk and that's all I can focus on. I'm sorry, Fog. I just–just can't think about anything else because I don't want to mess this up with her. I doubt she'll give me another chance to sit down with her.”

“I don't know man,” Foggy disagreed. “I think she wants things to work between you both. From what I hear, it sounds like she's just scared.”

Matt pulled a face, his head canting to the side. “Scared?” he repeated. “Scared of what?”

“Of things not working out between you both,” Foggy answered. “I think you both really want the same things. And from what I’ve heard, I think she’s scared you might hurt her again.”

Matt frowned as he shifted his attention away from Foggy, his right hand reaching up to messily run through his hair. He wasn't certain of the truth in everything Foggy had just said. Matt had a feeling that he wanted far more from you than you wanted from him. And that scared him . But he absolutely refused to ever be in a situation to let you down again. He’d learned from his mistake–he would never break a promise to you again.

“So what exactly are you both planning to talk about this morning?” Foggy questioned. “Just the baby? Or…is there talk about you two getting back together?”

Matt's hand ran another pass through his hair in nervous frustration. Of course that's one of the things he’d wanted to discuss with you, but he was certain that particular topic wasn't even on the agenda for this morning. It probably wasn’t even remotely on your mind. It didn’t matter if you’d asked him to hold you in your bed the other night after the scare you’d had because he’d known exactly what that had meant. He was just happy that at the very least, you found his presence comforting still.

“I think we're just talking about me being more involved with the baby,” he answered. “That’s all the talk is about. And don't get me wrong, I'm happy we're even discussing that after the mess I made of things over the past few months. Because I do want to be more involved in things with her and our daughter even if she hasn’t been born yet. But I…”

Matt trailed off, the frown deepening on his lips as his focus dropped down towards the table. He heard Foggy lean forward, resting his elbows along the surface of it as his pulse accelerated in anticipation.

“But what?” he pushed.

Licking his lips nervously, Matt's eyes slowly closed. “I want more,” he admitted aloud. “And I know after how I messed things up that I don't deserve it with her. She's far too good for me, Fog. I get it. But I still want it.”

“Want what, exactly?” he asked. “The relationship?”

“Yes,” Matt answered immediately. “And I still want her to move in with me like we had been planning before everything fell apart and she found out she was pregnant,” Matt confessed, finally bearing his heart to Foggy. “I want her here . I want to set up the crib in our room that’ll be our daughter’s bed. I want them all in that room,” Matt said, gesturing behind Foggy to his bedroom, “where I can sleep next to both of them every single night. Knowing they're both safe with me. And I want to make space in the closet and the dresser for both of their things. I want to accidentally pull out baby pajamas instead of a tie in the mornings.” A sad smile tugged at Matt’s lips as he imagined everything in his mind while he spoke. “I want her to keep that growing stockpile of diaper boxes in her apartment right over there,” he continued, gesturing a hand towards the closet past his couch where he kept his Daredevil suit. “And I want to wake up and make coffee to the sound of a baby babbling.”

Tears were beginning to sting at Matt’s eyes as a flood of emotion began to well inside of him. He'd never realized quite how much he had been wanting until he’d suddenly given voice to it.

“I just want her to be here so that I can make her breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening,” he continued softly. “I want her here so I can rub her back when she's throwing up or her feet when they're sore after work. I just–”

He paused, wincing. He found himself wanting so much that he never realized he'd even wanted until you had come into his life. But how would he ever be able to have any of that? After how he'd ended things with you and walked out on you when you'd begged him to stay? How did he get you to still move in with him? Let him be a part of your life again? Trust him again?

“I just want it all,” he whispered, fighting back the burn of tears. “But that's not what this talk is about today, and I understand that.”

“You could still tell her,” Foggy suggested gently. “You could still let her know how you feel, Matt. Be open with her about your feelings.”

Matt shook his head, his heart feeling leaden in his chest. “No,” he told him. “I think that's the last thing she wants to hear right now. I can't push my luck, Fog. Maybe someday I can tell her all of that, but I don't think today is that day.”

“I don't know, man,” Foggy countered.

“I can't ask for too much when I don't deserve it,” Matt said. “She needs to know I'm serious first, so that's my focus. I'll take whatever she gives me and show her that I mean it when I say I want to be a part of things. That I’ll really be there when she needs me.”

“For the record, I don’t exactly agree with that route,” Foggy told him. “But if you think telling her how you feel will somehow push her away instead of bring her closer, then I’m not about to argue because you’re obviously not going to listen. I’m just happy to hear that you’re both sitting down together to talk finally. We’re all rooting for the both of you to figure this all out, Matt.”

Matt’s attention focused on Foggy across the table from him. He heard the truth in his words with how steady his heartbeat had been. It felt good to know at least his friends believed in him. But he knew it would feel amazing to finally have you believe in him again, too.

You didn’t have to search hard to find Matt. He’d sent you a text when you’d left your apartment and made your way to the coffee shop letting you know that he’d already arrived early and grabbed a table. And now there he was, sitting in a corner booth with a coffee in front of himself and another across the table from him. A wave of nerves hit you at the sight of him in his dark jeans and snug-fitting gray shirt, your stomach twisting anxiously as the reality of sitting down with him actually hit you. It had been so long since you’d both really sat down together to talk; the only other time had been earlier this week on the night he’d shown up at your apartment because he’d heard your panic. But that had been under entirely different circumstances than this. 

Matt’s head instantly spun in your direction as the door to the shop shut behind you. You figured he’d probably picked up on your strong reaction to seeing him, and that only increased the nerves running loose in your stomach. Beginning to make your way over towards the corner booth where he sat, his covered gaze focused on you, you chewed your bottom lip while awkwardly maneuvering your small bump between the tables and chairs. Briefly you were reminded of your third date at this very coffee shop with Matt. The memory of it had you longing to be able to slide into the booth beside him and wrap your arms around him now, desperate for some of his strength to transfer to you. 

“Hey, Matt,” you greeted lightly, slowly sliding into the bench across from him. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long on me.”

A timid smile spread over his lips as he shook his head. “Not at all. Though I already ordered you a coffee.” His hand gestured to the cup now in front of you. “Vanilla latte, iced. I hope that’s okay. If not, I can grab you something else.”

“No,” you said, a nervous smile forming on your own lips as you shook your head, getting comfortable in the booth. “It’s perfect, actually. Thank you. I’ve been on an iced vanilla latte kick for weeks now.”

The smile on Matt’s mouth turned sheepish as you reached out and picked up the ice cold cup. You drank down a sip of the coffee, reveling in how good it tasted as you watched Matt’s hand awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck.

“So I’ve heard,” he said. “Karen mentioned that the other day actually. I figured it would be a safe bet.”

“Oh,” you said. “That makes sense then.”

Lowering the cup back to the table, you shifted anxiously in your seat. Normally things had never been this tense between you and Matt, but you weren’t certain how to navigate whatever the pair of you were now. You weren’t entirely sure how to just be around him anymore, especially not while currently carrying his child.

“So how’re things at the office?” you asked him.

“Good,” Matt answered. “Busy. There’s a handful of cases that we’re working on and I think we’re all realizing we may have overextended ourselves, but we’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, your finger toying with the condensation on the outside of your plastic cup. “That’s good. How’s uh–” you paused, not certain you were allowed to be asking him something so personal, but the question had already started to come out before you could stop it, “–how’re things going at night? With, well, you know…?”

Matt sent you a small smile, his covered gaze focused on you from across the table. Your eyes dropped back down to your coffee cup, your heart beating a little harder. You forgot the effect he had on you, but with him sitting right there after months apart, you couldn’t entirely ignore it now. 

You missed him.

“Also good,” he answered. “Not quite so busy, but still…busy.”

“Right,” you muttered awkwardly.

How the hell were you supposed to talk about the baby growing inside of you when you could barely look at him to discuss normal pleasantries? It felt so wrong being so awkward with him as you sat across the table. You found yourself struggling with this meeting more than you’d anticipated, wishing things just felt like they used to be between you both.

“How’re you doing?” Matt asked softly.

The gentle tone had caught you off guard, your gaze flitting back up towards his face. He looked just as nervous as you felt. And Matthew Murdock didn’t generally get nervous.

“Do you want the polite response I usually give people?” you half-joked. “Or do you want the honest answer to that question?”

“The honest one,” he replied.

“Well,” you began, your gaze dropping back down to your coffee cup, “I’m tired all the time. I’ve probably finally reached your level of tired.” 

You paused, smiling down at your cup when you heard him laugh lightly across the table from you. The sound had a warm, pleasant sensation gradually settling in your stomach.

“I almost always have a headache I can never seem to get rid of,” you continued. “I’m guessing that’s something to do with the hormones and increased blood flow. And I feel like my lower back has a personal vendetta against me as of late.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, amusement in his tone. “How’s the nausea?”

You shrugged a shoulder, your eyes once more returning to his face. Internally you cursed him for being so handsome. It only made you long to grab him and kiss him like you used to be able to. Clearing your throat, you tried to ignore that thought.

“Better,” you answered. “Not magically gone like I somehow assumed it would be once I got out of the first trimester, but I don’t want to vomit all the time. Though uh–” 

You paused as a grin spread over your mouth, noticing how it was quickly mirrored on Matt’s face as his head tilted curiously to the side. That flutter of warmth in your stomach felt like it was steadily heating you from the inside at the sight of it.

“What?” he pressed curiously.

“So when you’re pregnant,” you began, the grin remaining on your lips, “your sense of smell heightens. Also because of the hormones, I assume. But I’d wanted to tell you about that little symptom the moment I started experiencing it because I figured if anyone else would understand how gross passing a dumpster smells, it’d be you.”

“You’re certainly not wrong,” he agreed with a chuckle.

“And that symptom hasn’t exactly disappeared yet,” you told him, your grin having grown into a smile. “So some things still make me want to puke. Particularly the smell of bell peppers for some unknown reason.”

“Duly noted. I’ll make sure not to bring any near you,” Matt teased. “But I’ve read that ginger helps–”

You raised a hand, cutting him off and shaking your head as you pulled a face. Matt’s brows furrowed beneath his dark lenses, his mouth suddenly closing.

“Sorry,” you said, your stomach churning. “It’s just that I tried using those hard candies they make for morning sickness so much that the ‘g’ word now makes me immediately want to puke. They’ve had the reverse effect on me.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, the smile falling from his lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“That’s alright,” you assured him, picking up the cup of coffee from in front of you again. “I didn’t expect you to.”

That uncomfortable, awkward silence fell over the pair of you again. You took a sip from your cup, watching as Matt’s left hand on the table began anxiously tapping along it. Swallowing down your drink, you supposed you should probably discuss the real reason you were both here.

“So uh,” you began, clearing your throat as you set the coffee cup back onto the table, “we should probably talk about the baby.”

Matt nodded, a tense smile now drawing itself across his lips. As if he was nervous about this topic of conversation.

“You were saying the other night that you wanted to be more involved?” you asked. 

“Yes,” he answered earnestly. “If that’s alright with you, of course. I know she’s not exactly here yet, but I’d like to be as a part of things as I can be.”

Eyes dropping back down to your coffee cup, your index finger smeared a drop of condensation along the side of it. There was a heaviness in the air between you both, one you didn’t need Matt’s senses to detect.

“How involved?” you asked softly. “You want updates if something is going on or…do you want to actually attend appointments with me?”

Matt perked up in the booth across from you, the movement drawing your attention back over to him. He was sitting a little straighter now, something hopeful written across the features of his face even with his glasses on. 

“Would that be alright?” he asked. “If I wanted to go to some of your appointments with you?”

