#it's 4k so I wouldn't really call it short | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wisecura · 13 days ago

Text

My Leader

Cult Leader Suguru x f!Reader 4k

an: did anyone ask for this? oh yeah! I did. enjoy my unrequested fantasy. this might be bad but oh well haha

summary: suguru geto was all for the betterment of the world—eradicating the non-sorcerers in society, and collecting people to stand in the new world with him. it's no different when he finds you—an untrained sorcerer, so eager and desperate for validation—a hint at sanity when no one else could see the monsters around you. but what happens if he takes you in only to find himself changing his mind.

warnings: pwp, voyeurism, gore, blood, murder, dark undertones, size kink, smut, you aren't in your right mind either, fingering, marking, manipulation, belittling and teasing, minors DNI

The last thing on your bucket list in life would’ve been joining a cult.

Seriously, cult life was definitely not where you saw yourself in your early twenties—with all the time in the world still ahead of you. But, well, here you were.

That priest you'd met earlier? He'd been nothing short of a lighthouse for you—a beacon of hope during those endless, stressful days. You know, the ones haunted by those demon-looking creatures lurking just out of sight. And the craziest part? Nobody else seemed to see them. Yeah, you were pretty much alone in this freaky ghost-seeing club.

So, imagine the relief when the fifth priest you consulted turned out to be pure gold—a genuine miracle worker. Not only did he validate your sanity, but he also managed to kick that pesky little demon parasite on your shoulder to the curb. And suddenly, the world felt lighter. Easier.

And when he offered you a spot by his side, it didn't take much to convince you. Especially after he mentioned that those 'curses' were likely to make a comeback. Joining him seemed like a no-brainer.

But six months in with this man, and there was no ignoring the raw sex appeal he radiated. Standing several inches above you, he was large and imposing—hitting all your size-kink checkboxes. His features were sharply handsome, with plush lips that sparked envy and hair that never seemed out of place. His eyes? Absolutely captivating. Really, what did this man not have that wouldn't cause any sane woman to go feral?

No wife, not even a girlfriend in sight, but he had two adoptive daughters whom he treated with the utmost care. A family man, right?

You hadn't fully realized what you were getting into when you'd first signed on—then again, you hadn't exactly been in your right mind. How else would you find the nerve to talk to such a handsome man without immediately dropping to your knees?

And you were pretty sure Suguru wasn't all there either. He'd woven tales about jujutsu sorcerers, depicted them as the apex of evolution, even hinting that you had the potential to be one of them.

Something about ‘cursed energy’ or another. But he didn’t seem all that interested in filling you in on the rest. And you didn’t ask. Why bother when he was providing you a cushy life at the temple?

He treated you differently from the other cult members, always keeping you close. You never missed a service, always stationed right beside him. Silently, you'd watched as he delivered his visions of a new world. You tried to be the attentive follower you were supposed to be, but damn, he looked so good when he monologued. You practically swooned.

And he kept you around his girls, a privilege most other members couldn't even fathom—many didn’t even know they existed. You found yourself cooking for them, gradually forging your own little bond. They warmed up to you quickly, and it didn’t exactly come as a shock when they started seeing you as a mother figure.

This setup couldn’t have been better for Suguru, whose plans for you seemed singularly focused—your confinement.

You appeared so willing, so easygoing, so content under his care. 'Confinement' might sound a bit severe—maybe 'ensured stay' fits better? Whatever you chose to call it, Suguru wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

Just as you saw him as a shining beacon, he saw you as a diamond in the rough—a pretty little thing that happened to stumble into his temple. Desperate for answers, you had long since lost faith in any conventional sanctuary.

So, you found a cult.

A notorious one at that.

He wasn’t sure if you were aware of their more nefarious misdeeds—he was skilled at keeping things under wraps. The money he brought in always came from questionable sources, but you never pried. So he never told.

You meshed nicely with his chosen family, fitting in with everyone and proving quite useful. It felt out of character for him, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of your sweet, motherly image being tainted by the torturous grip of sorcerer politics just didn’t sit right with him.

No—you belonged in his temple. Guided cage ‘n all, well-supported, well-supplied, and nicely kept.

And maybe, when the time was right, he’d formally place his mark on you—maybe with a ring? Or perhaps a few choice bite marks? You always did wear those low-cut pajamas during breakfast, the expanse of your neck tantalizingly on display. You were definitely taunting him, that was for sure. He had plenty of ideas about what to do with you.

“Suguru?”

Your voice, melodic even this early in the morning, managed to grab his attention—even before the coffee had kicked in. His name coming off your lips was sinful.

"Suguru?" You try again. His expression is dazed, distracted. The girls had already left for their tutoring sessions, leaving you alone with the enigmatic man.

Sometimes, you couldn’t quite figure him out. His moods swung wildly—from passive-aggressive and temperamental to overly dramatic. Charming, sure, but definitely a handful. Then there were moments like now, where he sat at the table, calm and stoic, clearly preoccupied with something on his mind.

“Mhm?” He hummed in response, as you set down another serving of eggs and rice. You didn’t know how to phrase the question, and you didn’t know what made you so nervous about asking. You were a human being, so this shouldn’t be an issue, free will ‘n all. “I was thinking of going out today. Did you...did you need me to pick anything up.”

He paused at this, his brow raising inquisitively. "...What would you need to go out for?"

"Ah, well, a bit of this and that," you trailed off, looking away shyly. Truthfully, you wanted to pick up something for him as a way to say thanks, and maybe something for the girls too. Your money had been sitting idle, practically rotting in the bank—and you felt an urge to spoil the only people who seemed to care for you in your life. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Mmm, this and that?” He contemplated, his hand trailing back through his hair. “...Are you....that fed up with us?” You glanced over, hoping to find a teasing smile on his lips—only to meet his eyes downcast, locked onto the table. Melancholic.

You felt your heart ache at his words, you hadn’t meant to upset him. "Ah, no! I, uh—actually just wanted to pick up a few things. Why do you think I'd want away from you guys?" Your voice trailed off, a small laugh attempting to lighten the mood, as you made your own plate. "You’re my family now, after all."

His eyes raked down your back, unbeknownst to you. The situation was far from ideal, but he was determined to keep you content enough not to leave. Perhaps he could even scare you into staying? Your name slipped effortlessly from his lips, a breathy utterance that gripped his chest—selling his concern perfectly.

“I’m worried about you, y'know?”

“Worried? Why?” You continued your setup, your back unsuspectingly facing him.

“If anyone outside of here spots you...well, I’m not exactly a celebrated man in the sorcerer community. They could easily take you the second you step out of this temple. And you’re practically a magnet for those curses—that energy you put off is something else.” His voice trailed off as his mind seemed to drift away, even as you peeked over your shoulder at him.

You weren't completely in the dark about his reputation in the community-the fearful stares from one or two of the followers told you that. You weren't even surprised about his growing concern for you. It was nice, in a way, having someone like him show this level of concern for you.

"Really, it means a lot that you're looking out for me, Suguru. I love that you keep me safe—I do, but I also don't want to just take from you all the time," you say, turning fully to face him, the concern evident in your eyes.

He flashes you a reassuring, warming smile, that makes your chest stutter. "I understand, but you're not just taking. You're a part of this family, a crucial part. It's my responsibility to keep you safe, and I take that seriously," he explains, his tone gentle yet firm. "Maybe, for now, online shopping could be a better option. It'll keep you out of sight from those who might not understand our...situation here. You can still have some independence without the risk. How does that sound?"

It wasn't exaclty a questions and more like a rule he's already set in place. His words hang in the air, wrapped in the guise of caring, yet subtly steering you to remain within the confines of the temple, minimizing your contact with the outside world.

Those next few months settled into a routine, and you never left the temple as per Suguru's 'request'. But during his sermons, you couldn't help but notice a strange man in the congregation—an older dude who couldn't seem to take his eyes off you. It was unsettling, creepy even, and every time you caught his gaze, it made you want to leave the room immediately.

And when you were handing out the pamphlets for the evening, his hand managed to pass along your hand just a little too sensually, causing you to jerk back, as if burned. Your polite smile still remained but you couldn't stop the uneasy turning of your stomach.

You tried your best to ignore it, concentrating instead on the magnetic presence of Suguru, the leader whose charisma had always managed to overshadow any discomfort. Focusing on him, with his intense gaze and compelling sermons, you hoped the creepy feelings triggered by that strange man's stares would simply melt away.

For a time, it seemed to work. The incident faded to the back of your mind, barely a blip on your radar—that is, until Suguru himself brought it up.

It was after dinner, during your usual walk back to your room, a routine that had become a comforting part of your daily life under his watch. As you strolled down the quiet corridor, his voice broke the silence, casual yet probing. “Did you know that man?”

His gaze was stern, pinning you under a scrutiny that seemed to see right through you. You could have played dumb, feigned ignorance, and questioned which man he was referring to. Maybe then he would've let it go, attributing it to his own overprotectiveness. Maybe.

But you didn't like the way that man's eyes had roamed over you, as if he was trying to claim you or imagining what lay beneath your clean robes. Maybe Suguru would do something about it? After all, he often dismissively called his followers 'monkeys,' a clear sign he didn't hold them in high regard. “No, I don’t know him,” you responded, a shiver running through you that Suguru didn't miss. “He’s a bit weird, right? I didn’t think you had followers like that.”

His gaze held yours for a moment longer, pausing you both in the hall. The dim moonlight streaming through a nearby window could have given the scene a nearly romantic quality if not for the concern etched deep within his furrowed brow. “Alright,” he finally said, the word hanging in the air before he turned to continue guiding you back to your room.

That was it. No further questions, no reassurances—just a simple acknowledgment and then moving on. It felt anticlimactic, almost dismissive, and a part of you felt almost offended.

But then again, what had you really expected?

That was what you thought before you saw red.

But it wasn't just the red. It was the heavy, metallic, coppery smell that suddenly choked the air, thick and invasive. The way the splatter violently stained your white robes, soaking into the fabric, marring them beyond recognition. The congealed remnants of what once was a person spread grotesquely across the cold floor, as his lifeless eyes stared back at you. His mouth hung open in a final, silent scream of horror as if he could still hear the words spewing from the priest's mouth.

“Does anyone else have any issues with this?” The question sliced through the tense silence of what seemed like a routine board meeting, discussing the mundane affairs of the company. Suguru's tone was far too light, disturbingly cavalier, given the blood soaking his front, nonchalantly wiping off a stray drop that had dared to mar his gorgeous face. To your surprise, no one objected, their eyes locked on the decapitated head lying before you. You had seen the curse—the one that had been produced and sent by Suguru. And maybe you were the crazy one for feeling a little flustered by his actions—heart fluttering.

Or should they be called reactions? The so-called necessary consequences he deemed necessary for your safety.

“Suguru.” His eyes shifted back to you, almost expecting to find fear. The sight of blood wasn’t for everyone, and he was fully prepared to sic a curse on you should you attempt to flee. But what he was met with was so unexpected—your flushed face, your grip tight on his sleeve, almost like clinging to your own lifeline. That oh-so-adorable look in your eyes, innocently seeking his attention.

This had been a bit of a test, an evaluation to see how you would respond to his more...abrasive nature. And he just couldn't stand the way that 'monkey' had his eyes locked on you, the way his fingers had dared to trail over your sleeve—as if he had the right to touch.

As you reached over to wipe a lingering trace of blood from his cheek, his reaction was swift, instantly, his hand snaps around your wrist. His eyes rake over you, and the disapproval in his gaze makes you feel a wave of self-consciousness wash over you.

"That filthy monkey blood is all over you now," he remarks, his tone dripping with disdain. After a moment's pause, a small smile curls the corners of his mouth. His grip remains firm on your wrist as he guides you over to his seat at the front of the congregation, giving you a thorough once-over before finally releasing you.

Nonchalantly, he shrugs the top of his robes down his shoulders, revealing a chest and abs that are absolutely sculpted to impossible perfection.

You'd always known he was handsome, but this? This was something else. He was not just attractive- he was, without a doubt, ripped. Settling down, he effortlessly pulls you into his lap, facing him. You're up close now, close enough to see the way he gazed so affectionately down at you—your heart racing and skipping several beats in response.