“I suppose so,” you answered slowly. “But I don’t know how interesting they’d be for you. Unlike the rest of us, you don’t need technology to hear her heartbeat. I’m assuming you’ve already been listening to her since I got here.”

Another sheepish smile slipped onto his lips. “You wouldn’t be wrong,” he admitted. “I’ve grown quite fond of the sound of her heartbeat. Especially hearing it beating so close to your own.”

A flush crept up your neck, your gaze dropping back down to your coffee as one hand nervously began spinning your cup on the table. You hadn’t expected him to tell you that, or for how it made you feel. 

“I have an appointment in a couple of weeks,” you told him, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. “I can let you know the details when it gets closer if you’d like to come with me.”

“I’d like that,” he replied. “A lot, actually.”

Nervously gnawing on your bottom lip, your gaze still averted from him, you weren’t sure how to broach the next thing you’d considered bringing up. Matt had wanted to be more involved, but how much more did he truly mean? 

“So you also said that you wanted to be around when I didn’t necessarily need you,” you began carefully, your eyes slowly drawing back up to his face. “What’d you mean by that exactly?”

You saw the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his finger tapping faster atop the table. His other hand reached up to readjust his glasses along the bridge of his nose before he spoke.

“I know we’re not together,” he answered slowly, “but I’d like to spend time together. With both of you. If that’s okay? Not–not all the time. Like I said, I know we’re not together and I’m not going to delude myself into thinking things are other than what they are right now. But I’d like to help you out if I could. Cooking or cleaning occasionally so you can just rest. Grabbing groceries if you need. Anything like that.”

“You…really want that?” you asked, eyes narrowing curiously. “Especially with how busy you are?”

“I want to help,” he assured you.

You nodded slowly, aware that having him around you more often would only make you miss him more. But if things were ever going to progress back to how they once were between you two, you figured this was a good first step to reaching that.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His dark brows jumped up onto his forehead in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “If we’re going to figure this parenting thing out together, I suppose we should start figuring it out before she’s born. Right? It only makes sense.”

A broad smile broke out across Matt’s face immediately. The sight of it nearly blinded you with how happy he’d suddenly looked. 

“You mean that?” he asked. “About doing this together–raising her together? Do you really mean that?”

“With how much you clearly seem to want to be a part of this,” you told him, “it seems cruel not to try to see if things can work out. So yeah. I think we should focus on taking small steps towards that and see if things can actually work out eventually so we aren’t just…co-parenting.”

There was a faint tremble to his lips that you’d just barely caught despite that beaming smile on his face. The sight instantly reminded you of the other night when he’d asked for permission to feel your baby bump. He’d gotten so emotional the moment he’d felt your daughter move and experiencing that with him had felt special in a way that you couldn’t exactly describe. You just knew that after that moment, you didn’t want to keep any more of those experiences from him. Not if he was truly going to give you and your daughter all of himself.

“Plus, I could use help thinking of a name,” you added with a small smile. “She’s not just mine, after all.”

Matt sniffled softly, his lips still faintly trembling. He almost seemed to be on the verge of crying, and you wondered if he wasn’t wearing the glasses right now, if you’d have seen his eyes rimmed in red and filled with tears.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his hand sliding across the table towards you. “For giving me this chance despite everything.”

Your eyes dropped down to his outstretched hand, studying it for a moment. You knew what that hand meant beyond the obvious gesture. Hesitantly your right hand released your coffee cup and slowly slid across the table towards Matt’s. Carefully you wrapped your fingers around his, your heart beating a little faster when his gripped yours in return.

“She deserves both of us,” you whispered. “As long as we can find a way to make this work.”

Tag List: @mattmurdocksstarlight @just-going-through-the-motions @paracosmic-murdock @yeonalie @auroraslibrary @1988-fiend @will-delete-this-later-probably @two-unbeatable-beaters @danzer8705 @ragamuffin285 @callmebrooklynbabes @spookyboogyuniverse @peachy-aisha @stevenknightmarc @nerdytreeflower @fucktthisworld @remuslupinwifee @kmc1989 @thychuvaluswife @mywellspringoflife @thornbushrose @yarrystyleeza @shiorimakibawrites @marvelcinematiquniverse @vallovesthedilfs @scoliobean @this-is-music @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @swissy23 @babygorewhore @that-girl-named-alex @warsaur @lareinaisabelle @pazii @senjoritanana @mischiefmanaged71511-blog @xxdrixx @jess-rye @hannahbohen @theclassicvinyldragon @karolamurdock @theoraekenslover @mr-underhills-things @jennifer0305 @capswife @amazexng @blackhawkfanatic @ladywholikesreading @powellssaturn @sunflower-tia @indestructeible  @allllium @gamingfeline @kezibear @vallovesthedilfs @the-skys-musical-echo @justanerd1 @better305 @n3versatisfied @scriptedmoon @loves0phelia @roxytheimmortal

[yunniestars]

"maybe this time, love won't end."

. . . ACT I. "Logged Out" ʚɞ pairing: kinich x gn!reader

oh archons, the nerves have never been wrecking so much before.

he was in front of your residence, and the place feels all too familiar. it was definitely a different location, but the taste in decoration screamed you. ah, this felt so surreal, he thought.

taking in deep breaths, he knocked on the wooden door. the doorknob starts to unlock, opening the door and...

"hello, how can i help you?"

oh. that sweet, velvety voice. the one he missed so much.

he couldn't believe his eyes, it really was you. the same person who changed the trajectory of his life and gave it meaning. his star, moon, sun, and everything. the one who made him feel like a lovesick fool, but he'll never regret being one. the jewel that no mora he earns will ever buy. his-

"um, if you're just going to gape at me, then i'm shutting the door." you say with an annoyed look on your face.

"i'm sorry?" he blurts out. okay, that was a mistake, but he's genuinely confused -- were you joking at him?

"uh, excuse me? do you expect me to just let you in? i'm not expecting visitors at the moment, so go leave or else i call someone-"

"ah wait! i'm..." he tries finding a good excuse to stay. suddenly, he remembers the other reason why he's here. "i'm the one for your commission. yeah."

your face then lights up, demeanor going from irritated to overjoyed. "oh then why didn't you say so! gosh, and here i was thinking on methods to get rid of you as soon as possible!"

he then gets hugged by you, the same warmth he used to bask himself in, but right now, it felt... strange. the warmth wasn't the same as before.

you then let go of him, with a cheery grin. "i'm y/n l/n. your name?"

what?

"...kinich. 'malipo' kinich." he responds, a wave of disappointment washing him over.

"great! so, the last time i saw my yumkasaur..." your voice suddenly starts to slowly disperse, words breaking down into inaudible mumbles as if he shut down every sound around him.

you didn't remember him.

୨୧

"my baby!"

you run up to your yumkasaur who ziplines to you, happy to see you after such a long time. kinich watches the scene unfold at him, unsure on how to feel.

the entire time, you were behaved like the same person he loved so much before. the same old yapper who pulled his heartstrings like their life was on the line. except... you acted as if you didn't know him.

"how have you been?" kinich breaks the ice as you two head over the place you say your yumkasaur was last seen.

"that's quite the question for someone you just met... but i guess i've been pretty lonely? after all, pipo has been away from me for so long."

and since then, you continued talking about pipo and the conversation longed on as if you were just getting to know each other.

perhaps for you it was like that, even if he couldn't believe it, but to him, he knew every single thing about you.

however, for some reason, it feels as if his knowledge of you was just useless now.

"thank you for finding pipo for me, i don't know what i would've done," you cry while hugging kinich, who didn't know if he wanted to hug back or just distance himself. "um, as for the compensation..."

"nevermind that," he cuts you off.

your eyes widen in shock. "what? no! i need to pay you. i'll feel guilty my entire life if i just take this for free -- take it!" you hand him a bag of mora, but he shakes his head.

"just... compensate me by being with me. i'll never ask for anything more again," he says in a low whisper, but loud enough for you to hear.

you tilt your head, but nod. "okay then, let's be friends!"

oh, that took a deep cut. you've really forgotten about him.

he took a deep sigh, and nodded back. "friends, then."

well, it's better than being nothing with you.

୨୧ prologue | act ii ୨୧ masterlist

♡ tags: @lvvcian @sunsethw4

a/n: thank you for reading the first chapter! i'm sorry it's really short haha, but i hope it was enjoyable nevertheless. idk when i can update again, but i have a lot of ideas in my mind right now, so probably 2-3 days from now. also, thank u to the nice comments that were left at my work! it's been motivating me to continue so it means a lot haha. love u all

[pamgkrthwrites]

2500 please?

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Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Dad!Bakugou x F!Reader

Themes: Bakugou is not the perfect dad but is trying his best, based off of a TikTok Sound

Summary: You get a call from your nearly 16-year-old daughter at 2 a.m. asking for $2500.

Word Count: 1K

Tag List: @optimisticprime3 @dreamcastgirl99 (Sorry if I've forgotten or gotten someone's tag wrong)

A/N: I should've been working on an assignment instead of this....

“Hey mama, do you have $2500 you can send me?” You heard your 15-year-old daughter’s voice through the phone.

You leaned up in your and Katsuki’s bed, looking at the time. “Katsumi, it’s 2 am. What do you possibly need $2500 for?” Your head hot the pillow before you suddenly sat u straight. “Katsumi, where are you?”

“Um-” You heard your daughter’s voice go weak though you could still hear her smile over the phone. “An escape room?”

“The truth, Katsumi.” You warned, sitting up in your bed.

“... Prison?”

You sat up straight, your eyes open wide. “PRISON?!”

Your husband Katsuki sturred awake, mumbling some curses.

“You can’t tell daddy!” Katsumi’s voice strained. “My friends and I were just goofing around-”

“Can’t tell me what?” You heard Katsuki's grumbly voice say before you turned your head, seeing your very tired 42-year-old husband. He grabbed your phone as he sat up, pulling it to his ear. “What did you do and where are you?”

You heard your daughter's voice become quieter and you could imagine her doing the thing she’s done since she was 3 and got in trouble with your husband. Lower lip pouting, looking down with hands behind her back and kicking rockings with her feet.

“... My friends and I snuck out and we went to a party and the cops were called and apparently there were drugs-”

“Drugs?!” Katsuki’s voice boomed. “You’re doing drugs?!”

“Nononono!” Katsumi panickingly rushed out. “There happened to be drugs there! That’s why we got arrested-”

“ARRESTED?!” Katsuki was going to pop a blood vessel with how angry he was.

You heard your youngest daughter Fuku crying now from her room. You gave your husband a look, but all you saw was anger behind his eyes. He took a deep as he clutched onto your phone tightly. 

“Where are you being held?” He asked through gritted teeth as he signalled to you to check on your 7-year-old daughter.

You groaned as you got out of bed to go check on your youngest.

Katsuki waited until you left the room before glaring at the phone as if Katsumi could see his glare. “You’ll be grounded for 2 months, your birthday party is cancelled and you’ll write your mother an apology letter.”

“What?! But that's so unfair!-”

“Do you want me to come pick you up or do you just want to walk straight home?” You snapped at his daughter.

“... Fine…”

The drive from the police station was long and awkward. Katsumi wondered if her father was driving the long way home just so the guilt would eat her alive. She looked up at Katsuki with her eyes, the same eyes that you had.

He was silently fuming.

She looked out of the sports car passenger window, looking at her reflection in the side mirror. Her eyeliner was smudged and her father’s wheat-blonde hair looked messy with your hair texture on her head.

“Where’s mama?” She asked.

“At home. Someone had to watch your sisters.” He answered coldly. 

When he noticed he was getting close to the street they lived on, he parked on the side of the road close to the park he used to take Katsumi to.

She stared at the park, remembering when she first got her quirk at the said park when she was 4. How you held her so closely with a smile and spun her around while Katsuki just watched, realising Katsumi had his same quirk.

“Why did you go?” He asked her, trying to keep a level head.

“I just wanted to do something fun with my friends.”

“You’re 16 in 4 days!” He pointed out to her. “You shouldn’t have snuck out! What if something worse happened than just drugs happening?”

“Why would you care-”

“Because you are my daughter, Katsumi!” Katsuki tried to hold back a tempered response. You told him to be gentle. He was never really good at it. He tapped his finger on the steering wheel. “Is this about that boy at school?”

The lack of a response from Katsumi confirmed it Katsuki. He took a breath in trying to not get angry.

“I know you don’t like him-”

“Understatement of the year, Sumi.” Katsuki butted in.

“-but I really like him!” Katsumi had small tears in her eyes and her fists clenched.

Katsuki was silent, tapping his finger on the wheel. 

“... Don’t change yourself for some boy, Katsumi.” Katsuki said to her. “If you’re going to date, don’t make it a life lesson for yourself.”

Katsumi turned her head away from her father, crossing her arms. “Whatever.”

Katsumi barged through the front door, avoiding making eye contact with you as she made her way to her bedroom, passing her sisters’ rooms along the way. She slammed the door shut and locked the door, leaving you and Katsuki alone with high tension lingering in the house.

“What did you say to her?” You asked him with a raised brow.

“I told her not to change for that stupid boyfriend.” You angrily answered as he made his way back to your two’s bedroom.

Once you closed the door did he take off his shoes and shirt before getting back into bed. You sat beside him and gently rubbed his old man's back.

“Was he at that party?” You asked Katsuki gently.

“I don’t fucking know-! Probably!” He groaned, burrowing his face into a pillow.

“... Maybe we need to have the talk with her-” You stopped yourself when you saw the nasty look Katsuki was giving you. “Don’t act like that, Katsu. I started having sex when I was around her age.”

“With who?” He glared, his possessiveness over you still strong as ever, even after 18 years of marriage.

You just rubbed his back. “Not important. You have to accept that she’s going to start dating, there isn’t much you can do about that.”

Katsuki sighed, getting comfortable in bed. “Let’s just go to sleep. It’s 3am.”

You leaned down and kissed Katsuki’s forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

[ace-disgrace-from-space]

Literally my first post in the CB tag, so: hello, hi, nice to formally meet you all. I don't post but trust me I DO lurk in this tag. Doing this post so I can share my deteriorating thoughts but also so that in five weeks when I've forgotten everything I can see if I was right or not and whether I've earned a treat. Fair warning: I only know how to write essays. Big long theses. My bad. Whoops. All of this is PURE THEORIZING. I have no idea what truly happens, all information I gather is from the free episode(s) or what's posted here. I am simply taking shots in the dark for fun. Please don't yell at me. only saying this cause I normally post in communities where everyone has the same information but you all seem very nice so I'm not really worried about it :]

OKAY! SO! As a very normal human being with very normal interest in this silly comic, I scroll through the tag and see what you goobers post (because you're all very funny, talented, and entertaining) and I noticed that this week's fast pass episode has people in emotions. Very MUCH in emotions. I also noticed someone mention parallels to this week's free episode- which I spent way too long agonizing over but that's IRRELEVANT -and so my brain got to thinking. I could just satisfy my curiosity by using money but the way my anxiety will just beat me up for that is crazy. So, instead of that, I've decided that it's time to rabidly theorize about what happens for giggles. Basing my thoughts on the idea of this week's episodes having parallels, I have a few different thoughts.

All of my ideas are parallels of things that happened in the dungeon in the free episode since that has the most content to parallel and was the most prevalent part of the episode. With that in mind, here we go and apologies in advance.

Idea Number One: My first idea is that maybe there's a parallel to the scene where Buddy saves Chase from the creepy guard. Perhaps there's a similar situation to what happened in the free episode or- an idea I'm more partial to -within this book there's a person, place, or scene that reminds Buddy of Ex-Libris which causes him to have some sort of panic attack or a clearly afraid reaction. He's placed in a situation where he's reminded of something from EL that he is afraid of or has bad memories of. Something that Chase has to pull him away or calm him down from, but something that Chase has to save him from. Like how Buddy saved him this week.

Idea Number Two: This idea is based on the statement about ulterior motives and hiding things that Buddy made to Chase- who we all know is hiding something. In this idea, maybe Buddy finally finds out about Prunella and isn't pleased with Chase's lying to him and hiding things. They aren't besties but there's a thin line of trust between them that Chase potentially breaks by hiding Prunella. A person Buddy thought was honest and open suddenly hid something from him, so who's to say he's not hiding more? So, the actual IDEA is that maybe Buddy parallels the statement he makes, but this time in a more hurt tone or accusatory. Instead of apologizing and admitting "you can't have ulterior motives and you're pretty honest", he goes the opposite direction of "I was wrong, you're a liar and blah blah blah" (sorry didn't wanna write more lmao). Still, for a parallel, the statements would likely have to be similar in structure and in nature, and a line that has been living RENT-FREE in my head since this morning is: "I was too dumb to think you didn't have ulterior motives. Too dumb to see that you were hiding something." Or something to that effect. Paralleling that previous statement.

Idea Number Three: This idea I'm less sold on but screw it, throwing it in for giggles because I can and that's one more idea I have lying around. This one is based more on the situation between Chase and Buddy (Buddy being like "wow! thanks for not hiding things" to Chase "definitely hiding a whole ass child" Hollow). A simple switch of roles is what my third thought is. Chase takes Buddy's role of "Wow, so honest" and Buddy takes Chase's role of "Hiding things". The reason I don't like this one as much and I'm not as convinced is because for it to have as much emotion as the Fast Pass episode clearly had, there has to be some sort of emotional investment to whatever the thing was. And for there to be emotional investment, we would likely have to know what exactly Buddy would be hiding from Chase in this potential scenario. As of right now, we have nothing of the sort since getting that kind of information would require a Buddy POV episode which I don't think we're getting any time super soon? So, unless we suddenly find out things in the next four weeks, I doubt it's going to be something like this.

OKAY, I'M DONE NOW I SWEAR! I am so sorry for how long and unnecessary this post was (whoops) but I need to scream somewhere! I'll revisit this in five weeks I suppose to see if I'm right or not and if I've earned my little treat (reward yourselves for things man. self-love). I'll still be lurking, as always, but I guess I'll see y'all formally once again in like five weeks. Have a lovely day! :]

[jammed-out]

I Can't Resist

"I've had enough of you thinking you're a person. Here." Your master tossed something at you. It hit the floor skidding across it, stopping an inch from you. You looked down at it from where you were kneeling naked in front of him. "Put that on dog."

You looked down at it. It was a small brown leather dog collar, not even designed for humans. There was a small silver metal tag hanging off of it. You could see that it said "dog" on it. Nothing else. You looked up at them nervously.

"I didn't tell you to hesitate. I said put it on!" They said raising an eyebrow.

Tentatively you reached out one hand, the other kept tightly in your lap. Your fingers touched the leather, it was course and rough and wouldn't feel comfortable on the skin. You wondered how irritating it would be once tightened around your neck. You couldn't help but get a bit nervous and exited at the same time.

Master stomped over ripping the collar out of your hand. "When I tell you to do something. You do it dog!" They gripped your hair pulling your head back. "Or have you forgotten your place again?"

You stared up at their face and wondered how you hand ended up here, like this. Just a few weeks ago you were a top academic, going for your master's degree and now here you are, naked, kneeling before your Master, them ordering you like a dog. You had never even thought of having sex before Master and now you spent every night worshipping their body, doing whatever they told you. Of course they let you out during the day to go pretend that you were still a person, that you had a reason to get your degree, but after graduating you'd be nothing more than a house pet, born for breeding and pleasure.

Master knelt down grabbing the collar and wrapping it around the front of your neck. They pulled it tightly causing you to gasp and whimper, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You could feel their hands methodically fastening the belt through the metal clasp pulling it shut. You felt them start to twist it around your neck, the leather scratching at your skin. A single tear fell down your cheek as you whimpered softly. You wanted to protest and complain but couldn't, you weren't a person.

While you were in Master's house, you weren't allowed to talk. Only people talk, and you were a dog. You weren't allowed to walk on two feet. Only people can do that, and you were a dog. You crawled. You weren't allowed to wear clothes, only people did that, and you were a dog. You were there to be used for pleasure and to sit and obey. Like a good dog.

They tag dangled on your chest, the cold metal pressing just above your collarbone. You swallowed dryly and felt the collar squeeze your neck back. You suddenly felt so aroused it was nearly unbearable.

"That's much better. Now you know you're mine." They looked you over frowning. "But you know what that means. We need to show the world. So..." They reached into their back pocket and pulled out a long leash. Your eyes went wide in fear. They couldn't possibly mean what you thought they meant.

"That's right dog. We're going to go for a walk. After all, you aren't a person, so why should you care how you look going out?"

You felt your arousal spike. The thought that you would be forced to go out looking like this, completely naked, for anyone to see, with only a collar and leash attached to you, it caused you to stick your tongue out and pant. Some part of you hoped none of your friends would see you like this, but the majority of you hoped they did. It would make things so much easier if everyone knew you were a stupid dog.

"Good dog. Now go fetch your tail and we'll get going."

You got down and started to crawl across the floor on your hands and knees. The sooner you had your tail shoved in your ass, the sooner everyone could see what a good dog you were. You could feel yourself dripping on the floor. You knew Master would make you lick that up before you went, only causing you to drip more. You were such a good dog. You were so lucky Master knew what you were after that first date together and you were even luckier, they knew how to make sure you'd never be a person again.

You grabbed your tail with your mouth wrapping your mouth around the plug and began to crawl back. Master stood there waiting, something small and round in their hand. "Good pet. But before we go." Their finger pressed down on the clicker, the loud pop ringing out through the room.

You felt yourself drop, pupils dilating, jaw going slack as you froze in place. You could hear Master reminding you that you were a dog, it echoed around your empty brain. They told you that you were going to see a friend now and you better behave. That good dogs behaved.

You could feel them start to push the plug into your ass, the tail snapping in place tightly with a pop. You didn't react at all. You could hear the click of the leash on your collar and the slight pull as they tested the connection. You just knelt there on all fours, unmoving, empty, waiting for a command.

"Come dog." You heard the click go off and suddenly everything came flooding back. You panted and eagerly hopped over to Master's side. You were so lucky Master found you when they did. It was dangerous for dogs like you to be left in the wild for too long. They needed to be taught to obey. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I hope you all enjoyed that one. Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll last week. I'm going to do a weekly poll with some conceptual ideas I have for things I wouldn't normally write. I'll be putting them up the same time as these, 5pm PST every Wednesday. So be sure to vote for what you want me to write, since the polls are going to be switching to a 24 hour window. And if you enjoyed this, feel free to check out my other writings on here, on ROM, or on Twitter, links in my pinned post.

[curlycow01]

Sunflowers and Starry Nights

Pairing: 1940s Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky meet at a bar and form an unexpected bond

Warnings: Fluff? A lot of it

A/n: It's been three months since I've posted and I got this random idea and itched to write it. Hope you enjoy!

Tags: @lanabuckybarnes

Slow jazz and the strong smell of alcohol surrounded the bar Bucky sat in. He was alone in the booth while Steve chatted away with Peggy. His eyes scanned the bar, searching for someone who might need company. Then his gaze fell on you.

You nervously shuffled through the drab of olive and khaki as you were approached by Bucky. "Hey" he greeted and flashed a charming smile. "What's a lady like you doing in a dump like this?"