If you were blushing before, now you were certain you must look as bright as a tomato. You avert your gaze, only to find yourself face-to-face with his impeccably sculpted chest. Your hands, you realize, are already on him—likely from when he first pulled you onto his lap.

A smug smirk plays across his lips as he scans the crowd, his gaze predatory and possessive. It's a clear message to everyone present: you were off-limits to anyone but him. Held in his strong arms, you feel almost too soft, so compliant and utterly his, as if you belonged nowhere else but here.

His whisper is just for you, a soft murmur that tickles your ear, “Do you like what you see?” His eyes remain fixed on the crowd behind you, and thank god for that—you're practically melting in his lap. You're at a loss for words, and though under different circumstances you might have shot back a flirty retort, the intensity of the moment leaves you speechless.

His gaze locks with yours again, piercing and intense. He scrutinizes your form once again—flushed and trembling, the ugly stains of blood soaked into your clothes. Your clothes.

His hands begin to undo the lace at the front of your robes. In a panic, you reach up to stop him, embarrassed—not necessarily by his attention, but overwhelmingly by the many eyes watching from behind. "Suguru," you hiss, your voice a whisper thick with embarrassment and a plea for some semblance of privacy or restraint.

But his gaze halts you. It's firm, stern—like a mother scolding her child. Overwhelmed by his intense stare, your resistance melts away. You find yourself clinging to his arms, resting your head against his chest as he peels away the robes stained by the blood, liberating your skin from the filth.

“Did I say you could leave?”

At his words, the shuffling of footsteps behind you to come to an abrupt halt. You can almost sense the veiled fear and shock painting the faces of those behind you, the tension in the air so thick it’s suffocating, uncuttable even with the sharpest blade. As you squirm uncomfortably in his lap, you feel the unmistakable shift of the large bulge beneath you. This fucker was actually turned on by this?

But were you any better? You buried your face even deeper into his chest, inadvertently drawing his smug attention. "What's wrong, princess? You feelin’ shy?" His tone was taunting, so uncharacteristic of him. You'd never heard anything like that from those lips in all the time you'd known him, and that thought alone made you want to bury your face in a pillow and scream.

You nod, barely managing to keep your composure, only to feel his hands, which had been supporting his weight behind him, shift up to your thighs, drawing you even closer. The movement causes your panty-clad pussy to rub against the large snake you were saddled on. You hadn't intended to let out that needy whimper, but the accidental friction against your clit had you digging your nails in tighter.

"Is my sweet girl actually wet?" His tone is laced with mock disbelief. You don’t respond, but that doesn’t deter him, his fingers reaching between your legs, seeking confirmation for himself. You feel this thumb graze that oh so exquisitely sensitive spot, leaving you jolting in his lap, his fat fingers grazing past your clit over to your slick drippy folds.

“Tsk tsk tsk, sweet girl, you’re practically dripping. Are you alright?” His voice drips with obvious mock concern, and the distraction of his thumb pressing back against your button, drawing circles–makes it impossible to form a coherent response.

"You're all worked up—so red. You must've been so upset when that bastard put his hands on you," he murmurs, and your back arches as he picks up the pace, his hand circling your waist to hold you flush against him. His touch is assertive, almost commanding, drawing reactions from you that you'd never gotten from a toy.

"Uh uh, look here," his voice suddenly goes cold, detached. Your eyes snap up to his face, only to find his gaze directed over your shoulder, at the long since forgotten crowd behind you. Oh shit. What were you doing? His next words slice through the thick air, his tone sharp as a knife.

"You monkeys seem to forget your place." The room holds it's breath, and suddenly, you're painfully aware of the many eyes on you, the precarious position you're in—a spectacle for the small crowd. A shudder travels down your spine as his fingers relentlessly continue their exploration. You can't stop the slick trail trailing from you, soaking your underwear further. Your hips buck involuntarily towards his hand, even as his words echo hollowly through the room. "Should I just remind you? None of you should be touching what isn’t yours…"

The word "yours" spins your head, and you shamelessly whimper out. "My naughty girl, do you really enjoy this that much?" His tone is teasing, yet there's an edge of possession that sends another shiver through you. His touch intensifies again, and you tremble beneath him, overwhelmed by his presence.

Pulling away, he finally gives your chest some much-needed attention, slipping the cup of your bra below your rounded tits. His gaze is appreciative as he kneads one into his mouth, sucking greedily. And in an instant you're pinned to the floor beneath him, flat on your back, his bulge still pressing insistently against you.

The shift is swift, his body covering yours, providing the room an unobstructed view of him devouring you. Yet, your focus remains solely on him—his broad shoulders, the smooth expanse of his chest, and the stiff muscles that hint at hours spent perfecting them. Your eyes finally settle on the large bulge that he keeps grinding into you.

And grind he does, his clothed cock taking over the work of his fingers, each motion stripping your throat of the whimpers and whines that spill forth—sounds that surely only spur him on further.

Caught in this intense, consuming moment, you're hyper-aware of every contact, every movement, and every gaze set on you, heightening every sensation as you lose yourself to the rhythm he dictates. He’s a greedy lover, taking every inch he can get before finally pulling himself free from his robes, his cock springing forth—thick and demanding.

His gaze is hungry as he eyes you, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers darkly, "You like putting on a show, don't you? Just look at you, so desperate and dripping for me while they all watch. You’re nothing but a little exhibitionist, aren’t you?"

His words are taunting, debauched, as your pussy clenches, a flush of shame and excitement as he pulls your panties down teasingly slow. Straightening to his full height, he sighs at the sight of your pretty pink folds, completely on display for him. He’d be the one to ruin you, of course. No one else was allowed to touch what was his.

He spits on his length, a heavy sheen as he strokes in long and slow passes over his bulbous head. Your eyes are fixated on the curve, every inch of him on display. His eyes remain fixed on the heave of your chest, his words only for you, "You're completely mine, aren't you? Every shiver, every sigh... I want them all." Before you can answer, he has himself positioned at your entrance, sheathing himself completely inside you, filling your clingy pussy entirely in one fluid motion.

The guttural moan he shares with you is nothing short of primal, as he pulls back and then hammers back into you with a quick, forceful thrusts, your honeyed slickness making it all too easy. The furrow in his brow is ever-present, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that's damn near animalistic. You don't recognize the man filling you so completely.

You reach up to touch him, but one of his meaty hands pins both of yours above your head in a swift, assertive move, his strength incomparable. "Feels so good, princess, so fucking good, aah," his words stutter out, breathlessly, as his hips meet yours again in a relentless, brutal pace.

His cock stretches you perfectly, hitting that sweet spot that always seemed to elude the ex-boyfriends you'd dated. The slaps of his hips meeting your dripping pussy were echoing the room, as your head lolled back you managed to catch sight of a few of the faces of the men watching, and you had half a mind to be embarrassed. You whimpered, trying to hit your face into the crook of your shoulder, only to have his other hand snap onto your chin, his dick continuing the abuse your cervix.

Leaning in close, his breath hot against your ear, he whispers huskily, "C'mon now, don’t play shy." You could hear the grin in his voice, "You aren’t fooling anyone, not with the way this cunt is clenching me—ngh—so fucking—good." His words punctuated by each powerful thrust into your sopping hole, his breathing growing heavier as his fat balls slapped against you. You've never come without your clit being teased before, but you were sure you could squirt all over him from those words and his stretch alone.

"Such a pretty little slut for me," he growled as he drove into you, "lettin’ me stuff you so full." His words came out in low purrs, his hand still firmly clamped on your wrists and chin, ensuring you couldn’t see anyone else but him. "Gonna let me breed you in front of all these pathetic bastards? Show everyone who owns this cunt?" You felt your pussy clamp down tightly on him—earning a sharp hiss from him as he tightened his grip around your neck. You could barely breathe, your vision narrowing as you came hard around his cock, your body stiffening, unable to think straight.

He continued to fuck you stupid, relentless, "You love being my filthy little fuck toy, don't you?" his breath, hot against your ear. "Just a wet hole for me to use, right in front of everyone." You couldn't even make a sound, your head fuzzy and body already sore. "fucking—ngh—gonna breed this pussy full, baby—gonna—mmgh," His voice was ragged as your walls spasmed around him, his hold on your neck like a predator with limp prey, as he let out the loudest moan yet, "gonna cum, gonna—" and with that, he spilled himself deep inside you, his hot seed mixing with your release.

You felt his hips continue to rut against you, his gaze fierce and possessive—a rabid dog with his treat, heaving, refusing to pull out. He unclenched your neck as you gasped in a deep, burning breath of air, lungs finally refilling. The onlookers were the furthest thing from your mind, until you were abruptly brought back to reality by his commanding voice–leaving no room for argument,

"Now get the fuck out of here."

As the command left his lips, the onlookers, still frozen from the raw display they had witnessed, hesitated for a moment before scrambling away. All you heard were retreating footsteps. The room quickly emptied, leaving just the echo of their footsteps and the heavy breathing that filled the space between you and him.

Still inside you, he leaned down, his face inches from yours, his eyes still burning with that possessive intensity. "Look at what you do to me," he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers trailed lazily over your skin, marking paths where his earlier grip had been.

He pushed back into you slowly, coaxing a whimper from your oversensitive body, "Just look at you, all flushed and beautifully wrecked for me. You took me so well," he praised, his tone heavy with satisfaction. His fingers delicately traced the marks his grip had left on your neck, his mark now visibly etched onto your skin.

"You're mine, remember that. Every inch of you, every gasp, everything—it all belongs to me."

come home

159 notes · View notes

onlyseokmins · 2 years ago

Text

fighting • l.s.m.

Pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), boxer!au, kind of e2l Warnings: idrk shit about boxing so i threw in some illegal stuff i suppose fjskdjf, swearing, fighting/sparring/boxing obviously, they're a little mean to each other but down bad and thirsty, mentions of blood/broken bones, marking/bruising, slapping, hand job, nasty oral (male receiving - you're welcome deekay), kissing eheh, humiliation kink... look - seokmin's cocky but melts for reader WC: 4k A/N: spur of the moment collab (enforcer of evilness): in your corner by @onlymingyus can't believe she encourages me like this 😭 ❤️ side note: seokmin is wayyyy too pretty to be a boxer imho haha anyways, my fingers slipped and i'm a lil nervous abt this one but i hope you enjoy it hehe

"Lee Seokmin!"

Your shout echoes menacingly in the almost empty training gym. A straggler who had been spending a little too long looking at their phone by the exit doors quickly scurries out as the vengeful air that surrounds you luckily heads in the opposite direction.

The man in question — whose name is bitter upon your tongue — looks up as you approach. Your stride is purposeful, not faltering even as his dark brown eyes remain steadily trained on you all the way up to pausing in front of him. Putting one hand on your hip and the other on the punching bag that he is very much not using like it's supposed to be.

"Strange how only you and my family will be the ones to know me by that."

"Yes, what do they call you? DK, Lee Dokyeom, the Black Jaguar… a man whose uppercut to his opponents is as sharp as his jawline."

He dares to show off that very same feature with long fingers tilting up his chin smugly and a smirk on his face. "Someone's been reading up on me."

"It's my responsibility to make sure you have good publicity. Which will all go right down the drain if this is how you act after one win. Your first win. And the only you'll ever have again."

"Harsh, Coach. Finally paying attention just to scold me, breaks my heart!" Seokmin says it with light ease though, the megawatt smile that's gaining popularity brightening at your dark scowl that just makes you look cuter to him.

Which in theory, is dangerous. You're not someone to be messed with. There's a reason you're his trainer. A strong purpose as to why you don't fight in the ring anymore and choose to stay on the sidelines. Behind the scenes. Giving young and raw talent the tools they need to dominate the matches under your strict tutelage.

"Don't worry, I was paying great attention when you sparred with Jace."

"Yeah? And?"