"Oh" you were a bit intimidated suddenly being approached by a handsome soldier. "I'm here to meet a friend" you answered. "What's your name?' he asked as he extended his hand. "Y/n" you replied, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you Sergeant" "Just Bucky" he corrected "you said you were here to meet a friend, right? Maybe I could help you find them"

"They must've forgotten I'm here, with the alcohol and everything" you politely declined, glancing around the dimly lit bar. Bucky took a seat in the booth beside you and gestured you to sit. Since your friend forgot about you, you didn't mind the company.

"So, tell me about yourself, what brings you to Brooklyn in the middle of the war?" He asks curiously. "I came here to attend the Art College" you said with a hint of excitement. "My professor said that my art could lift people's spirits, especially soldiers, so I came here."

"Art, huh?" Bucky says leaning back "That's pretty neat. It's great that you have your own way of contributing in the war" You nod "I'm just trying to help in any way I can." He gets an idea. His blue eyes glint with excitement as he speaks "What do you say to me taking you to explore the city tomorrow? I've got a couple hours before I'm needed back at Base"

"I'd love to" you agree. "It's a date then" he smiles.

The next day, Bucky arrives at your college, wearing a blue jacket and black jeans instead of his usual uniform. You join him outside. "Ready to go?" He offers his arm, with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

His smile widens as you nod and take his arm, leading you through the bustling streets. The buildings were old, seeing wars come and go. He points out landmarks, and tells you stories of the past, even managing to coax a few smiles from you. Bucky learns that you paint sceneries, and you learn about his best friend Steve.

Cool evening air blew as you both headed over to the park. The moon hung high above the both of you, a beacon in the night sky. Bucky took a deep breath, his chest expanding underneath the jacket "You know, I used to love looking up at the moon like this" he said, his voice wistful "Back when things were much simpler" He squeezed your hand gently.

"The moon is something special, isn't it? your voice barely a whisper as you looked at the moon. "Back home I'd sit outside and sketch it for hours." You turned to him "Thank you for today Bucky. It's been a long time since I felt so...at ease."

"Your welcome doll" he smiled "It's not every day I get to play tour guide for a pretty lady with a penchant for the stars." You both took a seat on a nearby bench, his grip on your hand still firm, yet comforting.

"You're a good person Y/n" Bucky states quietly with a mix of affection and respect "Coming all this way to do your part. Your art will mean a lot to us out there" His thumb brushes against your knuckles. "Thanks Bucky" there's a rustle of leaves and a distant murmur of the city as you continued "You're pretty special yourself. And you're fighting for all of us, I can't imagine how hard that must be." you squeezed his hand back, as a silent acknowledgement of his bravery.

He leaned back against the bench, his arm brushing against yours "I'm just doing what I have to" He looks at you with affection and something else you can't figure out "But spending time with you, that's something I'm doing 'cause I want to.

~~~

As the weeks passed by, you and Bucky got closer, and you found yourself sitting in the art classroom. You weren't really paying attention to the instructor as your thoughts drifted to Bucky. His charm and kindness leaving a mark on your heart.

Bucky too, found himself lost in thought. His mind wandering to the quiet moments he shared with you during the chaos of the war. He'd catch himself smiling at the memory of your laugh, the way you tilted your head while concentrating on a painting. His feelings for you had grown each passing day and he knew that he had to say something before he had to leave to fight. Bucky knew he wouldn't let this war take you away from him.

So, one night he managed to sneak out of the Base for a couple hours, the stars twinkling in the sky as he made his way to the College. His heart raced as he entered the building and neared your classroom. "Y/n?"

Your heart fluttered as you heard Bucky's voice. You looked up from the easel, joy flooding through you as you saw his silhouette in the doorway. "Bucky" your voice was a mixture of surprise and delight as you walked over to him. "Come in. Its good to see you"

The room was dimly lit with the faint scent of oil paints lingering in the air. "Doll" he said, his voice filled with emotion "I've been thinking about you a lot" he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to rest on your cheek "I know this isn't the right place or time, but I had to tell you this" He took a deep beath before continuing "You mean a lot to me, and made me feel things I haven't felt in years. And it just feels right with you." His other hand finds yours. "I'm falling for you doll"

You felt a warmth spread through your body as you take in Bucky's confession. You stepped closer to him, placing your free hand on his chest. "Bucky" you whisper "You don't know how much that means to me" you were close enough to take in the scent of the cologne "The war has taken so much from people, but you've given me a reason to keep fighting." your voice trembled slightly "And I've fallen for you too"

Bucky cupped your face in both hands "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that" he leaned in and his lips met yours in a soft and gentle kiss. His hands stayed on your cheeks as you both pulled away. "I won't leave before seeing you, that's a promise doll." He murmured.

"Do you want to take a walk?" you whispered, desperately wanting to spend as much time as possible before he had to go. "That's all I want to do doll" his voice has a tinge of reluctance as he continues "But I have to get back to Base." He took your hand and kissed the back of it. "I will come back to you."

~~~

A few days later a knock on your dorm door interrupted you from your painting. You opened the door and your stomach flipped as you saw Bucky on the other side. Before you could say anything, he stepped closer and kissed you, his soft lips moving against yours before pulling away.

"Sorry" he smirked "Couldn't resist" He handed you flowers which were hidden behind his back. "Thank you Bucky" you smiled "How did you know sunflowers were my favorite? "I noticed how you added little sunflowers in the corners of your paintings" he replied as he entered the dorm. "Figured they're your favorite"

"They are" you said as you put them in a makeshift vase. "So what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be preparing to head out? you asked him as you turned around. "I promised to see you before I go didn't I?" "And I managed to take a day off, so I'm all yours"

"Fantastic" you said happily as you pulled him further into the dorm and closer to you. He wrapped his arms around you in a warm embrace. "Let's just...be" you mumbled into his chest "No war, no leaving. just us" He hums in agreement as he buries his face into your hair, taking in the scent of paints.

"What do you want to do?" he asks, his arms still wrapped around you. "I don't know" you thought for a moment. "Any ideas?"

"Doll" he paused as he glanced at the canvas. "Do you want to paint together?" you look up at him "You want to paint with me?" "Yeah" he confirms.

You lead him to an empty canvas. "But remember, I'm no Van Gogh or anything" His smile tinged with mischief. "My talents are better suited for other things"

"Don't worry, I'll teach you the basics" you reassured, feeling flustered. "What do you want to paint?" He glances around for a moment and sees the vase "Sunflowers?" you huffed a laugh "Very original. But it'll do"

You open the paints and hand him a paint brush. "How about you paint the sunflowers and I do the background?" He nods "You're in charge doll, I'll do my best." He dips the brush into the paint, his hand trembling slightly.

"Just relax Bucky" you say soothingly "Imagine sunflowers, growing wild and free, let that feeling guide your strokes" "Wild and free, huh?" he teases as he begins to paint.

The brush moves clumsily at first, but under your guidance, the petals start to take shape. "You're doing great" you encourage, hand hovering over his, ready to help if needed.

"You know" Bucky's voice is low and thoughtful as he adds a little brown to the brush "I think I know what I want to do after the war's over" "What is it?"

"I want to settle down, maybe find a little place with a garden" he says, painting the sunflower's center carefully. "You can teach me more about art, and I'll grow those sunflowers for you, just like in your paintings."

"Really?" you choke out. "Yeah doll, somewhere quiet, just you and me." his voice is filled with hope and the brush strokes becoming more and more confident with each word.

Bucky's hand brushes against yours as you join him and work side by side, your eyes meeting every now and then. "I never thought I'd have something like this in the middle of the war" you murmur as you work on the night sky.

"Me neither doll, but you're the best surprise I've ever had" He adds the final details on the sunflowers. "That looks really good Bucky" you praise, impressed at the shades he'd tried to capture.

"Thanks doll, couldn't have done it without you" He leans over, kissing your cheek softly. He shifts and sits behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder as you completed the starry night.

"You've got a real knack for this doll" his voice is a rumble, his breath warm against your ear. "It's like watching you dance, but with paint" "At least I'm good at one thing"

he laughs "At one thing? You're more than just good at painting, you're the most amazing person I've ever met" His arms tighten around you and his cheek presses against yours. "Don't ever forget that"

You swallow a lump in your throat. "Thanks Bucky" "Don't thank me doll, it's just the truth" His eyes take in the completed painting as you put down the paintbrush. "It's beautiful" He whispers, full of admiration and awe.

Bucky's bright yellow sunflowers standing tall in the black and blue night of yours provided a nice contrast. It's more than just a painting, it was an expression of love.

"I'm so happy I met you" you admit to Bucky in a low voice. "You're more than happy doll" he nuzzled into the side of your neck "you're my whole world" he presses a gentle kiss "And that's something no war can take away from me.

~~~~~~

It's been 2 months since Bucky left to fight in the war. There's been radio silence, with little to no updates about what's going on. But you think about Bucky every day, missing him and the quiet moments you had shared in the limited time together.

You painted him often, trying to capture his charming smile and his uniform as accurately as you could. You missed his touch, kisses and wanted to hear him call you doll again. You believed with all your heart that he will come back. If there's one thing you've learned from Bucky, it's to never lose hope.

You woke up next morning, hearing loud noises and lots of laughter. You opened the window to see kids running down the cobblestone path yelling "WE WON!" "THE WAR'S OVER" Newspapers said the same thing.

It doesn't take long for you to grab your bag and coat and practically sprint to the station. A crowd of people had already gathered, waiting anxiously for their loved ones to come home to them. After what seems like ages the train finally arrives.

A lot of soldiers file out, but none of them were him. Where is he? Why isn't he here? what happened to-

"Y/N!" your head snaps up to the direction of the voice and relief floods through you as you and Bucky make eye contact. He strides towards you, his steps swift as he dodges through the throngs of people.

His eyes never leave yours as he scoops you up into his arms, spinning you around "You're here" his voice is gruff but filled with joy "I missed you so much doll"

You laugh with tears in your eyes "I've missed you too Bucky, so so much" "Let's get outta here" he says, setting you down gently. "I've got something to show you"

He leads you out of the crowded station and into the nearby woods, following a yellow dirt path until you both reach an opening. It's a small field with sunflowers and a cozy looking cottage in the middle of it.

"Bucky" you gasp "How did you find this?" He grins "I wanted to take a walk before leaving and found it on complete accident. But the moment I saw it, I knew it was perfect for us. So, I convinced the owner to sell it to me.

You glanced at the turquoise roof and white bricks of the cottage before looking back at Bucky.

"So, what do you say doll? Do you want to- " You pulled his face closer and crashed your lips to his.

"Doll I didn't even finish" he laughed as you both pulled away. "Yes I would love to live here with you" you breathed out. Bucky pulled you flush against his chest. "To new beginnings?" You nodded as you got lost in the depths of his sea blue eyes.

"To new beginnings"

[gravehags]

ain't it a gentle sound

Pairing: Dewdrop x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: ghouls being ghouls, ghouls being horny, finger fucking

Words: 2,201

Summary: Swiss warned you about the other ghouls. You weren't prepared for an encounter like this.

a/n: sequel to the undone and the divine. i've decided this is now part of what i'm going to be calling the ghoul bicycle series because clearly reader needs to get railed by every ghoul and ghoulette to fulfill their destiny of becoming ghoul consort. so be it.

~~~

“Hey,” Swiss says quietly as he watches you hook the back of your bra. “I think I should give you a heads up about something.”

You lean over to shimmy your breasts into the cups and when you straighten your back to meet his gaze, he looks nervous.

“What?” you ask slowly, eyes narrowing. 

“Remember what I said about uh…marking you?”