"Just 'cause you ran with the big dogs for a little bit and won means nothing. You're no alpha and this isn't a playground. It's — "

" — a battleground. Your battleground. Where everything begins and the only reputation on the line that matters is yours. I know, you've said it over and over — "

"Then why are you just throwing this bag around like it's a child on a swing?" The glare after getting a familiar lecture repeated back to you is directed to survey his body. Upper body muscles clearly visible through the unnecessarily large arm holes of a gray muscle tee. Lean legs shown off by black shorts had every other person in the gym side-eyeing out of jealousy. "You're going to lose everything you've worked so hard to gain."

"Worried 'bout me?"

"Yes. Your footwork was horrible, which isn't like you. Something's up."

"Indeed."

"What?"

A large hand thumps against the heavy bag just a bit above yours. Auburn bangs threaten to tickle your forehead when he leans on the back of his palm to get close. Very close. Probably too close. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Not really," you admit, never one to back down or away and meet his cocky stare straight-on, "but if I'm to keep my star fighter up to standard, there are things that need to be done." Tilting your head toward the right, you narrow your eyes. "Get on the mat."

The minute he steps back to obey, you're free to turn and head there yourself. Seokmin lags a step behind. Unusual, but his whole entire behavior has been more than strange today so you ignore it. Luckily also missing the discreet way his gaze skims your body from behind and licks his lips.

"Don't treat this like a therapy session," you instruct once he's in position across from you. "We'll do a couple of drills and you can share what's on your mind. I'll kindly listen."

"How sweet."

"Don't patronize me."

"Isn't that what you're doing to me?"

"I'm helping like I always do. On the balls of your feet — good, now you know this one."

"You try to hit my legs, I avoid and dodge, and vice versa."

A scoff escapes your lips. "Trying to hit you? Please. Whatever, keep your heels up!"

Seokmin lunges forward, aiming for your bare inner thigh. You're quicker though. Eagle-eyed and experienced. Also used to his movements after observing him tirelessly for months. He always aims for what he wants first. You dodge before he can even get close enough and dart behind his figure. Pleased when he side steps away from the hand going for the back of his calf and spins around to face you again.

"Nice. Why didn't you do that earlier?"

"Sparring with Jace is boring."

"So you're just going to give up."

"Sure, if it gives me the chance to spar with you instead." He attempts for your knee this time and you pick it up at the right second to spring out of reach with the power of your other foot. "I learn more and do better."

"That's the nature of the game but you're doing a good deed by helping train and encourage some of the newbies in my place. They admire you."

Rolling his eyes and ducking away from your next strike, he spits out, "Not as much as they worship you."

"Hah, you wanna be worshiped, Seokmin? Then do better. Even the most mundane fights keep you active and on your guard. Complacency is a fool's move, a complete loss, and an admission of pathetic defeat."

"How am I supposed to improve when you won't pay attention to me anymore?"

You block the hand that shoots out way too high above your waist. Irritation gnaws at your gut the same time as you bite your lip, taking a moment to adjust your sports bra before deciding the next move. Elastic snaps against your skin and he gulps. "Hands below the belt, Lee!"

"Sorry, Coach."

"No, you're not! Your head isn't staying in the ring. Why? Because I only spend two hours Monday, Wednesday, and Friday training you rather than five every day like before? My apologies for dedicating so little of my already busy time to you."

"That's not what… I thought we had something okay!"

He suddenly stops moving and you end up delivering a much harsher slap than intended where he had aimed at you originally — the inner side of his thigh. Seokmin grunts and you seethe, straightening to your full height. "Honestly, is this a joke to you?"

"No, I — "

"It's not that I don't think you wouldn't have gotten anywhere because your talent is obvious. But you got there a lot faster because I saw what no one else did at the time." You dig a pointer finger accusingly into his chest. "And you're throwing it all away, spitting in everyone's face that supported you for such a petty reason? You and I both know you should've been able to avoid that slap!"

And for the first instance since you'd met him all that time ago at the street fights, Seokmin gets angry. Even when he was betrayed and abandoned in the dangerous underground boxing rings by people he considered friends, after losing round after round repetitively because he was initially too afraid to hurt others in order to survive, mocked and jeered while being cheated out of what should have been his first win a month ago — he simply smiled and moved on.

But now his face hardens, the gentle light snuffed out in his eyes, lips curled downwards, and eyebrows furrowed. He takes a menacing step toward you with fists clenched. And as expected, you don't even flinch.

"Petty? Hah, you accuse me of being petty when this is the first time we've actually had a chance to talk 'cause you've avoided me ever since that ring girl kissed me!"

Heat burns in your cheek. Anger or shame, you're not quite sure. "So?"

"So tell me. Talk to me. Goddammit, even fight me!"

"You wanna fight, Seok?" you growl, "and then what?"

"Winner gets a wish granted."

"How cliché. Arms up, then!" Yours raise to match his stance, eyeing the veins that ripple with tension across his forearms. "Anything's fair game?"

"Anything is fair game."

"Then you'd better be ready to fight for your life."

There's a certain thrill to sparring with him. He's right. Jace is boring. Seokmin isn't just some kid that wanted to pick up boxing as a hobby. This man entered the ring because everything rides on him winning. Succeeding. Excelling.

And he's threatening to throw it away like it doesn't matter. Give away everything he'd put blood, sweat, and tears into. What you and his loved ones had sacrificed for his growth. Why? Because of you? Because of feelings? Believing in something so wholesome amidst this crummy world? Your blood boils, fierce glare set as his rather mean smile gets even crueler.

"Talk with your fists," you had once informed him during a training session. Ever since, you'd dutifully read every one of his punches, getting a clearer intent of the message he's sending with each swing. Encouraging aggression. Gaining control. Demanding respect. Elevating his status. Shooting for the top. The best of the best.

Now, you can only see hot red annoyance. All of it aimed at you. It's reflected back right back though. Adrenaline surges through your veins, easily blocking the jabs, hooks, and cross punches he throws and parrying them back with solid hits. Hits that land hard. A sharp kick to his shin has him stumbling back against the heavy ropes of the ring with a curse and hitting them out of frustration.

"Done already?"

"As if."

A pleased sneer lifts your lips upwards. Seokmin probably thinks you're goading him further, and even though you aren't intending to, it works. His movements gain momentum, striking at you harder. But they also get sloppier.

You frown. "Sometimes I just want to… "

"Punch me in the face?" He dodges the strike to his shoulder and returns with one to your ribs that's too easy to evade. "Haven't you done that enough to satisfy yourself?"

"Hardly. Now stop leaving yourself open!"

A roundhouse kick doesn't even come near his face and he knows it won't, letting it whack his shoulder. After a couple of rounds of bruising his cheeks in the early days of training, you never did it again. Not when he'd arrived at your doorstep one night — absolutely beaten bloody during a vicious scuffle. You'd nursed his wounds while berating him with well-intentioned advice on how to not let that happen ever again.

You might've also let slip that he's too pretty for his face to get messed up. Must've gone to his head a little.

Here's the thing. You're the undisputed, reigning champion of the boxing world. Both professional and underground. Even the so-called king of the illegal matches acknowledges your prowess. It's inevitable for someone who was the fastest to stake their name on the brilliant TV screen and scribbled on loaded betting cards.

Seokmin knows he can't beat you. Ever. But you actually have more faith in him, satisfied when he manages to catch your fist in his hand. Rules don't exist when you two spar. Familiar with underhanded techniques, he uses them to his advantage. Still holding onto your fist, he takes your feet out from under you with a side sweep to your ankles and throws you to the ground.

You're pinned beneath him, all his weight holding you down. Trapping your arms behind your back with one hand and the other slamming against the mat near your head. You feel his hot breath brush your ear as he whispers with an edge to his voice, "Done now?"

Rather than respond, you relax your muscles. Lulling him into a false sense of security. The minute you feel him release some of the pressure, you're kicking his thighs back and rolling over before his body weight can crush you again. Maneuvering your core as you push against his unbalanced shoulder and scramble on top of him. Knee to his chest, forearm against his throat, and free hand securing his wrists.

"As if."

He sighs. "I could never beat you anyways."

"Not exactly true. If I was simply pro, you would certainly have the upper hand."

"But you're aware I could never hurt you so what do you want? Me to leave you alone?"

You study his features in silence. It's unnerving enough for Seokmin to want to divert his eyes. But where? He blinks rapidly instead and your eyes are drawn to where his tongue peeks out to nervously moisten his lips. His wrists twitch when your grip turns lax and he unintentionally slips out of it to intertwine his fingers with yours.

"I've been in that very position far too many times that it's as easy as breathing to get out of. I can teach you the technique."

"Well, I'll definitely be feeling it in the morning."

"Are you hurt badly?" you reposition your lower body to straddle him, feeling at his sides. "Where?"

"Don't worry 'bout it, what's your wish?"

You mull it over. Tonguing at your cheek and hands stilling to play with the threads hanging from the bottom of his shirt's armholes. "Normally, winners get a congratulatory kiss."

"Do you say that to all the guys you body slam to the floor?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Seokmin leans up on his forearms so his nose brushes yours. "Yeah."

The words, "Maybe just you," are interrupted by a gasp that's swallowed by his mouth when it slams against yours. It's a ferocious kiss that brings his head back down on the mat, cushioned by your arms as your body follows.

Electrifying. The same surge of energy that fills you when fighting him but in a much different manner. Thrillingly.

When you lean back, biting his bottom lip as you go, he groans. Fingers splayed against the bare skin of your back prevent you from moving too far and you have no choice but to feel the hardness stirring within his gym shorts.

"You know that kiss… that kiss meant nothing."

"The one with Aeyong?"

"Was that her name? And of course, most certainly you didn't mean ours." He pulls you back down to mold his lips to yours again. "Or that one." Placing a smooch on your nose. "Or that one!"

It takes everything within you to not giggle at his silliness. But nothing can stop the tender smile gracing your lips as you cup his chin, angling his head this and that way to cover his face in kisses, especially where you recall landing a blow to.

Seokmin has no trouble hiding his giddiness, happy chuckles turning to pleasured sighs when you start nibbling on his earlobe. "I hope you know these kisses though… they mean everything."

He's spent far too long denying his attraction to you that it's impossible to hold back now. You answer him with another kiss so he can feel your returned smile against his lips, threading fingers through his hair. Then you're yanking at the silky strands so his neck is exposed and the moan he lets out has your cunt automatically clenching while you suck a bruise to darken his skin.

"Want to cash in my wish now."

It takes a few moments for him to blink back to reality and register what you said. "Didn't you already?"

"Kisses are obligatory, not what I wished for." You choose to swivel your hips, slow and methodical, down against his. "You would deny me?"

"N-no, 'course not. What… do you want?"

"To suck you off."

"… Really?"

You're already sliding down his body and playing with the band of his shorts when you hum in confirmation. Tugging them down the second his hips lift instinctively, cock almost slapping you in the cheek when you do. You don't complain, simply wrapping a hand around its thick and heavy girth to steady it. Rough calluses from years of fighting rub pleasurably at the gentle foreskin.

"So pretty," you murmur. Of course, it would be as lovely as he is — red and leaking to match flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. "Too pretty for such a dirty boy who likes getting his dick sucked for anyone to see." When it twitches in your grip, you grin wickedly. "Always knew you had a thing for humiliation."

"Says the one who enjoys destroying and taunting me. Think I didn't notice how you squeeze your thighs together after giving me shit on my form?"

"You're cute. When you get all huffy," you make another mark on the inside of his thigh, licking at the sting smarting right below his mole, "it makes me want to ruin you more."

"Gonna be the death of me."

"Did you think I hadn't noticed you checking me out, Seok?"

"Was hoping you wouldn't."

"Silly," you deliver a light slap to the thigh you hadn't hit earlier and he tries to hide a whine despite his legs betraying him with telltale tremors, "and cute."

You and everyone else that comes to your gym are able to wear skimpy clothing that allows for easier movement simply because any perverts trying to touch or get a sneaky peek are swiftly kicked (out). But you enjoyed Seokmin's eyes on you and you know he enjoyed yours on him as well. So you let it be. Maybe all for this moment.

Covering the muscular ridges of his thighs in bite marks, hickeys, and shiny saliva trails while he begs for more of them, whimpering out an admission of, "Show everyone I'm yours so not a single ring girl even thinks to kiss me."

"I quite like that idea." You sincerely do though you probably like the blemishes left on his honey golden skin even more. "But you have to win again for one of them to consider it."

"I'll win."

"Yeah? Promise?"

"Pr-promise," he stutters out as you creep higher and higher to nuzzle at his heavy balls. Licking in between them teasingly before your tongue traces the prominent vein running along the underside of his cock, all the way up to the tip. "Win 'em all in your favor."

You hesitate briefly then stick your fingers inside tight spandex shorts and past your tiny thong to lather them in the wetness pooling from your pussy that's threatening to seep through and ruin the layers of fabric. Retracting before you're tempted to finger yourself right then and there, you reach for Seokmin only to jolt when he tugs at your wrist and puts them in his mouth, moaning greedily.

His tongue swirls around each finger, cleaning them of your essence thoroughly, and coating them with his spit instead. He wiggles his eyebrows as you watch — flabbergasted — and releases them with a pop once satisfied.

"I hope you weren't planning on doing that right in front of me without at least letting me have a taste."

You fix him with a serious stare. "You're going to have to train harder than anything and prove to me that you won for yourself. Not me, not anyone else. All for you."

"And then what?"

"Maybe I'll let you fuck me."

He wants to complain for various reasons but you don't give him time to think, wrapping your slick hand around his now slicker cock. Rubbing your thumb across the slit of its tip and spreading the excess of precum up and down his shaft, your mouth replaces your hands that choose to press down on his thighs and prevent him from thrusting up.

There's nothing to grip or grab at out here in the open on the boxing ring mat with anyone able to walk in on the two of you making a different kind of sweaty mess upon it despite how unlikely that happening is. You find that you don't even care — it might even excite you — empty cunt getting spongier and wetter, already addicted to Seokmin's salty taste. Noticing how his fingernails dig into the canvas, you guide them on top of your head. Giving him permission to set the pace if he so chooses to.

And he does. Alternating between slow bobs that let you kitten lick and pay attention to every single inch of his long cock versus harsh, fast up and down motions where you happily gag around his length. Whimpering and soft moans, breathless praises that make no sense as he listens to your pretty noises.

"Always wanted… like this. Imagined you getting on your knees… every time… you pushed me harder."

It's funny. Seokmin almost had his nose broken during a match yet he hadn't winced a single bit while you fussed over him and gave the opponent a tongue-lashing lecture because of the illegal fake-out move he'd conducted. Maybe if it had been a fight in the dungeons you'd let it go but on the professional mat that led to your star spilling blood — vengeance was your middle name.

But now with your mouth on him, he's significantly weaker, vulnerable, and soft — so hard yet so soft. And no matter how strong you want him to be to succeed, maybe the sick part of you really likes how you alone can reduce him to a state like this.

"Always been you, no one else." His sincere tone is slurred with lust, simultaneously trying to hurtle towards that sweet climax but also delay it as much as possible. Afraid for the moment to end but longing for release. "My anchor."

And he treats you like one, holding your head down firmly. Nose pressing into his pelvis as he gives into the rush of endorphins. Your throat constricts and swallows around his length that throbs and spurts an endless load of cum.

When he lets you go, you gulp the extra remnants left on your tongue and wipe your lips. Grateful and proud of having one less thing to clean up. Seokmin squints at you, panting wildly as you politely tuck his softening cock back into his shorts and stand up.

"Wh-what… what about you?" He won't lie and say he's not a bit hopeful you're going to sit on his face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Of course not," you rasp, cracking your jaw and neck as a point. Then you stick out your hand, a familiar indication that you'll help him up. "Let me show you how to do that move."

He blinks and cocks his head. "I don't mind being under you. But I was thinking… in a different way?"

"You just were underneath me."

"C'mon Coach, you know what I mean!"

"How about this — we wait for your dick to get hard while you learn this move. But you have to promise I'll be able to walk tomorrow. And no marks. Now, on your knees."

"That's not fair!" Seokmin pouts and refuses to budge. "You underestimate me and won't let me be possessive. I wasn't lying when I said they worship you. Jace is so into you it's annoying."

You laugh. "So that's why you think he's boring. I'm surprised you didn't beat his ass then."

"That's too easy," he smirks, "it wouldn't just end with that so I'd rather spend my energy getting your undivided attention. I know how you like to dote more on the injured rather than the victor."

The need to admit that you only do it for him is strong but the urge to roll your eyes is stronger. But he knows what you're thinking. Just like everything. You might be able to read his fists like an expert but he can read your innermost thoughts better than you can imagine.

"Fine, master this move in ten minutes and I'll let you eat me out in the office."

Seokmin has never gotten down on his hands and knees faster and he looks so good doing it, you might have to save that for future ideas in the bedroom later. After he proves himself first, of course.

Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

onlyseokmins: February 2023 ©

Taglist: Taglist: @joshibambi @junhui-recs @pandorashbox @rubyscoups @woozluv @darlingvernon @charcharfairy @httpswonwoosglasses @yeosayang @buffhoshi @horanghae8star @noraehey @misssugarlips @tinkerbell460 @aceofvernons @dejavernon

#ez.creates #svthub #dk smut #lee dokyeom smut #dokyeom smut #lee seokmin smut #seokmin smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #smut #svt.smut

885 notes · View notes

galaxy-fleur · 3 months ago

Note

What did you think of Leon and Ada's new relationship in the remakes? Meta wise

I think it's an interesting and more nuanced take on their relationship! Which I definitely like. I see no point in judging OG RE2's love story between them, no matter how cliché and nonsensical it is. It's a product of its time, and it's charming in its own cheesy way. Teenage me cried over Ada's death in there, so I do have a soft spot for it.

But the Remakes offer a fresh interpretation of what happened between them, and I'm definitely interested to see where they will take their relationship in the future (that is if they do, because I wouldn't mind them just having separate story arcs from now on).

If we're talking actual analysis, I'll put down my thoughts. I don't know if you can call it a full-on analysis per se, as it's more just me writing out my personal interpretations on things. So keep that in mind please!

Long post under the cut. I'm talking almost 4k words and way too many shitty gifs (I have no time to make them all polished). I have way too much to say. I'll basically be going over their entire relationship throughout RE2R and RE4R so... yeah.

RE2R and RE4R are two games that offer a full story for Leon's character, and that's a very awesome thing that Capcom has done. I'd even say it's one of the best things they've done with RE recently. Making RE4R feel like a direct continuation to Leon's arc in RE2R makes total sense, and it makes many scenes in RE4R that much more satisfying to play through.

While RE2R does end on a somewhat positive note (much like every RE game has to), Leon's arc in it is very much negative. He loses more than he gains, he's unable to save anyone, and his good intentions end up being used against him. Claire ends her RE2R story by saving a little girl she has come to care for. Leon ends his RE2R story by losing the G-sample, 'losing' Ada without getting much, if any, closure from her, and not saving even a single person he has encountered. Claire and Sherry don't really count in Remake-verse (which I kinda don't like) because their storylines mostly happened separately from each other.

And that's not mentioning that he gets (assumedly, and I am very much hoping we'll finally see more concrete scenes of how it all happened in Remake-verse) pretty much kidnapped and forced into a life he never wanted right after. To say that Leon can't get a break in RE2R is like saying nothing at all. Poor guy gets put through the wringer on every level.

Now, onto his relationship with Ada, and how it ties into everything... It should be said that, while he obviously grows to care about her throughout their short time spent together, he remains suspicious of her. RE2R Leon is naive, but I often feel like people make him too naive. He's not an idiot. He tries over and over again to get answers from her, and he clearly feels apprehensive with her. And I mean... that makes sense. While she does save him multiple times, she keeps her distance from him.

I'd say he starts opening up to her on an emotional level after witnessing Robert having to kill off his own daughter. He directly confronts her, demanding for answers and voicing his drive to do what's right. In a way, that's him showing his vulnerability to her. And Ada uses it against him. After all, it's a perfect opportunity to play on his (rather naive) determination to be the hero to help her achieve her own goals. Ada is also the only figure of 'authority' he has at the moment. Even if her claim of being FBI seems kinda off, she's the only one he has.

And I'll go over Ada and how I interpret her later. For now, just keep in mind that her using Leon is more of a gray area than just some horrible, disgusting thing. I'm just going over the events from Leon's viewpoint here.

So, they team up. Ada starts softening up to him. They share light banter with each other: 'A: After you. L: Gee, thanks.' She expresses concern over his safety (the alligator scene). I'd say that's the point where he starts to care for her on a more personal level from before. As you would.

Him taking a bullet for her was instinctual. I'd say it's a more pivotal moment for Ada's character here rather than Leon's. In Leon's case it's moreso her taking care of him right after that matters. He directly mentions it to her later on (at least I'm pretty sure his 'you protected me' referred to that). I'd say him waking up to find himself tucked in with her coat and his wound taken care of was the moment his 'I care because it's another person who's in this with me' turned into 'I care because I feel genuine attachment to this person'.

Was it romantic? I'd say that's left for you to interpret how you wish. I like to think of it as him just caring for her as a person. Leon is someone who cares very deeply for others, and he's always striving to be the protector to those around him. I kind of think that someone caring for him when he's weak and vulnerable is something that is very meaningful to him. Now, Ada saves him multiple times at that point. But that's the first instance of her arguably going beyond what's needed. Sure, taking care of his wound was necessary, although she could have just let him be as he was for all we know. But tucking him in on top of that? Yeah, that's an obvious 'I care' gesture.

From then on, Leon is following Ada because he wants to trust her. And I do want to ring this home. He wants to trust her. Doesn't mean he does trust her. Because even though he shows genuine care for her, it's clear that he knows she's might not be telling him everything.

He wants her to trust him, so that she'll tell him what she is keeping from him. So that he can trust her.

The kiss scene is a perfect representation of exactly that, I'd say. Honestly, I'll just link this analysis right here, because I pretty much interpret it in almost the exact same way. But I'll go over it in my own words as well.

Leon's growing frustration is in full display here. He turns around from her, he paces, he tries to appeal to her. To just trust him enough to be honest with him. It's clear that he knows Ada might not be telling everything, but he chooses to believe her regardless.

Hence the exchange that follows this:

Ada: 'Hey Leon, trust me?'

Leon, walking up to her: 'Trust me?' (Reversing her question)

Ada: 'Honestly, if I didn't, you'd probably be dead.' (A genuine answer as far as we know, but it's not one Leon wanted to hear, so he shakes his head, mutters 'Right.' and walks off.)

And I do feel like Ada knows that Leon is suspicious of her here. Her reaction once he walks off comes off as kind of panicky to me. She knows she might be losing him, and she can't have that. So, she once again appeals to what she knows is his weak spot. His drive to help others and 'save' the city. It does work. Somewhat. But he's still swaying, so she does the first thing she thinks of. She kisses him.

She, quite literally, cuts off his line of thought so he stops thinking about it. Because him thinking is dangerous for what she's really doing here.

I think it would be very disingenuous to say that that was a kiss of love or affection. It is not presented as such, nor is it addressed that way in all. It was Ada's last attempt at stopping Leon from questioning her any further. How much of it was her focusing on her goals, and how much of it was her effort to 'protect' him from potentially figuring out the truth, is left to your interpretation. But whatever intentions she had, good or bad, it was a kiss of manipulation.

It does shut Leon up, as he's visibly stunned. He doesn't even say anything at that. He just stares at her, then at her hand on his knee. Now, here's the tricky part of it all. Do I think Leon felt romantic affection/attraction to her here? On some level, I'd say yes. But it's definitely no 'love at first kiss' or anything like that. He's confused, mostly. While he spent arguably little time with Ada, it was a time full of meaning. Surviving side by side and protecting one another is no small feat. And Ada did show her care for him.

I think, he chooses to trust her in that moment, because he, once again, wants to believe in her. Even if her kiss felt out of nowhere, and so much of what she says (or rather doesn't say) makes no sense. He chooses to trust her because he wants to think that she's a good person who cares for him.