Your hand flies to your neck to rub against the various purple bites that decorated your throat. You had almost forgotten he had done that and you sigh when the realization hits you that you won’t be able to hide all of them with your habit. Ah well.

“They’ll fade soon, yeah?” you say, bending over to pick up your shirt off his bedroom floor. “But I like them, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He flashes you that signature megawatt smile and preens a little before remembering what he was intending to tell you.

“I’m glad but er…just letting you know. When the other ghouls learn that we’ve…been together…they’re going to start approaching you.”

“For? I–oh. Oh.” You remember what the other ghouls told you yesterday about how they’ve all been into you. “But now that I’m, y’know, not a virgin anymore won’t things change? Surely I’ll smell different. Whatever that means.”

“Yeah, you’ll smell different,” Swiss says, his voice going up a few octaves. “You’ll smell like ghoul.”

You finish adjusting your shirt and put your hands on your hips to look at him dead on.

“Swiss, what exactly are you trying to say here?”

He heaves a deep sigh and scratches the side of his head, tail flicking behind him anxiously.

“The thing about ghouls is we…we share everything.”

Oh.

“Everything,” you say flatly, to which he nods emphatically with a slightly sheepish smile. You must have quite the expression on your face as his grin rapidly fades and he approaches you, arms extended.

“Hey listen,” he says as he puts his hands on your shoulders, massaging gently, “if you’re not into it I get it. You can tell them to fuck off. I’ll tell them to fuck off.”

Your eyes move from his chest up to his earnest gaze and the slightest hint of a grin curls your lips. Suddenly you’re filled with warmth at the thought of this frankly stunning group of ghouls and ghoulettes expressing interest in little old you. Swiss can practically see the string of filth going through your head as your eyes glaze over a little and he snickers.

“Check you out,” he says slyly, “I’ve made a little deviant out of you, huh? Get dicked down once and all of a sudden–”

Before he can finish the sentence, you shove him away and roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush because he’s right. And he knows it.

“Fuck off,” you snarl with no real malice behind it. “I was a virgin, not fucking ignorant. I know what gets me off.”

Swiss has his head thrown back, positively crowing and you make a noise of disgust as you move to the door.

“Hey!” he says, reaching out to grab you one more time and pull you in to kiss the top of your head. “Have fun.”

–

After you shut Swiss’ door you make your way down the long hallway and out of the den. Your mind is spinning with the possibilities - what would the other ghouls say to you? How would they act? The thrill of anticipation has you practically bouncing on your way back to your quarters.

Little did you know you were setting yourself up for disappointment.

A couple weeks passed and you hadn’t even seen a ghoul - none passed you in the halls, none visited you at your quarters, none sought you out in the dining hall - let alone been propositioned by one. You saw Swiss only in passing, his time consumed with practice and whatever ghoul duties entailed and you had duties of your own to complete. Frankly, you were starting to feel a bit put-out and began wondering if there was something wrong with you. Why else would all of them, who you had until recently called friends, avoid you so desperately? These are the thoughts that echo through your mind late one evening as you work library duty. The other siblings had left early after you told them you would finish shelving the remaining carts of books on your own. Tears begin to well in your eyes as you shove a particularly large tome on binding magic into its place on the shelf. Annoyed, you brush them away with the back of your hand and shake your head to clear your thoughts. You’re about to pick up another book when a low voice calls out from the stacks across the aisle from you.

“Why the tears, sweetheart?”

You whirl around and see a slight figure emerge from the darkness, eyes glowing. Your heart skips a beat when the ghoul steps into the dim light of the overhead lamp.

“Dew! Lilith’s tits where the fuck did you come from?”

“Hell,” he says simply as he saunters over to you with his hands in his pockets, tail swaying lazily behind him. You give him a tired look and he grins, revealing sharp teeth.

“Been a while,” you begin rather coldly. “Funny how you all just disappeared and decided not to speak to me anymore.”

Dew frowns as he traces the gilded lettering of a book on the desk with a single claw.

“We were waiting.”

“For what?”

“For those fucking hickeys Swiss gave you to disappear. Fucking dramatic, I told you. Making sure all of us knew what he did with you.”

Your irritation melts away and is replaced with something much warmer.

“So…what are you doing here?” you ask innocently, tapping your fingers against the desk.

“Called dibs on you didn’t I? I’m here to make good on that.”

You can feel the wetness between your thighs seep through your underwear and before you can utter another word, he’s on you. For someone so slim he’s alarmingly strong, pushing your back into the edge of the mahogany. His hand is threaded in your hair, cradling the back of your scalp with his lips a breath away from yours.

“Do you want me?” he asks, all slyness and sharp teeth.

You nod, your head still in his strong grip as he leans in to tease his lips against yours. When you press forward to meet them, he pulls back again with a little laugh.

“I want to hear you say it,” he purrs, claws scratching gently at your scalp. “Tell me.”

“I want you,” you say, the lowness of your voice startling you. “Here. Now.”

His smirk draws into a full sharp-toothed grin before he finally presses his lips to yours. His kiss is forceful, almost bruising as if he is trying to consume you. When you open your mouth to his probing he groans and fists your hair, licking into your mouth as he pushes you further into the edge of the desk. You can feel his cock pressing into your belly as he takes and takes from you, tail wrapping around you to rub at the small of your back. You barely manage to pull away to breathe, causing him to growl. When you finally pull back slightly despite his iron grip, you reach up to touch his face. He’s taken aback by the tenderness of the gesture and nuzzles into your hand ever-so-slightly.

“Easy, Dew,” you breathe. “I’m not going anywhere.”

At this, he ducks his head into the crook of your neck to inhale deep.

“Fucking love your smell,” he groans, rutting slightly against you, “so sweet.”

“Even after Swiss–”

“Especially after that. Fuck I want you. I want to see the others with you,” he licks a stripe from your shoulder to your ear. “Want to watch you try to take Mountain’s cock. Aether’s too. Fuck you have no idea what the ghoulettes are gonna do to you, do you?”

You’re quickly soaking through your panties and you can feel your wetness sliding down the inside of your thigh under your skirt. When he takes your earlobe between his sharp teeth to nibble at it, your moan echoes through the stacks. The thought of all of them having you, maybe even several at a time, makes you arch your back and hook your leg around Dewdrop’s calf.

He chuckles softly right in your ear as his hands slide down your thighs to the hem of your skirt. 

“But for now, I wanna feel that sweet pussy clench around my fingers.”

You nod, in a daze as he puts his hands under your thighs and with his surprising strength, picks you up and places you on the desk. With some maneuvering from you he rucks your skirt up over your hips and trails his fingers along your clothed cunt.

“Fucking hell you’re sopping,” he breathes as you bite your lip and nod once more.

“All for you, Dew,” you moan as he pushes his thumb against the fabric to brush your clit.

“All for me,” he repeats, cocking his head. “Well if you insist.”

In an instant, he’s pushed the gusset of your panties to the side. When his bare, guitar-calloused fingers slowly swipe through your folds your head falls back. He repeats the action several times as you lift your hips to make little circles, encouraging him. When his thumb finds your clit, you grip the edge of the desk with white knuckles. He takes his time spreading your wetness around the bud as you moan into the darkened room. 

“Fuck, Dew,” you whine. “Please.”

He knows exactly what you’re asking for as he slides his fingers lower and teases at your entrance.

“Gonna make you feel so good, babe,” he says hoarsely, clearly affected by your display. “Gonna make you scream.”

When he finally, slowly slips one finger inside of you, your eyes roll back in your head. He begins to fuck you at a steady pace, and your hips jerk to meet each thrust. 

“More,” you pant after several minutes and he laughs at your desperation but adds a second finger nonetheless. He’s pistoning his fingers in and out of you roughly but when he curls them just so–oh. You’re certain anyone passing the library at this time of night can hear your cries but you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s watching you with gleaming eyes, tail shaking steadily back and forth.

“Take my fingers so good,” he breathes, “think you could take one more?”

You almost fall backwards against the bookcase at the thought before whining an affirmative response. When he slips the third finger in and crooks it against that fucking spot you feel hysterical, cries bouncing off the walls of the cavernous room. You’re babbling desperate nonsense at him, urging him not to stop please don’t stop and he obliges, fingers pistoning in and out of you with unbelievable force.

“Gonna cum for me?” he asks, making you whimper.

“Yes, yes, yes, so good Dew, fuck I love your fingers,”

You’re almost there - so close, so close - and when the tightening in your spine slides into your core and makes your vision go blurry you do, as promised, scream.

He’s grinning wildly before he smashes his lips into yours as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. Tongues tangling, you moan desperately into his mouth as you feel the spade of his tail rubbing circles into your lower back. He devours the sounds you make hungrily, nose pressed firmly against your cheek. When you slowly begin to come down from your high he pulls away, panting.

“Beautiful,” he says, palm on the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “Fuck you’re beautiful.”

When he finally slips his fingers out of you, you are filled with a sudden emptiness that leaves you wanting. The feeling is remedied as you watch him raise his fingers to his mouth and slide them in lewdly. His eyes slide shut and he moans low as he carefully sucks your juices from the digits. It’s hypnotic, watching him like this. When he opens his eyes again and removes his fingers from his lips you’re filled with a sudden deep swell of affection.

“Always knew those fingers were good for something other than guitar,” you say quietly with a small smirk which he echoes.

“Yeah? You think about my fingers a lot?”

You slide off the desk and attempt to stabilize yourself. He’s got his hands on your hips steadying you and you feel that wonderful warm feeling again. It’s not until you move in to hold him that you realize he’s still hard.

“Do you…”

He waves you off and shakes his head.

“Another time. Wanted to make you feel good tonight. And to apologize for ghosting you the past couple weeks.”

Sweet. “Thanks, Dew. Hopefully I’ll see more of you around now, yeah?”

He nods with a sly grin, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Oh you’ll be seeing us alright,” he says with a slight leer. “Just you wait.”

Don’t worry, you think. I’ll be counting down the days.

[an0nymousmessenger]

Next Time We Meet

Synopsis: To go North or South? tags. fluff, angst, gn!reader Word Count: 1.9k Ao3 Link

“Yo.”

“Gah!”

Geto laughs, his voice deep and rich as he watches Gojo choke on air, “How rude, and right after seeing me.”

Gojo shoots Geto a look that says 'Really? This is how you greet me after so long?' and slumps back in the airport seat, spreading out without any regard for personal space. He frowns, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. "No way. Could things get any worse?"

You snort from the other side of where Gojo sits, legs crossed, supporting your face with your hand. "C'mon, is seeing your old friends again really that disappointing?"

Gojo flinched at your sudden voice, his laidback body language suddenly tense.

It was as if he couldn’t believe you were here. Whole and well.

You notice, and tilt your head while asking in a teasing voice, “Hm~? What’s wrong?”

However, he recovered quickly, answering only a beat late in his whiny voice that it was hard to wonder if it ever happened at all, “You don’t get it!”

“Does it matter anyway?” Geto asks.

Gojo complains, "I told one of my students that when you die, you die alone! Now I seem like a liar!"

You laugh at how despite waking up in another place with his old friends, the only thing on his mind at the moment was something he told his students in passing, and that his only concern was how it made him look bad.

At the sound of your laughter, Gojo finally turns his head to look at you. You were so busy laughing at Gojo’s suffering that you missed the way his blue pupils seemed to shake as he soaked in the sound of your laugh, and the subtle trembling of his lips so faint it was barely noticeable.

“You speak as if you aren’t one,” You manage between fits of laughter.

He crosses his arms and pouts. "I've told you before! I'm an honest man! Isn't that right, Suguru?" 

Geto, however, only shakes his head while laughing softly.

You smile, thinking to yourself that you really have missed this. It was nice. It was warm.

“And there's the matter of his father," Gojo continues, "but I've already asked Shoko to handle that."

"Poor Shoko, you make her go through too much," Your voice is full of sympathy for your mutual friend.

Gojo dismisses your concerns with a wave. "It's Shoko; she's strong."

Still, you wonder if she's okay.

"So, how was the King of Curses?" Geto inquires, hands in the pockets of his school uniform.

Gojo waves his hand, “Man, he was crazy strong! Plus, he didn’t even go all out.”

You saw, after all, you and everyone here was watching him.

“Stronger than you?” You ask, turning your head to look at him with your brows raised, wondering if fighting the king of curses was the solution to flattening his inflated ego.

Gojo became silent.

His face seems to suddenly fall, as if in deep contemplation.

You meant it as a joke, a jab at how in his youth, he only flaunted his power and never experienced loss. You didn't intend to upset him.

"Told you, it's because I'm the strongest."

You roll your eyes, feeling irritation rise as you retort, "Cheater."

He grins, adjusting his glasses while examining your battered state. His pristine school uniform remains untouched with not even a blade of grass. You on the other hand are covered in sweat and dirt.

"Am I?"

"The worst."

He feigns hurt, hand over his heart. "You wound me."

You vow never to spar with him again.

Before you can address your earlier remark, he answers in a soft, uncharacteristic tone: "If you and Suguru were there, I think I could've won."

You had forgotten, you think to yourself. Forgotten that at the end of the day, he was only one man. And that at one point he had only been a boy, a boy who had the world thrust upon him.

And so, with this in mind, you give him one of your best smiles, “We’re always cheering you on, Satoru.”

Gojo seemed to want to say something to you then, but then he seemingly decided against it. Instead, he points out, “I’m just glad I didn’t die of old age or illness, but rather because of someone strong.”

You don’t miss the way he started avoiding eye contact with you, nor the red creeping up his neck.

It was then that Nanami cuts in, “No one thinks like that. Nowadays that’s creepy.”

“Huh!?”

Gojo turns around to roughly ruffle Nanami’s hair, a scene that was a bit too nostalgic for your liking, but all the same, you couldn’t help but want the moment to last longer. Hearing Gojo whine as Nanami scolded him, but Geto smiling in the background and Haibara’s cheerful voice was something you didn’t think you would witness again. 

Just you guys, back in the prime of your youth laughing underneath the summer sun.

Just a little longer, you silently plead, just a little longer.

But time is short.

You listen silently as Nanami and Gojo’s conversation warps up, and it is only then that you decide to finally speak up.

“So, have you decided?”

Gojo turns to look at you, “What do you mean?”

You smile, “Your decision. To go north or to go south.”

He stares at you for a long time before finally breaking out into a grin, “What? Did you get sick of my presence already? I only just got here!”

Rolling your eyes as you fight back your amusement, you remind him, “You don’t have much time, you know? You in a place where you can still–”

"Yes, yes, I know," he interrupts with a pout.

You sometimes can't believe his audacity, wondering how you had managed it through Jujustu Tech. Here he was, acting upset when you're trying to save his life.

Bringing a hand up to your head, you sigh, feeling a type of headache that you only get when he is around coming up.

“Can’t I stay a little longer?” He asks, this time his voice betrays the feeling he had been hiding behind that carefully crafted mask of his. It sounded of longing, sprouted from the fear of losing everything he had again.

It was Geto who answered him this time, "It's your choice, Satoru," his voice gentle. "But I think we all knew the decision you'd make the moment you woke up here. In fact, you've already made up your mind, haven't you?"

Gojo fell silent because he knew Geto was right. Geto always understood him well.

It was because Gojo still had unfinished business.

He still needed to live.

You stood up and walked over to Gojo, offering him a hand. You knew he would stubbornly sit there until the last minute, and you'd had enough all-nighters to know that leaving things to the last second never worked out well.

He took your hand, and you pulled him to his feet.

“It’s not your time yet,” you say in a steady voice.

“At least tell me you are sad to see me go,” he grins, his opaque glasses blocking the top of his face, but you knew from the way he looked at you that the frown didn’t reach his eyes.

"We'll see each other again; waiting has never been an issue for me."

He rolled his eyes and frowned. "Is it really so hard to say you're going to miss me?"

You sighed. "Gojo—"

"Satoru."

"Satoru," you began again, giving him your famously tired look. But all he did was grin back. "I'll be looking forward to meeting you again, okay?"

He smiles a victorious kind of smile, as if him getting you to say you will miss him was a greater achievement than winning against the king of curses.

It was a kind of smile that told you that he’d steal this moment away for himself.

Selfish prick.

It was then that an announcement came on from seemly nowhere: We are now making boarding announcement for Flight 0010 to the final destination ‘—.’ Passengers are kindly requested to proceed to gate 06 for immediate boarding.

“I guess that’s your flight.” 

Your voice trembles.

A mishap in the wall that you built to suppress your emotions because without it you don’t think you could stand to watch him leave.

If that wall were to come crumbling down you think you would have clinged onto him, begging him to stay a little longer.

Gojo continues to look at you before seemly to make a final decision, “Hey, There’s something I–”

If this was the last time he'll see you again, to get to talk to you again then-

You shake your head, laughing silently to yourself as you start to push Gojo towards his gate.

“Hey- hey wait!”

You come to a sudden stop as Gojo stubbornly rooted himself to the tiled floor.

“Hurry. You will be late-”

Gojo grabs ahold of your hand, his black glasses falling to the tip of his nose, revealing his starking eyes. He stared at you, stared at you as he tried to tell you all the things he’d always been too much of a coward to say.

He wanted to tell you before it was too late like last time, something he has yet to forgive himself for.

“There’s something I haven’t told you yet. I need to tell you before I go-”

Stupid. Stupid white-haired man.

Your lips tremble as you look at his desperate face, his mask falling apart as well. But instead of clinging onto him like you so desperately want to, you smile.

"Tell me next time then."

Gojo stops stumbling over his words.

"I–"

Last call for Flight 0010–

"Go," you urge him.

Yet he still stands there stubbornly, refusing to leave.

Stupid Satoru.

What a greedy man, you think to yourself. The corners of your mouth curve upward as you stand on tiptoes and press a quick, soft kiss on his forehead.

"Go," you say again. "Tell me next time all the things you’ve yet to say to me, okay? Go and win for us...for me."

He brings a hand to the spot where you kissed him, a certain look crossing his face before finally saying the words you want to hear, "Okay, I will."

"Swear it."

"I swear on it."

And you believe him.

Because who are you to say otherwise in front of his grinning face? Who are you to think otherwise when he smiled so brightly? His eyes were bright and confident, softly grazed by his white hair as if he'd bring you the world if you asked.

Then he seemed to cast everyone one last glance before turning his feet to start running the other way towards his gate.

He doesn’t think he could stand to leave if he were to stop.

"Don't miss us too much!" Haibara calls out after him.

"Try not to die again," Nanami mutters.

"We'll still be here," Geto states.

“Don’t come back too soon! Okay!?” You shout to which he lifts an arm and waves, his neck a dark shade of red.

He laughs, “Just continue to cheer me on!”

You stand there, watching as the gate closes with Gojo behind it, listening to the loud hum of the air conditioning in the airport.

You'll wait, just like you've been doing. You'll wait as long as it takes for him.

a/n : I promise I'll write pure fluff next time ( maybe )

[pollymorgan]

Coach Negan Part 2

Warnings: Negan beeing Negan, hot table sex

Okay, I did it again! Have fun with the second part! 🤭

When I wake up, I briefly think I had a pretty intense dream. But when I see the phone lying next to me on the pillow, I realize that unfortunately, it was real.

Oh man, I've started some pretty weird actions lately. Somehow, my life seems to have gone a little off track. But phone sex with my daughter's hated gym teacher pretty much tops it all.

At least I didn't oversleep, not even once this week! Who knows, maybe I'll still be "Mother of the Year."

Feeling a bit off-kilter, I shuffle to the bathroom to freshen up.

With the toothbrush in hand, I let my thoughts wander. Okay, the whole phone call was a bit sexy. Well, actually, pretty hot. My cheeks start to flush as I think about Negan's voice and how dominant he was.

Damn, the whole thing was more erotic than anything I've experienced in the last 5 years. At least! Although that's not saying much....

Suddenly Negan's last words come to mind.

"Okay, I'll expect you tomorrow at 3:30 pm for a parent-teacher meeting at the school, and without panties.. Good night!"

Fuck! My ex-husband is picking up the kids today. At least, that's the last I heard. From experience, I can say that can change at any time. Anyway, I absolutely must not run into Negan at this time, preferably never again. But that will probably be a bit difficult...

The morning goes by thankfully without any major catastrophes. A few arguments, two forgotten homework assignments, and spilled milk later, I've dropped off my three kids at kindergarten and school on time.

Feeling somewhat relieved, I return home. There's chaos in every room, but it's quiet in the house. After calmly drinking a coffee, I decide it's really time to start filling my social media channel with content again. After all, it's become my job, albeit somewhat involuntarily. I'll make a post about a nutritious, quick meal for stressed out mothers. At least I don't have to go shopping again. I have all the necessary ingredients in the fridge, and it's not too time-consuming.

Just as I'm preparing everything, my phone vibrates. Assuming it's a message from my ex, canceling the meeting with his kids for some flimsy reason, I open the message annoyed.

"Be on time today, otherwise it's detention! 😉 Negan."

Oh God, I had hoped this whole thing would just fizzle out. Feeling a bit nervous, I set the phone aside and try to focus on what I actually had planned. But that's not so easy! I keep staring at my phone, afraid of receiving the next text or out of desire? I can't even define it myself.

Screw it! I was married for 19 years and I've based my whole life on this man. Taken care of the kids and the household and always put myself last. Only to be left. So, what's wrong with having a bit of fun?

I quickly grab my phone and reply.

"Just detention? 😯 I expected a more creative punishment! 🙈"

I hesitate for a moment, but then I send the text. My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I see the two checkmarks next to the message. It only takes a few seconds before I receive a reply.

"You naughty girl, don't challenge me ...".

I can't help but grin.

Quickly I type, "As they say, 'Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go on the teacher's desk' or something like that ...😉"

"I can't wait ... Room 319, in the big gymnasium," I receive as a reply.

I look at the clock. It's just after 12 pm. I quickly finish my Instagram post to have enough time to get ready.

After a thorough shower, I stand somewhat desperate in front of my closet. I absolutely must not show up too sexy at Peggy's school. But my obligatory gray jeans and a plain t-shirt that has been my wardrobe staple lately won't do either.

I'm as excited as before a first date, and in a very strange way, that's what it is.

In the depths of my closet, I find a royal blue knee-length pencil skirt and a matching white blouse with large dots in the same color, with the price tag still attached. I put it on and critically examine myself in the mirror. I've always been slim, but the impending divorce has cost me at least another five kilos.

I loosely tie up my hair and apply light makeup. Then I put on my favorite scent, a mix of vanilla and cherry that I've worn far too rarely lately, afraid the bottle might run out.

Now there's no time for doubts. Determined, I go to the car, start the engine, take a quick look in the rearview mirror to remove mascara smudges under my eyes, and head towards the school.

There are only a few students left on the grounds. Most have already finished, just like my daughter. Thankfully! He actually managed to pick her up. Miracles do happen after all!

I have the terrible feeling that everyone is watching me and knows exactly what I'm up to, although that's obviously nonsense.

Feeling a bit nervous and with a pretty strong flutter in my stomach, I go to the big gymnasium. Disoriented, I roam the narrow corridors and then stop in front of room 319. Okay, so I'm really going to go through with this.