And so, we come to the pivotal bridge scene once he learns the truth. I do like how he confronts her in a blatantly emotional manner rather than logical. It's not so much about her being a mercenary itself, as it is about her using him and lying to him. That's what he's actually confronting her about, whether he realizes it or not. That's exactly why he tells her to shoot him, fully resolute as he holds her gaze. He wouldn't do that if he was just trying to apprehend a criminal like a good cop would (as he tries to present it at first).

But, he never gets that closure or resolution he was aiming for. Ada lowers her pistol. He breaths out shakily, probably wanting to continue talking, to figure this out. But he doesn't get that.

I do think Ada telling him to take care of himself as her 'last words' is a very painful thing for him. Because it leaves him with no actual closure on what happened between them. Ada chose to not harm him, and her last words to him are ones of selflessness. But she also lied to him and used his vulnerabilities to achieve her goals. And it's not like Leon knows anything about her occupation, and just how much she's involved with it on an emotional level. Maybe she's someone forced to do this against her will. Or maybe she enjoys doing such dirty jobs for all he knows.

That's the thing. Leon doesn't know. And that must be both frustrating and painful. He's basically left questioning all of his interactions with her, how much of it was genuine, whether she was honest with him at all.

And, most importantly, his time with Ada basically proves to him that his drive to protect and save, his willingness to give people the benefit of the doubt - is a flaw, and a weakness. It directly ties into his arc in RE4R. (And his relationship with Krauser, in a way, but I won't go over it here.)

He throws away her bracelet on the train, and I think that kind of shows that he chooses to believe in the pessimistic way of interpreting their time together. He throws it away because he doesn't want to hold on to something that reminds him of her. And, simultaneously, of his mistakes.

Now, let's go through the same events from Ada's POV, shall we? It's a bit more challenging, since we don't get to be in her shoes, but it's still a fun exercise.

Ada's initial interactions with Leon are ones of annoyance. She basically scolds him like a kid for always getting in danger and acts like saving him is a chore. But chooses to help him out regardless. I think it speaks of her humanity despite her line of work. It's an interesting dichotomy that follows her every single appearance pretty much, though not much is done with it (thanks Capcom). But yeah, despite her visible annoyance with him, she saves him time and time again.

She doesn't visibly soften up to him up until that same Robert scene. She's pretty observant from what we can tell, and she probably already had a good idea of Leon's righteous nature, but it's the first instance of her actively playing into it instead of making small snide comments about it ('Trying to save the world?' 'Good luck with that.'). That doesn't mean she doesn't care, though. It's subtle, but the little sighs and changes in her facial expression do show that she's at least a little bit conflicted at the prospect of lying to him on such a huge level (though you can't see most of it with her sunglasses).

It's one thing to say a passing lie about you being an FBI agent, and it's completely another to play the long game by using someone like that. But she needs to accomplish this task, and it already proved to be more difficult than she expected. Remember, Racoon City was Ada's first time dealing with anything of this sort, too. She might be a mercenary, but it's not like she had to deal with zombies and B.O.W's before that. She's out of her depth, and she has someone pretty much offering themselves to her as her assistance.

So, she takes the risk.

While she does join in some passing banter with Leon after that, she still keeps her distance. She's dry and mostly unemotional in her mannerisms. Remember how I said that Leon taking the bullet for her was more pivotal to her in the story? Let's go over that.

It would be disingenuous to say that Ada is a complex character, unfortunately. Most of the complexity she does have, we pretty much have to add on to ourselves. Hell, I'm doing it right now with this entire section! Capcom is doing a way better job with her in the Remakes, but she's still pretty flat as a character. Maybe this'll (hopefully) change in future installments. But for now, we work with what we have.

Either way, we do know that Ada is someone who's self-sufficient and chooses to work alone. She keeps her distance from everyone, and she lives by 'everyone for themselves' ideology. Basically, a total opposite of Leon's 'protector' role. All that to say... someone taking a bullet for her is definitely not something she would expect. On some level, specifically because she would never do that herself. Especially for someone she basically just met. But Leon risks his life for her. Furthermore, telling her to go ahead instead of anything else.

I think that's the moment Ada starts caring for him on a personal level. Maybe she feels like she should repay him for this. Or that she owes him a debt. Regardless, she takes care of him and tucks him in, before proceeding further.

That care only grows once they reunite. Now she's the one injured, and he takes care of her, despite her protests: 'I can do it myself'. Ada is self-sufficient, but Leon offers her his companionship time and time again. We don't know whether that's something she lacks in her life or not. We don't know enough of her as a character to say that. But she's obviously someone who's not used to getting help from others. Again, on some level, because she doesn't do that herself.

Remember, while Ada did save Leon numerous times before, she always acted visibly frustrated by it, like it was a chore she was forced into, despite her choosing to help him herself. Leon, on the other hand, is quick to offer and insist on helping out, very much eager to do that for her. She already made the choice to use him, but now she learns that he's a genuinely good person with a kind heart, and not just some stupid naive rookie.

And so, the kiss scene, again. I already said that her kiss feels like a last-ditch effort to stop Leon from questioning her any further. And I do think she acted on impulse. Thus why she follows up with a hand on his knee and the: 'I'm counting on you'. And I, personally, think she kind of regretted doing that right after. Or maybe felt extra conflicted about the whole ordeal as a whole. The way she slouches and sighs heavily once Leon leaves is very reminiscent of that. It's kind of a mix of 'Fuck, I messed that up, didn't I?' and 'What the hell am I going to do after this?'

It also should be noted that Ada never meant to tell Leon the truth. It would be convenient for both of them. Leon would feel like he did something good, and she would complete her mission with no further issues. Both sides win. But... things go haywire. And she's confronted with the consequences of her initial choice to use him.

It'll be silly to say that Ada doesn't care for Leon. If she truly was this heartless mercenary some would like her to be, she would shoot him on the spot. Her pistol being empty doesn't really matter, either. Leon was basically offering himself up to her, again. Even without any bullets on her hands, she could have easily knocked him out or something.

But, she can't bring herself to hurt him. Because Leon really is a good person that doesn't deserve that. And she knows that, and she cares for him on a personal level on top of it all. We don't know what she was going to do, before Annette shot her. Maybe I'm actually talking out of ass here, and she really was planning on knocking Leon out cold. But, we'll never truly know.

And her last words for him are to take care of himself. Because, in a way, Ada, more than anyone, knows just how selfless Leon is. On some level, it's a wordless 'I'm sorry', if you wish to interpret it that way.

Boy, was that a lengthy mess! Their first introduction to each sure was tumultuous. But we still have RE4R to go through! Though it'll be more about Ada than Leon.

Nevertheless, let's talk about Leon's interactions with Ada. I think we all know he's noticeably harsher and colder to her. It's an interesting change, and it does show that he feels resentment towards her for what happened in Racoon City. We don't know how his initial conflicted feelings morphed into this resentment, but they did.

I don't think nearly enough people mention that he's genuinely being very damn rough with her in their little sparring session. While yeah, you could make an argument that he's holding back, he's not being careful either. Ada has to put in actual effort to fight him off, which she doesn't even succeed in because he takes her off-guard with his intensity.

And he also puts the sharp end of his dagger to her throat. Just to rub more salt into the wound.

I don't think this was him wanting to hurt her or threaten her, though. It was more of a show of strength. Ada approaches him by taunting him and teasing him, like she can do whatever she wants to him. But he's not that same naive rookie anymore. And he shows her exactly that.

A kind of: 'Don't think you can play the same trick on me twice, or you might get burned' message. A message that I think Ada does get.

As for him smirking at her, I don't think that's him being 'happy' to see her or anything. I think that's just him being amused that she still thinks she can play him like that. He grows all cold and distant with her right after.

Leon obviously has a grudge that he hasn't let go of. I actually like how he's almost needlessly petty with her in RE4R. Making snide remarks, calling her heartless and dismissing her on numerous occasions. It shows that he does care. If he didn't, he would cooperate with her with no further complaints on his part. He's purposefully being cold to her to show that yes, he is still upset about what happened, and he will use every opportunity to demonstrate exactly that. It's petty and kind of childish, in a way. But it makes sense for him, and it adds extra flavor to their relationship at this point in time.

Though, he does offer an opening to her in the boat.

'Have you changed, Ada? Or are you trying to use me again?'

It's a good parallel to his: 'Trust me?' In RE2R, and both phrases are used for a similar purpose.

He gives Ada an opening to trust him and be open with him. One that she doesn't take, again: 'What do you think?'

She gives him no answer. Just like she didn't in RE2R. I think, in a way, that kind of gives Leon an answer by itself. He trusts Ada and relies on her when push comes to shove, but he doesn't give her any more openings from then on. I'd say that's his 'I think we both know this is where we go our separate ways' moment.

With Ada, things are way more complicated, in a good way. Separate Ways gave us so much to work with, and that's amazing.

Throughout Separate Ways, we see Ada bouncing back-and-forth on what she wants to do. She's initially very cold and resolute in her job, helping Leon out more like a passing convenience than anything else. She does still help him, though. She's still dealing with the dichotomy of what she presents herself as, and what she actually acts as.

I really like her confrontation with Luis in particular. She's cutthroat and blunt. Almost chillingly so. And she only relents once Luis mentions her own infection. Him telling her of Leon's infection has little effect.

'And why does that matter to me?'

I think that's a question she's asking herself just as much as Luis here. Though, she's still in her cold, self-sufficient mercenary role here. To be honest, I find her relationship with Luis in particular much more interesting in RE4R, but since we're talking about her and Leon here, I'll just say that Luis is the catalyst to her change (so to speak, Ada doesn't really change as a character per se, I'll elaborate on that later). Not Leon.

She confronts Leon face-to-face, quickly being met with the truth that he is not as easy for her to push around now. And I do think she has zero bad intentions there. She was genuinely just playing around and teasing him. Only to figure out that that approach won't work at all. It's kinda cute, honestly. So, she gives him an opening of her own instead. She tells him to leave Ashley, to prioritize his own safety over hers. Because that's what she would have done in his place. Leon is quick to shut that down. Something that Ada probably expected, as she just huffs and gives a knowing 'Right.' to that.

That's the moment Ada knows Leon hasn't changed. Not really. He might be colder, more ruthless and dangerous, but he's still that same guy, wanting to protect others, no matter what. She knows she'll have no success in swaying him at that point. Hence why she tells him exactly that on the boat later.

The next pivotal scene, I'd say, is her watching Ashley wake up and learn of Luis' death. Ada mostly treats Ashley like a nuisance, something Leon has to protect. Because that's his job. But in that moment, she sees the genuine connection they share with each other. She sees that Leon cares. And not just because Ashley is an innocent person he has to save, but because it's Ashley.

Ada's arc throughout Separate Ways is not that connected to Leon, which is a good thing. Similarly to Leon concluding his story from RE2R by saving Ashley and proving to himself (first and foremost) that he can protect someone he cares about, and that his humanity is a strength, not a weakness, Ada learns to accept herself, too. She's visibly conflicted at the start of SW, but by the end of it, she knows what she has to do, and she made peace with that. Her hesitating before going against Wesker in the facility is one of the last moments of her hesitating with her intentions.

But, again, that scene is more about her and Luis. Luis is very important to Ada's character in SW, and I think that's neat.

While the scene itself is kinda awkward, her encountering Ashley during the final battle is another arguably important one. Her watching Leon and Ashley before that was about her witnessing Leon's care for her. Now she sees that Ashley fully reciprocates that care. They are on equal ground with each other.

And so, the final scene between them. I already said that Leon settled on his answer concerning Ada before that. But Ada makes one final opening to him. It's a selfish one. After all, what exactly would happen if Leon agreed to come with? Would they just leave Ashley to die and fly off into the sunset? On some level, I think Ada knows that what she's asking is unrealistic, especially for Leon. But I think it also speaks of her progression throughout Separate Ways. Ada learns to be more genuine with herself, even if it means being selfish or asking something that she knows will be rejected.

So, she shoots her shot one last time. Leon gives his answer. Ada is not surprised by it. But she is visibly upset by it. She knew it was coming, though.

So, they do exactly that. They go their separate ways. At least for now.