The door isn't closed, just ajar. I take a deep breath and then push it open further. Negan is sitting at the desk, focused, with some papers in hand, and suddenly startles. As he catches sight of me, he begins to grin, his perfect teeth shining through.

Oh man, has he always looked so damn good? He's wearing a khaki jacket over his jeans shirt and glasses with a dark rim. Determinedly, he stands up and walks directly towards me, while I remain rooted to the spot, staring at him.

He stops right in front of me and leans against the door frame with one arm. I have to look up at him because he easily towers over me. The woody, masculine scent of his cologne envelops me and literally clouds my senses.

"Never heard of knocking?" he smiles at me and then lightly licks his lower lip with his tongue.

Finally, I find my words again. "Well, I seem to be a really naughty girl, but at least I'm on time...".

Dramatically, he looks at his golden wristwatch. "Right on time..." he states curtly and gestures for me to come in, before immediately locking the door. At the sound of the lock, my heart gives another heavy thump.

So, I'm really here now.

I quickly glance around the room, feeling his eyes on me the whole time.

"Sit down!" he commands and goes back to his desk. Just as I'm about to take a seat on one of the two chairs in front of it, he protests.

"No, here..." He taps the table clearly and sits on his chair, never taking his eyes off me. After a brief hesitation, I sit down, as ordered, directly opposite him on the table, crossing my legs. As confidently as possible, I look down at him. When our eyes meet, small electric shocks run through my entire body, seemingly converging in my lower abdomen. His gaze continues to roam over my body, to my legs and back up. We remain silent for a moment, but then he breaks the silence with the sentence, "And did you remember not to wear any panties?".

My cheeks blush even more intensely, I have to swallow hard before I can respond. "Yes."

"Okay, then show me..."

Slightly confused, I try to think. This man hasn't even touched me, let alone kissed me yet, and I'm supposed to present my most intimate parts on a desk to him?

"Come on, don't be shy..." he adds demandingly, noticing my hesitation.

As if on command, I jump off the table in one go, pulling up my tight skirt until it barely covers my butt. I then brace myself on the desk with both hands, ready to jump up and slightly spread my legs in front of him. Negan leans further forward and stares unabashedly at me. He grasps my knees to open my legs a little more.

It's the first time I feel his warm hands on my bare skin.

"And shaved just for me, that wasn't necessary..." he states, satisfied and self-assured.

His hands slowly continue to my thighs, then he lightly rests on them and positions himself directly between my legs. His face is only a few centimeters away from mine, and I feel his breath just as heavy as mine. I examine every pore and every small scar thoroughly until my gaze falls on his lips. Without thinking further, my arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

Finally, our lips meet. The kiss is immediately wild and without any restraint. Full of desire, our lips press against each other, and our tongues immediately explore each other.

All I can think about is how good all of this - how good he - feels.

Negan firmly grips my butt with both hands and dominantly pushes my pelvis closer to him. The fabric of his jeans presses against my bare skin. I feel how hard and big he already is. I can clearly feel him, right at the spot that yearns for him the most. I softly moan into the kiss.

"Damn, that's the sound I wanted to hear! I haven't been able to think of anything else since last night..." he exclaims excitedly.

Then he swiftly takes off his jacket and starts to slowly unbutton my blouse. My black lace bra is revealed. Before he kisses me again, he looks down at me.

"Fuck, look at you...you're so incredibly beautiful," he says softly.

My hands move confidently to his pants, feeling for his belt.

"Not so fast...first, I want to taste you...every damn inch of your perfect body!"

He grins at me, and I immediately do nothing but eagerly wait to see what he has in store next.

Negan slowly takes off my unbuttoned blouse and skillfully unclasps my bra. He immediately grasps my breasts firmly with his large, warm hands and plants delicate kisses on my sternum. His beard scratches against my delicate skin, giving me goosebumps. His mouth moves to my right breast, and I let my head fall back. I thoroughly enjoy the feeling of his tongue on my sensitive nipple. His hand firmly grips my left shoulder and pushes me down. Now I'm completely lying on the desk, while his kisses travel deeper and deeper.

Without hesitation, he grabs my knees and presses my legs firmly against my body. Then I feel his warm breath on my wet vulva. Automatically, I press my pelvis further towards him, and he starts kissing along my inner thighs, while I eagerly await feeling his lips on my pulsating clitoris finally.

My whole body is tense as he continues to tease me, his mouth gently returning to my thigh.

Impatiently, I slide back and forth on the desk.

He releases his firm grip from my knees and gives me a light slap on the butt.

"Damn, it's sexy how turned on you are... I could continue like this all day..." he remarks with a grin, unbuttoning his jeans shirt as his dark chest hair is revealed. I prop myself up on my forearms, looking at him expectantly.

"Okay, okay... Who can resist such a look and such a sweet pussy..." he says, leaning back between my legs to finally touch me where I need it the most.

Skillfully, his tongue wanders to my most sensitive spots, applying just the right pressure and perfect tempo.

I moan in relief and lean back again. He softly sucks on my swollen clit, and my legs start to tremble. I grab his hair and hold onto it tightly because I feel like I need that support. The orgasm hits me unexpectedly. I never thought I could reach the peak so quickly.

Negan grabs my wrists and swiftly pulls my upper body back up. Breathing heavily and utterly exhausted, I look at him, and he smiles contentedly, his lips moistened with my wetness.

"Wow, okay..." he says.

"Wow, okay..." I reply and pull him closer to kiss him.

"Now I want to fuck that perfect pussy..." he whispers in a deep voice into my ear, opening his pants with one hand. Then he briefly separates from me to open the drawer of his desk and retrieve a condom.

I watch him, and suddenly I seem to be able to think clearly again. At least, I can imagine how many times he has done this before. How many lonely, abandoned mothers he has already screwed on this desk, that he even keeps condoms in his drawer.

Without saying anything, he seems to notice my gaze very precisely and knows how to interpret it.

He grabs my chin between his index finger and thumb and turns my head decisively towards him.

"Hey, don't even think about it, okay? ...I only placed it there today, in the slight hope that you would seriously consider my nice offer..."

He lets me go to put on the condom without breaking eye contact.

My eyes wander between his dark ones, and I get lost in them.

I nod hesitantly and flinch slightly as I feel his tip pressing against my entrance.

Negan runs his thumb over my mouth. My lips feel dry and sensitive.

"Don't close your eyes now, look at me as I enter you..." he says unequivocally.

I already feel him slowly pushing deeper and deeper into me. When he is all the way in, he places his burning hot forehead against mine. His mouth is slightly open, and his breath is heavy. I enclose his lower lip with my lips. It is an incredibly intense feeling to be so full. I feel my lower abdomen contract repeatedly as he slowly starts moving inside me. It doesn't take long for his thrusts to become faster and harder. I realize he is close to coming.

"Sit on the chair, I want to be on top of you!" I say, trying to gain some control and at least once have the upper hand.

"Okay, whatever you want... really anything!" he says, breathing heavily, and sits back on the chair behind him.

He looks incredibly sexy. With those piercing eyes, his slightly swollen lips from the intense kisses, the unbuttoned shirt revealing his slim hairy chest, and his large hard penis that I immediately want inside me again.

I jump off the table and climb onto his lap. With my right hand, I grasp his pulsating cock and let him glide into me. Negan holds onto my hips, and I place my hands on his shoulders to support myself. Slowly, I begin to move, and he penetrates deeper into me.

"Damn, you're finding spots in me that I didn't even know..." I smile and then bite my lower lip in concentration. I mean it literally. I have never felt anything like this before. My movements become faster, and I feel the tension running through Negan's body.

"Let's come together..." I whisper softly to him.

"Okay, baby..." he says decisively, and his hand moves purposefully between my legs. Quickly and with quite a bit of pressure, he circles my hypersensitive clit with his thumb.

I feel like I can hardly breathe from excitement. My lower abdomen almost cramps painfully.

I manage to groan "Now..." just before another intense orgasm floods my body. But not only me, I also feel how Negan is coming intensely. Exhausted, I collapse on his lap. His arms embrace me and press me firmly against his bare chest. For a moment, all you can hear is our exhausted breathing, then he whispers softly while still deeply inside me.

"That was insane. When can we do this again?"

I grin at him contentedly. "I have the whole weekend free from the kids... so I'd be happy to do it again tomorrow..."

Then I kiss a bead of sweat off his forehead.

He pouts, "Why wait until tomorrow? ...How about tonight and then the whole night... Believe me, I want to explore a few other spots in you..."

[si1verghosts]

you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

-----

"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie. 

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now. 

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe. 

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside. 

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now. 

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately." 

"That's great," you smile. 

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance. 

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine. 

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door. 

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back." 

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner. 

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot. 

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself. 

What are you doing? 

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work? 

Fuck. 

You swallow harshly, "trying." 

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay. 

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?" 

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel. 

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again. 

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise. 

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead. 

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else. 

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways." 

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care. 

 "Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight. 

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice. 

"Yeah," he nods. "I do." 

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip. 

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me." 

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker. 

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once. 

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat. 

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care. 

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you. 

You love him. 

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this. 

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you. 

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat. 

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters. 

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it. 

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment. 

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away. 

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac. 

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.  

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him. 

"Take me home?" You request, you plead. 

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity. 

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom. 

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs. 

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off. 

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes. 

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft. 

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting. 

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed. 

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall. 

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead. 

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better." 

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face. 

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon." 

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this." 

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright." 

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold. 

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom. 

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.  

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it. 

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed. 

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new. 

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof. 

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside. 

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight. 

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction. 

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it. 

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

[always---wrong]

Okay, so I wanted to discuss the situation with Alastor, his canonical sexuality, and fans.

I have seen the two sides alot.

So one side ships Al with numerous characters and sees this as casual fun.

And the other thinks this is disrespectful cause he is ace, or Aroace.

(I believe that he is Aroace. His va said so, his character has shown no interest in romance, and Viv may have confirmed it at some point)

Now, I am sex repulsed ace and I'm aro. And I have strong opinions. Alastor is my favorite character in Hazbin Hotel, he is also the FIRST confirmed ace character I've seen. (This doesn't include subtly implied characters) Because Al is the first and I care for him he is very important to me.

My opinion is really mixed because on one side it's; yeah, it is a fandom, and fandoms ship. It's what they do. Its also kind a rude to judge someone for their favorite pairings and stuff, in my opinion.

On the other side though I'm hurt. I am a queer person with basically no rep. And I hadn't realized how upset I was by this until I saw discourse over this character. I had FORGOTTEN that it was possible to have confirmed canonical ace characters. I had gotten so used to that just being a head cannon. And not only just an ace character but also an Aroace character. And not just that but a seemingly non sex favorable ace character. I would even argue he is sex repulsed.

My real problem with all this is:

Yes, I KNOW ace characters can have sex. But do you know who else can? Literally every single allosexual character. I KNOW aros can date. But you know who else can? Everyone else. The appeal of ACTUALLY having characters with the same sexuality as me is that they would be like me. Cause I and other aces like me never, ever get stories like that. So many times in media I would be enjoying a character who had shown NO interest in sex/romance and would suddenly be partnered up with another just for the heck of it. This has happened SO many times it's not even funny. It's incredibly frustrating.

So, the point I'm trying to make is that; YES, there are aces who have sex. HOWEVER, a large number of us do not. And it's like everyone forgets that. Your not writing Alastor having sex with Angel cause your showing the vast spectrum of asexuality. Your most likely writing it cause it's sex between two hot characters. It's simply maddening.

(One thing I wanted to say was, despite the fact that Al is ace i don't think it's bad to find him attractive. He is very pleasing to look at so I understand allos finding him hot. However I'm not sure where I stand with people sexualizing him. I think I'm leaning towards, 'please don't do it'.)