#resident evil #resident evil 2 remake #resident evil 4 remake #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #ada wong #aeon #DO I TAG AEON IN THIS BC IT'S NOT REALLY A SHIPPING POST????#i mean i did talk about them smooching so i guess....#for the record #i am fully aware i am adding way more depth than there really is #but hey #it's fun #i spent way too long on this it's embarrassing 💀💀💀

37 notes · View notes

insult-2-injury · 2 years ago

Text

Debts Repaid

Dan Heng x F!Reader

When a stubborn Dan Heng is injured in battle, you insist upon healing him. He's never liked debts, but being beholden to you wouldn't be the worst thing, he thinks. Not when there are so many ways to balance the scales.

AO3 Link, 4k, fingering, cock warming, dirty talk, p in v, light pain kink

~~~~~~~~

“You’re hurt.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“I knew it!”

“Move aside, please.”

Despite the inherent lack of sincerity in his ‘please’, you allow Dan Heng to finally slip past your wide-armed defensive stance and into the safety of his bedroom.

“I knew it,” you repeat, following him inside without much forethought. “I knew you’d been hurt the second you vanished after that fight. You act all humble and weird when you’re in pain. Let me see it.”

The tight-laced man, forever stoic, sighs and your existence seems to be well… nonexistent as he goes about his business as if you aren’t trailing him like a fly buzzing over his shoulder. Nothing new, really. The duality of Dan Heng is that regardless of his short, but not infrequent check-in texts when the two of you are separated, he avoids you on the Express like you’ve got some disease he’s reluctant to contract.

It’s just that you’re a healer. Your job in and out of combat is solely to make sure everyone stays alive and well, and if you can minimize unnecessary discomforts, well, it’s in your nature to do so. There’s just one person who complicates things. But Dan Heng and you have always had each other’s backs on the battlefield, so it should stand to reason that you should have each other’s backs in the more civil, quiet corners of the cosmos as well.

“Come on, let me help. Then I’ll leave, I promise.”

His eyes narrow over his shoulder. “I hear March calling for you.”

“Filthy liar. Where did you hurt yourself?”

“There she is again.”

You glower at the back of his head. “Oh, you’re a comedian, too, huh.”

“Something like that,” he says, forever impassive as he puts his things away with a well-hidden stiffness that belies the pain you can sense he truly feels.

“Fine, you want to go old-fashioned? Be that way.” When he predictably fails to provide the location of a first aid kit, you take it upon yourself to rummage through his lower cupboards.

He’s terrible at tolerating help, like he’s been hard-trained into an accepting solitude. And when he denies you, it’s automatic, a spring release that holds the cold weight of indifference. But you’ve seen him throw himself into the fray when your wellbeing is at stake.

Dan Heng cares in his own ways.

Your fingers find the handle of a first aid kit.

“A-ha.”

“I said it was nothing to worry about,” a frigid voice says and you nearly leap out of your skin at how quickly he’s moved to stand behind you, the top of your head banging against a cabinet shelf hard as you swing to meet his downward gaze.

“It’s not nothing,” you grit out, rubbing the top of your scalp. “I saw you trying to hold your shit together, saw you make a break for the hallway the moment we got back. You’re stupidly stubborn, you know that? Stop saying it’s nothing.”

A strange bout of nerves creeps in as you scowl up at his towering form from where you kneel – the signature, flat, unamused slant of his lips, the glacial gray of his eyes not leaving yours.

His gaze narrows almost accusingly and, with an aching slowness, the tips of his fingers extend to graze the crown of your head. Not patting in condescension, not running through the strands there as you might have liked, just resting there at first, warming the top of your head. Until he draws those fingers together, clutches a small handful before releasing, measuring your reaction as he roots around the depths of your wide-eyed, questioning stare; seems to come to some conclusion before he backs away silently.

Your jaw opens and shuts as your response speaks for itself, staying put for far too long to appear unphased, that same jittery feeling in the pit of your stomach as after a warp; except this time tainted with a sickening need to crawl beneath the spotlight of his gaze again. Perhaps nuzzle further into that strange contact. Never before has he touched you willingly; never without pulling away like it scalds.

With enough space to draw breath now, you leap to your feet, albeit on weaker legs. “So?”

“So what?” he says as if nothing has transpired, wincing as his clothes move against whatever wound is on his chest.

“Where is it, then?” You tip your chin up, determined now. “Your injury.”

He doesn’t reply, observing you, gaze steel and unflinching as he puzzles you out.

“I’m serious, Dan Heng, it’s why I’m on the Express in the first place. Unless you don’t trust my elemental process, which is totally fair. We can go another route, then, or I can go grab someone else. I just can’t in good conscience leave you here without at least knowing what shape you’re in.”

You trust him implicitly. Does it go both ways? Regardless, gone are the days you watch with an ache in your chest as he limps back to the Express with a tight-lipped grimace to tend to his own wounds. The crew says it’s fruitless, that he’s like an oyster snapping shut the moment you so much as look in its direction. Cold, dark, and mysterious, he might be. Impenetrable, he is not.

There are few things in life as hard as cracking through the exterior of the man standing before you, and few things that would be more satisfying. Dan Heng, you think, is an oyster worth cracking. And sometimes to crack the shell of a particularly tough one, you can’t ask permission.

“Your elemental process is sound, and you’ve never, to my knowledge, produced less than desirable results. You are highly capable,” he responds flatly after a time. “But I don’t care to be in the debt of others.”

“Enough of that talk. You won’t be in my debt.” You wave off his foolishness, feeling your cheeks heat, throat tighten a little at the compliment, however oddly phrased. “Do we need to draft up a legal document, something that will hold up in court? Or maybe Welt can tally up our debts, lord knows he’s looking for something to do.”

It is a victory when a tiny, amused huff punches from between his lips. “No,” he says after what feels like minutes, “no, that won’t be necessary.”

“Good. Besides, I don’t think Welt would approve of what we’re doing anyway,” you say before you realize how it sounds. Something flickers behind Dan Heng’s eyes. “I just mean talking silly debts.”

He nods, gives an acknowledging hum before turning away from you, allowing your heart to start beating again. “I suspect Welt would be too busy delighting in our collaboration to find much issue with talk of misplaced obligations.”

Dan Heng shrugs out of his jacket, movements stiff and jerky.

“I mean,” you blurt lamely, “if anything, I’d be in your debt. You’ve rescued my ass countless times.”

“Nonsense.”

You haven’t thought this far ahead, haven’t anticipated the inevitable intimacy of the situation. And it’s almost scandalous the way his black long sleeve shirt clings to his lean, athletic form – you should be feeling sorry for him, not eyeballing him like some degenerate.

Dan Heng tosses his coat carelessly over the back of his desk chair. “Debt can be easily mistaken for ownership.” You’re quickly losing your nerve, fire blazing across your skin as his fingers find the hem of his shirt. You turn away quickly.

He continues. “It has a tendency to… complicate things.” He clearly has no reservations about modesty – you can hear the struggle as he draws his shirt up over his abdomen, unsticking it with an agonized groan from the unseen injury you can only assume is on his chest. “I don’t intend to own you, although it wouldn’t be the worst thing. But maybe you’re right, it’s best if we mutually agree to balance the scales.”

The air is thin, suffocating, and you have no capacity to process his words, suddenly, their meaning much too big to untangle.

Your thoughts spin in a hopeless broken circuit; shit. What are your intentions here? Hadn’t they been purely to help? Oh, you’d be kidding yourself if you said you weren’t endlessly intrigued by Dan Heng but this… were you eager to settle a debt just as much as him?

The pad of approaching footsteps has you spinning on your heel.

Dan Heng, shirtless, clad in nothing but his black trousers now, the lean muscles of his hard chest on full display. He takes in your clear, doe-eyed trepidation with nothing but a sharp calculation.

But the weeping crimson across his left breast shatters the hyperawareness of his proximity. You gasp at the three ragged, parallel claw marks, each about the length of a forefinger.

“I’ll be fine, my body heals quicker than most.”

“Doesn’t matter if this gets infected,” you exclaim. “You’re so frustrating. I’m going to heal you and then I swear I’ll pummel you right over again.”

He hums.

“You should’ve come to me,” you scold, too absorbed in concern to consider how close you are to him. “How were you even going to fix it at this angle, huh? Sort of just look in the mirror and hope for the best? You can’t do this again, Dan Heng.”

You don’t wait for a smart remark, pointing to the space where his bed meets the cherry paneled wall. “Go sit, I’ll grab a washcloth. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

At least he follows your instructions, albeit with an inclement downturn of his lips as you aid in propping him against the wall, grabbing a pillow for his head. He seems inherently uncomfortable with the fussing but says nothing of it, and you care little as you settle in beside him. The wound leaks, not a terribly worrisome amount, but enough that there’s an urgency to your actions as you dab around the claw marks.

“I’m so mad you,” you say after a time, trying to distract yourself from the way his eyes haven’t left your face since you started. “For not taking better care of yourself. I get worried when you disappear like that, you know. I don’t even want to ask how many times you’ve handled all this by yourself.”

“It’s easier that way.”

“To be alone?” Your eyes meet his and the intensity of his stare has you swiping the cloth a little too close. A groan of pain catches in his throat.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

You trail off. His face is contorted beautifully, like he’s lost in some kind of strange daze as his eyebrows furrow, like he’s concentrating on the feeling. You sit back on your heels with a tumultuous sigh. “I need to disinfect. It’s gone untreated long enough that I don’t want to take chances.”

His eyes slit open, roll over to yours with a sardonic tilt to his brow that says haven’t we already agreed to this

“It’s just… it’s going to sting. A lot. Obviously. But the rest is comparatively painless.”

You bite at the inside of your cheek and his eyes fall to the nervous tic, his pink tongue flitting out to lick at his bottom lip. With a nod, his hand slides to rest innocuously atop your knee as he settles back against the wall.

“I trust you.”

A lump climbs into your throat at the unexpected honesty of his words. It’s not only the bleeding heat of his palm that has you dizzy, it’s the weighted significance of what he’s just allowed to slip into the light. A trust you’d rather die than break.

You nod back, watch the rise and fall of his chest to steady your own. What would the rest of the crew think if they knew where you sat, thigh pressed hotly against Dan Heng’s? Your heart pulses in rhythm to whatever strange tension is bridled amidst the growing silence, his hand resting upon your knee like a comfortable promise.

Okay.”

Tentatively, you swipe across the first lesion. He goes rigid and the strangled groan that comes out of him doesn’t sound entirely like one of pain, you think, the noise reverberating up your spine and worming its way into the back of your brain.

You pause, allowing you both a breath, your palm sliding down his bicep and squeezing comfortingly, yet in the same instant, Dan Heng anchors his nails into your thigh. Hard.

You wait for him to unlatch from you, something anxious and excitable rising from the pit of your stomach. But he doesn’t release, his fingers scalding against the bare skin where your skirt has ridden up.

Whatever rationality you have left, you call upon it, legs squeezing together to assuage the flash of startling heat between them when his thumb swipes back and forth, like he’s the one comforting you. “Almost done,” you say, throat humiliatingly dry.

Not daring to meet the icy vortex of his gaze, you wet another cloth and clean him with quaking hands, pressing hard to remove the grit that has crusted around the wound. He jerks again, the lean muscles of his legs tensing against the sides of yours as his hips almost roll with the movement.

The silence is punctuated by your name, rasped out with an almost reverence, the tendons in his neck flexing as his head falls back against the wood. You stiffen in disbelief, and his hand goes back to kneading into the soft of your flesh.

“Do you need a… um. Do you need a break?” you breathe.

“No, keep going.”

The aching pulse between your legs acts as gravity, his palm drawing a little further up your leg, lethally close to breaching the point of no return. You balance on that tightrope, a single glance revealing fully the effect you’ve had, as well, his arousal pushing intently against the confines of his trousers.

Not trusting yourself to speak, you finish cleaning the wound, something shockingly perverse relishing in a small way the audible clench of his jaw, nails digging half moons into your flesh as he rides out the sensations. You shudder at the twitch of his hand, like he’s restraining himself from providing some sort of relief to the insistent need between his legs.

“Well,” you swallow, “all that’s left now is the easy part.”

Your eyes lift to his and a dangerous change ripples through him at whatever he finds there. Deliberately slow, as if not to spook you, he wriggles a palm between your thighs, prying them gently apart for better access, tracing delicately along your trembling skin.

“You c-can’t.”

“I can.” He slides to cup you between the legs.

The sudden, bleeding heat of the pressure of his entire palm cuts off your protest in an exhilarating rush. Your head lolls forward. Placating fingers move to drag across the flimsy cloth barrier between him and your cunt, pressing accusingly into the space you’re most wet for him with a satisfied hum.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks softly.

“I just need to finish up h-healing, then we can–” Your tongue is too heavy to speak as he brushes lazy figure eights across the crotch of your panties, probing with a perfect pressure, solid yet tender, but not only for your benefit. He’s drawing pleasure from this, too, gaze mapping across your features like he can memorize every delectable crease at the corner of your eyes, every tiny flare of your nostrils as you utter vacuous objections.

“You are.” He nods grimly. “You said I should have come to you sooner. I wish I would have.”

“Just let me finish–” Fingers slide beneath sodden fabric to dip two fingers inside you with humiliating ease, a depraved squelch the only sound of your resistance shattering as your hips lurch to chase his touch.

“It’s a shame that I kept my infatuations with you in the dark for so long. I could’ve had you some time ago. Don’t be mad at me,” he insists and a torn whine releases from your throat. “Consider this recompense for the lost time.”

The position is slightly awkward and his pumps are shallow in turn, but you concede to shamelessly grinding against his palm. You think you should feel some terrible guilt in the way you’re being driven by baser impulses, even while his wounds still call to be tended to. But the concern lies deep beneath the high of watching the enraptured look on his face at your display.

Gently, he slithers his grasp beneath your thigh in order to lever your position up and over one of his legs.

“That better?” he asks, fingers finding a more comfortable home again between your legs, rolling in a perfect rhythm across your clit.

You nod mechanically.

“Good,” he hums low, “that's good.”

The subtle flush of his pale cheeks and his own labored breath as he gets off on the pleasure he’s giving you sends an exhilarating thrill down your spine, expanding until you’re drenching his fingers with a long, final whine.

“There you go.”

When your spasms dissolve into delicate flutters, Dan Heng drags his fingers from you. Mindlessly, you kick off your panties completely.

“I thought we weren’t talking debt anymore,” you catch your breath, heart slamming against your ribcage still.

“Consider us even.” He inhales deeply, letting out a long, cleansing sigh.

“I don’t think we’re even. Does that mean you own me?” Your eyes rise purposefully to meet his and there’s a long silence before he speaks, voice lower.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Debt is a scapegoat, you know, for the formidable pull between you. Deliberately unbalance the scales here and you’ll be inclined to return to each other for more. Not that you wouldn’t have anyway, but you realize this moment gives an excuse to provide an answer to the overarching question between you of what this was, what this could be. And you know you want more. It doesn’t stop at cracking his shell. You want Dan Heng.

“I need to heal you now,” you say and he just blinks at you. “Can you hold still?”

He searches your features before his head dips in a slow nod.

You reach down to pop open the top button of his pants, rewarded by the shaky sigh that fans across your face as he fully comprehends. You’re grateful he’d saved you the trouble earlier of removing his intimidating top layers. He doesn’t protest, settling back to watch with a hawklike precision.

You guide him out tenderly, his cock springing back against his belly, precum drooling, smearing across his skin. Aside from the gentle whirring of his database behind, the only sound is Dan Heng’s appreciative groan as you pump him twice, caging his legs between yours as you delight in the heated weight of him in your palm.

The still glistening fingers he’d used to pleasure you with he slides across the tip of himself in small circles, wiping you off there, gifting you the sight of him mixing you in with his own beading arousal.

One hand wrapping his base, the other bracing on the wall beside his head, you raise your hips to position him at the soaking wet heat of your entrance. Palms seize hold of your waist.

“I’m warning you now, if this is what you want…” he grates, tone taking on a darker edge. “I won’t spare you my compulsions any longer. I’ve wanted you too long to be satisfied with having you just the once.”

You smile at the admission, answer clear as your drenched folds envelop him with undue ease, the stretch exquisite as you bear down on him slowly, the both of you unable to do much more than share a shallow gasp. Dan Heng’s abdomen pulls deliciously taut as he’s taken inch by inch.

Your lips part, eyes flutter shut. There’s no going back, you agree. Not now that you’ve felt the needy throb of him inside you. “You’re going to have to hold still,” you repeat.

He pinches the hem of your shirt between thumb and forefinger. “Take this off.”

You smile, pull your top over your head, the movement jarring you atop him, tearing a hiss from between his teeth before he’s back on you. His greedy palms take the immediate liberty of exploring. sliding across your bare skin and you savor his focused infatuation for a moment before you gently tug his wrists away.

“Stay still,” you repeat. “I can’t very well patch you up if you’re moving all over the place.”

Dan Heng’s eyes darken on yours with a cold, severe impatience as he registers your intent with a tick of his jaw. He’d all but admitted earlier he likes his pain served hot; so he won’t mind you warming his cock while you put him back together, will he?

A long, calculating stare before he answers, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Of course.” His head falls back against the pillow, throat bobbing when you sit back to settle more comfortably onto his length, the ghost of a grimace upon his lips.

It’s a strange experience on both sides, the process of electro healing. Some say it’s an itchy, distressing sensation; some say it’s pleasant, the feeling of your skin knitting itself back together.

If you were to go by Dan Heng’s reactions, you’d say it’s the latter. Every bit of him is a live wire, tensed and vibrating as you guide your healing hands across each mark on his chest, electricity prickling and drawing stubborn skin back together. It’s a drawn out process, one that requires the touch of a patient hand in order to not leave behind scars.

It’s difficult work, made infinitely more so by the fixed state of tortured lust recycling between the both of you, stoking with each subtle shift of him inside you.

“You’re doing well,” you murmur softly, years worth of proper bedside manner taking hold.

His cock twitches at the praise, but otherwise he’s stone cold, jaw set, eyes seeming to fight in order to focus with a vicious intensity on the space you’re connected, like he’s tormenting himself with the sight.

“Almost done,” you whisper, a bandage weaving its way into existence as you trace your index in a rectangle around his wound. “There shouldn’t be pain, but some people say they feel a bit of a phantom itch around the area, so I like to bandage over it regard–”

A hand threads into your hair and the world spins as you’re flipped with impressive speed onto your back, your head hitting the soft of his pillow with a gasp. His palm wraps the front of your throat lightly, keeping your head effectively trapped within his frigid gaze, almost daring you to try and look away as his thumb seeks the support of your ratcheting pulse.

Dan Heng kicks his pants off the rest of the way, wasting no time shoving your skirt carelessly above your waist before spearing himself into you again, his pool of restraint run dry by your teasing. “I should keep you here for good. Never let you leave this room.” Your legs wrap his waist as he spears into your folds, hitting a spot again and again that has your toes curling.

His lips slam against yours, tongue pressing in to better devour your cracked whimpers. You’re going to pass out, you think, can’t even seem to draw a breath as he spirals atop you. He pulls back to lick across the seam of your mouth, groaning appreciatively. “I hope you had fun. I have my proclivities. But so do you.” He leans into your ear; soft, even voice a contrast to the way he fucks recklessly into you, each thrust brutal and precise. “You did such a good job on me today. Nobody could have done it better. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this–”

With a shattered cry, you climax, back arching against his as he pulls back to drink in your twisted expression. “Tell me how I own you,” he pants, breaths coming quicker, “tell me who you belong to now.”

His mouth captures yours again, not even wanting of an answer, and even through the white hot heat of your release, you search out his lower lip with your teeth and bite down. The choked splutter that escapes from his throat is beautiful, his striking features twisting into a snarl as he picks up a devastating pace, driving himself into you with a ferociousness on his face you’ve only ever seen aimed at shared enemies.

His hand clutches a handful of hair at the crown of your head as he leverages himself to slam as deep as he can. Each stuttered jerk of his hips is bliss as he spills inside you, his head falling into the sweat damp crook of your neck as if he can’t hold it properly upright as he groans out a lengthy release.

Fingers comb through your hair and slowly you’re rolled over onto his chest as your breathing evens out, tucking yourself into his side, hand splaying across the bandage there. You look at him, feeling utterly spent, and are rewarded by a contented sigh when you smooth your palm across his stomach.

“So, how do we know if the score is settled?” you say and he huffs a small laugh.

“We’ve got time.”

You smile to yourself. In the meantime, it wouldn’t be the worst thing, you think, being Dan Heng’s.

#dan heng #honkai star rail #dan heng x you #dan heng x reader #dan heng/reader #hsr dan heng #hsr #fanfic #hsr fanfic #f!reader #fem reader

364 notes · View notes

briannysey · 3 months ago

Text

You have a fun short story idea. You sit down to write it. Nothing big only like 2k words.

You don’t quite finish it. You go to work. In your cubicle the idea itches like a scab in your brain. At last you get home. The story has grown, you’ll need a few extra words to get it finished. No biggie. You keep going. It gets late. Wow, the tale has grown in the telling. Just over 4k words and it’s not done. You really shouldn't miss any extra sleep, but ten extra minutes of writing won’t hurt.

The next morning, between clients you doodle outlines for the story. That’s weird, to do the story justice it’ll need more words. Quite without noticing it’s become a novelette. You forget about your last clients of the day as you wander in the world of your story, trying to figure out how to get it right, how to do it justice.

You call in sick the next day, and the day after that. Inspiration comes so rarely you know? We have to chase these things when they come for us.

You sail past the word count for a novella, and soon enough you have to face the truth: you’ve got a gen-u-ine novel on your hands. You’ve had so much success with the writing! It would be a shame to go back to work.

When you explain it to your doctor he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “I don't understand how that made you break your foot,” he says. But work says they just need in the office to do the job. Your doctor signs the FMLA paperwork, then HR. You have some savings, you’ll be fine while you ride this inspiration where it’ll take you.

You miss your brother’s birthday, then your mother’s. You stop answering calls. Somewhere somehow the story has soared past acceptable word counts for a novel. No publisher would publish a book this big. You make the reasonable decision to split the novel into two. This is good, it will help you capture the themes of your story better.

You stop answering your phone. When your angry family knocks on the doors to your house you lock the entries and yell back “I'm sick, I'm so very sick. I’ll let you know when I'm well!”

Your fingertips blister and bleed in their sacrifices for the novels (a trilogy now!), so you use talk-to-text to draft for a bit.

Disaster strikes.

Your laptop, over-exerted from months of running word processors, struggling under the weight of files with thousands of pages of text, at last collapses into a gruesome screen of white text on violent blue background. You despair. You anguish. You scream until the neighbors call in a wellness check, and you fool the officer with claims of “too loud horror tv.”

You sell your car and walk down to the computer shop with your laptop. You use the car-proceeds to get the files onto a hard drive, buy a printer, buy a shitty little used laptop, then walk home in brutal Summer’s heat. You place delivery orders for pens and boxes and boxes of ink refills. You order paper too. Mountains of it, in fact.

You’re not quite sure how or when, but the trilogy became a series and the series became a layered set of chronicles. You’re sure of it now: this is your magnum opus. Someday people will write about you and your boiling, uncontainable story.

You’re running out of money, and have to eat. You order as much oatmeal as you can in huge bulk shipments. They should last long enough. Your family has long since stopped knocking, and if they're calling the calls wouldn't come through the cancelled, unpaid line anyway.

You run out of paper. You start writing on walls and furniture and over old books in your library. You run out of ink, so you use pencils and crayons and old paint cans, and then you stretch the old paint with water until the town shuts off your water.