Now, the worst thing though is when I'm looking for content to enjoy. When I found out Al was canonically ace I was so happy and excited. I'm pretty sure this situation wouldn't make me nearly as frustrated if it weren't for the overwhelming amount of sexual content for Al. Some would be fine. I could just scroll past it if this were the case. But it is not. Content for Al is MOSTLY sexual. That's why I don't believe people when they keep saying they aren't invalidating aces because almost every time I go looking for a fic I have to scroll for HOURS just to find few non ship fics.

I can't even use the Asexual Alastor tag because all that does is bring me to a bunch of fics where the author is like 'he's ace trust me,' then proceeds to write smut.

Why can't I even use a tag made for aces without being drowned in smut. It's so frustrating! Like I'm getting to a point where I wish the authors would stop using the tag and openly admit they made him not ace for the story. Like I know your trying to not throw away his canonical sexuality but I mean at this point I think it'd be better if you did. And if someone is going to write sex favorable ace Al then please leave it to the aces. I trust us to at least weave it into his character instead of stating it and acting like it's there when it's not.

So basically: I don't mind if you ship him, just don't say he's ace or Aroace if your neither of those in ship/smut content. I'm sick of trying to find content that isn't sex/romance in Aroace tags!

I don't want to judge people for liking a ship. But I'm really tired.

ON A DIFFERENT NOTE, I would love to see content with Al and Lucifer. Like them hating each other to like frenemies. It would be so funny.

Anyone have any platonic content with Al and the rest of the cast???

[sixhours]

Chapter 1 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Portland, Maine September 26, 2003

“Fuck.”

The air in the bathroom is thick with moisture, making it hard to breathe. You wipe at the condensation on the mirror and stare at the face reflected back at you, pale and drawn in the yellow light.

“Fuck, fuuuuck,” you mutter, holding the pregnancy test up and squinting, tilting it this way and that, hoping the extra line is just a trick of the light, but it doesn’t go away. You groan, internally vacillating between panic and rage.

Fuck.

There’s a knock at the door. Your girlfriend, Joanna, probably wondering what’s taking so long.

“Hey, you done? We just got called into the hospital again.”

“What?” You drop the stick onto the counter, but you can’t stop staring at it, the two clear blue lines taunting you. Outside your shared one-bedroom apartment a siren begins to wail. “I just got home.”

“That’s the job, babe,” Jo says. The doorknob creaks, breaking your reverie.

“Shit, just a sec,” you mutter, shoving your foot against the door and fumbling for some toilet paper to wrap the test in before tucking it at the bottom of the garbage can. You swallow the urge to vomit as Jo pokes her head in.

“You’ve been in here forever–”

“Jeez, privacy,” you snap, clutching the towel to your body more tightly, suddenly keenly aware of how flimsy it is, how exposed you are.

Jo’s eyes widen with hurt and you immediately soften, guilt stabbing at the gentlest swell in your abdomen. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…it’s just been a long-ass day.”

You soothe her with a quick kiss, hoping she can’t taste the hint of bile under the mint of your toothpaste and mouthwash.

“I’ll be right there,” you say, ducking around her, headed to your room in search of fresh scrubs.

“You want something to eat? I made sandwiches to go.”

Your stomach turns. “No, I ate at the caf after my last shift,” you lie. “Is this an all-hands thing?” you call over your shoulder as you dig in the hamper. Nothing is clean, there’s never enough time to do laundry.

Plenty of time to fuck an old buddy and get knocked up, though , you think, setting your lips in a grim line and smoothing the wrinkles out of some navy blue slacks.

“Yeah, Dan says they’re calling everyone in,” she confirms. “Something about a virus, flu season’s starting early, they’re expecting a full house. It’s bad.”

“Mmm,” you say, pulling on the freshest top you can find and tying back your hair in a ponytail. You meet Jo at the door where she hands you a brown paper sack, presumably your sandwich.

“You okay?” she asks as you walk the four blocks to the hospital, grateful for the crisp fall air. You hope it hides the flush in your cheeks, hopes she didn’t hear you retching before you stepped into the shower. She reaches for your hand and takes it, but your fingers are numb. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically. “Just…tired.”

“Okay…hey, I had an idea for our anniversary next week.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s this new place on Congress Street, they do a great brunch with free mimosas? Since it’s on a Sunday I thought we could probably sneak in a date after your shift–”

“That’s fine,” you say automatically, squeezing her hand in weak reassurance; just the word brunch makes your stomach turn. “I mean, great, sounds great.”

She stops you outside the hospital’s employee entrance and holds fast to your hand to pull you back before you can go in.

“Babe. Are you sure you’re alright?”

You blink back tears, swallow hard, and it almost comes out. You open your mouth to speak, but the sound of a siren interrupts as an ambulance screams out of the nearby garage, lights flashing, and the moment is gone.

You pull her into a tight hug. She smells soft and warm and familiar, like oranges and vanilla. You press a tight kiss to the nape of her neck in an unusually public display of affection.

“Whoa,” she says softly, taking an unintentional step back as if to catch you.

“I’m okay,” you murmur into her neck. “We’ll be okay.”

~*~

The smell of antiseptic barely registers as you enter the building, so familiar to you now it’s like a second home. Joanna gives you a quick wave before being intercepted by her attending, who drags her off to the ICU to check on a patient.

By the time you drop your bag off at your locker, shoving the paper satchel with your sandwich at the back, you’ve almost put the pregnancy out of your mind. It comes naturally, this tight compartmentalization of your feelings, this easy decoupling from your emotional state.

The on-call attending physician looks no worse for the wear, and in the back of your mind, you wonder if someone higher up is overreacting to the news out of Indonesia. Your limited knowledge of virology knows the flu can’t jump that quickly. You’re over a hundred miles from the nearest major airport. It will be several days before what’s happening there crawls its way to this tiny state. It’s true, the waiting room is busy, but that’s not unusual for a Friday night.

You fight off a wave of nausea and take a clipboard from the wall.

~*~

Several hours later, at about the time a man named Joel Miller is holding his dead daughter in his arms somewhere in Texas, you are beginning to understand that this is not influenza.

Reports out of Boston and New York City are fragmented and, quite frankly, unbelievable. There’s a federal emergency warning on the screen of every television in the lobby and a growing sense of unease as nurses, doctors, and assistants dash between rooms, weaving between gurneys, calling out orders for beds, antibiotics, IVs. The thrum of the waiting room only grows louder and more insistent. The sirens are a constant, frenetic wail in the distance.

But all of that is a dim clamor in the background because your latest patient has a bite. A distinctly human-mouth-shaped arc of angry red impressions in the crook of their neck. The patient also has a sudden fever and a rash that is rapidly spreading up the side of their head. 

Rashes don’t move like that, rashes don’t fucking undulate …

If you didn’t know better you’d think it was blood poisoning, but you’ve never seen sepsis like this. You watched the bite happen, watched a troubled man in the waiting room lurch from his chair and fly toward his victim, sinking his teeth into the flesh of her neck before being restrained by an orderly and the receptionist. That was maybe five minutes ago, and you’ve never seen an infection spread so fucking fast . By the time you’d helped the patient into a cot, they were already shivering, skin clammy and burning at the same time.

The patient is your partner, Joanna.

“What…the fuck,” she murmurs, chest heaving. Her neck twitches and jumps under your careful, probing touch. Her skin is already dewy with sweat, hot under your fingertips.

“Hold still,” you hiss, unsure if you’re talking to her or your trembling hands. You douse the bite in antiseptic, wiping away the blood with a clean square of gauze, leaning in to examine the rash again. It’s crept up from her collarbone to her ear, and it has to be your imagination, but you can almost see it…move. Joanna is shivering, whether from the fever or shock you don’t know, but you don’t have time to process before a shriek rings out from the hall.

“Need some help out here!”

Joanna grimaces, hissing softly through her teeth. “Go.”

“Jo–”

“Go. I’ll be fine,” she says, even as her eyes roll back in pain.

You give her one last desperate look, squeezing her hand, whispering, “I’ll be right back,” before ducking out of the room.

A woman is seizing on the floor, spasms jerking her limbs from side to side. A nurse looks up at you with wide eyes as he attempts to stabilize the patient’s head and neck. The seizing woman’s head turns sharply and her teeth make contact with his wrist, ripping a gash in the tender flesh.

“Shit!” he cries, jerking his hand away, blood running in rivulets down his arm.

“Go, I’ve got this,” you bark. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t ask if you’re sure, just backs away and runs down the hall.

A hot hand on your shoulder spins you around before you can figure out what to do with the writhing woman on the floor. It’s Joanna, her eyes cloudy. The heat radiates off her body in waves, the rash–

Not a rash.

–has spread up her neck, already red and raised welt-like lines are slithering–

Rashes don’t slither.

–around the sunken sockets of her eyes.

“Help…” she croaks. Her fingers pulse and twitch against your collarbone, gripping too tight, too close.

“Jo, it’s–” you start to soothe, intending to send her back to bed, but she’s staggering toward you in sharp jerks, her mouth glistening, and some deep, primal urge makes you recoil from your lover’s embrace. You stumble backward, heels catching on the woman on the floor, and you land on your tailbone behind her.

Joanna follows like a moth to your flame, pitching forward, crawling, oblivious to the woman on the floor who is also moving underneath her, rolling over in a jerky, twisting, impossible way. Both women lock onto you and you can almost feel their need, their–

Hunger.

From down the hall comes a rising chorus of shouts, a crash. Someone bursts through the doors from the waiting room, one shoulder soaked with blood. From between the swinging doors, you see glimpses of chaos, hear more screams.

No. No. Not Jo. Not–

Something inside you breaks; you scramble backward, barely stifling a moan. You feel a hand tighten around your ankle and you kick it away, the tile floor slippery against your sweaty palms. Another hand grasps, scrabbles, another kick; a bloody palm print gleams on the crisp white leather toe of your sneaker.

No! No! Get out!

By some miracle you find your feet, feel yourself turning, running down the hall, deeper into the hospital. A dim part of your brain reaches for a reprimand, but you can’t make yourself stop, driven by panic, passing lines of gurneys and bodies slumped on the floor. You’re acutely aware of the thick smell of blood, drowning out the familiar antiseptic wash. You push your way through crowded halls over a chorus of groans and screams.

Out get out get out out out–

You burst through an emergency exit at the back of the hospital gasping for air, pressing your back to the weathered brick. Your heart lurches in your chest, wishing for this to end, for you to wake up in your bed after a bad dream.

A pregnancy dream , you think, barking a manic laugh into the night, recalling that your biggest fear this morning had been a little nausea and a missing red dot on the calendar. You taste hot bile and feel yourself swaying, ready to empty the meager contents of your stomach next to the dumpster, but a blinding light freezes you in its glare.

“Stop right there!”

You blink, stunned. Then you see the gun.

A figure in Army fatigues is pointing a rifle at you. The trembling of the muzzle makes you understand he’s just as scared as you are. If you get sick now, you’re a dead woman.

You raise your shaking hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot, I’m a…I’m a doctor.” 

He doesn’t lower the weapon. “Are you bit?”

“I’m not–I don’t know what–”

His voice rises, panic creeping in as he gestures with the rifle, jabbing it at you. “Are you bit?!? Are you sick?”

“No!” you say, trying not to let your voice shake. “No, I’m not sick.”

He swallows hard, appearing to take this in. You close your eyes in the endless seconds between breaths, waiting for the crack of the rifle.

You open your eyes at the sound of the gun being lowered to his side.

“Ma’am,” he says shakily. “I think you should come with me.”