Your skin starts to hang loose on you as you lose weight. You bruise heavily when you trip down the stairs in the morning, and your mouth tastes like so much iron as your gums bleed of their own accord. The oatmeal grinds and scratches between your aching teeth. You set up rain-catches at the bottoms of the gutters, and though the water doesn't taste great, it’s a small price to pay for your passion. You rarely tire these days, or sleep. The story fills you with feverish energy. There’s so much more to write and so little time!

You start to get lost in the shifting plot lines. Some smaller stories repeat themselves in spirals, and you’re not sure if you had a point with these narrative recursions. Did you flanderize this character? Is that character dying in this scene but alive in the next? Perhaps you were a little too ambitious for your first big story. But you tell yourself that that’s madness. You write the stories that come to you, no matter how huge. When you stretch to new heights you become a better writer! Think about how much better the next story will be now that you have all this experience!

Disaster again. You’ve run out of paint and homemade charcoal and ink.

A knock comes at the door, a man in an ugly button-up and tie claiming that your house is getting foreclosed. Something about an unpaid mortgage. You realize that this was the wake up call you needed. The opportunity to fix things.

“Please, come in!”

“Oh my god, what’s happened in here?”

“I think I have a problem sir. I’m very sorry about the unpaid mortgage. Here sit down, can you tell me what the problem is?”

“What the problem is? We’ve called you a dozen times! The house is already- this writing is all over the walls! Why is the writing in circles on the wall over there?”

“I dunno, seemed like the right way to do it.”

“And are these… family photos that have been written over?”

“Yes sir. I think, I think I have a serious problem. Do you think you can help me?”

“I- I don't know. This seems like we might need to call for a psychiatric crisis. The good news is- what are you doing with that knife!”

At last you have an ink refill! And what beautiful red, red ink.

#my posts #brianna original writing #i was possessed by a quick little horror story here take a look

19 notes · View notes

sitp-recs · 1 year ago

Note

Hello Liv, I’m looking for a fic with « a falling in love while the world around us is ending » vibe. Finding love in a midst of a war or a tragedy. when everything around is collapsing, when we don’t know how much time is left so every second is lived fiercely and intensely.

A bit of a tragic lovers vibes (but with ultimately a happy ending).

Do you think you could help?

Ohhh I love this ask so much! I definitely have some nice recs for you, and would love to read more doomed lovers, it’s one of my favourite tropes. Please note that some most of these have open/unhappy ending. Enjoy!

Without Sunshine by @sweet-s0rr0w (T, 1k) - open ending

The fall of the Wizarding World begins on a Tuesday morning. As Draco says, the timing's dreadful.

if the world was ending by saltwatergarden (M, 4k)

The world is ending again, but it's far less dramatic this time. Harry Potter tries to save the day. Draco wishes he wouldn't.

Between Two Fires of Beltane by secretsalex (E, 5k)

As the war drags on, Draco becomes a spy for Voldemort and works his way into Harry’s good graces—and his bed. When the Order prepares to invade Malfoy Manor, Draco is forced to examine his loyalties.

A Cold Spot in Hell by @drarrytrash (E, 8k)

When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire. If you wanted 8k of sexy arson, emotionally difficult arson, general arson, handkerchiefs, dread, and poetry curation, now is really your moment.

The Taste of Magic by @romaine2424 (M, 10k)

As the world's atmosphere changes, magic starts to disappear. Only a "lucky" few will stay in the magical world until the earth begins to heal.

And Save Me From Bloody Men by @blamebrampton (T, 10k) - open ending

Draco Malfoy once watched others fighting to stop the world falling apart. This time, he's not just watching.

The Eighth Tale by lettered (E, 12k) - Cw: mcd

Draco Malfoy tries to fix the past, but instead mucks it up some more. For Harry, it all becomes quite clear.

Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by @the-starryknight (M, 17k)

The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand.

All the Ashes Like Leaves by @firethesound (M, 21k)

Nothing about being the Chosen One had prepared Harry for this. With most of the population blinded and man-eating plants running amok, he can only stay close to his friends as they make their way to safety. Not that he’d call Malfoy a friend, but the end of the world does rather make their ongoing feud seem trivial. And it just figures that it took nothing short of an apocalypse to make Malfoy seem like less of a git.

We Are Legend by @vaysh11 (E, 38k) - cw: mcd

Eighty years into the future, Voldemort won. Harry Potter is a renegade wizard, Portkeying Muggles out of London to Hogwarts, last sanctuary in a Britain ruled by the Dark Lord. On a mission he encounters a powerful phoenix Animagus fighting on the Death Eaters' side.

REVOLVEVLOVER by @firethesound and @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 46k) - open ending

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for.

The Compact by astolat (E, 64k)

Hermione frowned. “The real question is why the magic of Britain would be failing now, in fact.” “That is not the real question!” Ron said loudly; he’d woken up fully by now, and Harry had too; it was starting to sink in that they’d found the problem. “The real question is, how do we fix it?”

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki (M, 104k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

Bonus: I don’t usually read WIPs but this one is my all-time favorite and it fits the ask perfectly!

In The Dark by @bixgirl1 (E, WIP)

In the aftermath of an apocalypse, Harry receives an order to find and bring Draco Malfoy nearly a thousand miles, to the tenuous safety of Hogwarts. But more than distance separates them from their goal. The world has fallen, and death is hungry.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #tragic lovers

65 notes · View notes

skaruresonic · 1 year ago

Note

It’s not "schizoposting" if you’re replying to other people talking about Ian Flynn.

The term itself is ableist.

I'm not schizophrenic; I have garden-variety depression and anxiety. But even if I were schizophrenic, that wouldn't make it okay to act like I'm frothing at the mouth for stating opinions on my own blog.

I've noticed this habit amongst stans: they'll paint you as mentally unwell in order to discredit you. We've been called "conspiratorially insane" and "retarded" before. I've been told to seek therapy for being angry at the harassment I received. Hell, Kyle once told Greeny "I hope you get better soon" in response to her pointing out that Metal stated he rebuilt his body with his own two hands in the Metal Overlord fight, something that contradicted a claim Flynn made. It's just our old buddy ad hominem again, but ableism flavored.

And it's like, yeah, I am mentally unwell, no shit Sherlock, you've cracked the code. But regardless, I can still be mentally unwell and make a valid point. It's not like the mental illness completely short-circuits my ability to think.

Apropos of nothing, while I'm at it: people get really touchy if you say anything that can be skewed as "Flynn lies" or "Flynn is a liar," to the point of making sweeping grandiose claims that they'll automatically lose respect for you if you insinuate as much. (Which ofc begs questions of why.)

Lying isn't some binary yes/no type of thing. People can lie partially, lie out of ignorance, lie by omission, lie by implication, lie by obfuscation, or lie in spirit but not in letter. Not all falsehoods are capital L Lies, but by the same token, that doesn't mean they're no longer falsehoods. People can bend the truth without breaking it. Flynn projects a certain image by being noncommittal to the point of obfuscation. It's called talking out both sides of your mouth: where you say a lot of things that seem to address the question without actually having answered the question.

He doesn't lie outright. That's why I said it's annoying, because in a way it'd be easier to put his claims on blast if he were.

Instead, he drowns out the truth with verbiage. He hems and haws and doesn't offer a clear answer but instead usually winds up giving a sort of verbal equivalent of a Rorschach test so that he has plausible deniability in case his employers ever press him on his claims. Notice, however, that despite how tied his hands are, and despite knowing how people take his word dead fucking seriously, he seldom passes up the opportunity to run his mouth.

For example, "Eggman never, ever has a solid plan." The quote whose infamy earned it a spot on a TV Tropes page. He said it with his full chest, too, one of the rare answers that left no room for misinterpretation. Yet when someone relayed his own words back to him roughly a month later, he couldn't remember having said them, implying he either didn't really believe what he had said or else he has a poor memory.

More interesting than that, though, is when he proceeded to add, "But if I did [put it like that], then I was wrong."

IF I did. As if the existence of the words he recorded for the entire world to hear and posted for online posterity is debatable.

That's the kind of thing that skeeves me out at the end of the day. When you get caught in 4K and somehow it's others' ontological reality that must change to fit your presupposed narrative, not the other way around. And by that, I mean it would be somewhat easier to overlook if the matter began and ended at simple ignorance---but it's this constant evasion of blame and the underlying revisionism that creeps me out.

Flynn looks like he's admitting he's wrong while also casting subtle doubt on the notion that he said what he did. It's not just an "oops, guess I misspoke" or an "oops, guess I forgot" kind of thing, either. He pulls this sort of rhetorical trick all the goddamn time.

I'm personally on the fence about whether he does this deliberately or if it's the unfortunate byproduct of being a poor communicator: I feel like subconsciously, some part of it may be, given how BK built its name on speaking on behalf of Sega while simultaneously allowing him a platform to not-so-subtly shittalk them behind their backs. At this point I find it hard to imagine he's not doing this without some sort of agenda in mind.

And this isn't even getting into all the times he's been caught in blatant contradictions, which wouldn't be nearly so bad if everyone didn't take the man's word as gospel.

#asks

19 notes · View notes

hkandiu · 1 year ago

Text

🎄A challenge for me, a gift for you! 🎄

Hello everyone! While I do have a few holiday stories I'm working on, I wanted to give myself a fun holiday challenge again - to give you a gift! I’m looking for this to be in three main fandoms:

-Naruto - my main fandom, so a wide range of characters but admittedly I'm not strong in the founders era, and don't followBoruto

-Marvel - Stucky/Stony/IronPool/WinterIron are my experienced pairings as well as platonically general Avengers

-DC - Superbat, plain and simple for a pairing, but could do a range of Batman/Gotham characters for platonic

(Those are my strongest pairings etc in those fandoms, but other secondary characters/pairings are welcomed too!)

The challenge for me is that I'll basically stick to like 1-2 hours to write it/maybe stay under 4k because lordy knows I can write veerrry long ones!

Ratings won't be higher than T and no adults will be romantically matched with children. All will be posted to ao3 in one multi-chaptered story, and I'll let you know what chapter yours is etc.

So, if you're game, send me a message in my ask box or in reply to this post with a pairing or more, or one or more characters (if you want gen/platonic) and one or more of the prompt numbers below (some kept from last year, others are new), and I'll whip up a short story in November/December! Anonymous requests welcomed too!

😍Big thanks to those of you who did this the last two years, I really appreciate it!😍

Prompts: Also feel free to specify if you want a type of AU, version of the characters (specific portrayal of Superman/Batman or perhaps Captain America/modern Bucky etc?) and any other info or details you'd like to share for it

1 Disaster date

2 Secret Santa

3 Furever family/pets

4 Teamwork

5 "Your taste in [insert] is terrible!"

6 Idiots in love

7 Decorating for the holidays

8 Rainy or snowy day

9 Drunk confessions

10 "Should we follow them?"

11 Holiday beverages/foods (or general cooking/baking etc)

12 "That's it, I quit!"

13 No sleep

14 They keep running into each other

15 No good very bad day/mission

16 "You wouldn't dare!" & "Wouldn't I?"

17 Someone gets locked out and asks to spend the night at someone else's place

18 Person C gets involved for Persons A and B because they sure won't/can't do it for themselves!

19 "You decided on what?!"

20 Fortune telling (do they believe it, or not?)

21 "Would falling in love with me be so terrible?"

22 Based on a song of your choosing!

23 Mistletoe

24 Fake/pretend dating

25 "Did you get home safe?"

26 Workplace/missions/training shenanigans

27 Winter activity of your choice

28 "X" times they did and one time they didn't (or vice versa) of an event of your choosing

29 Rest day/day off

30 Call the medic!

31 Warmth

32 Staircase wit (thinking of perfect response after the event/conversation)

33 Your choice of a quote

34 Scheduling conflict

35 Wishes

Feel free to ask questions too! Thanks for reading! 🍥

#writing #naruto #marvel #superbat #prompts #holiday gifts #happy holidays #stucky

2 notes · View notes

wordstro · 2 years ago

Text

[2:24 PM] + hero/villain au + "are you happy?"

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

masterlist

a/n: 4k words, no one asked for this at all but I read over this fic and felt it needed something more definitive i guess? so here is a more conclusive ending to this fic!!

there is an irony to your new living arrangements, you think. yeosang, san and yourself sharing a three bedroom apartment.

you'd been arrested after wooyoung, handcuffs suppressing your powers wrapped around your wrists and a blindfold over your eyes, and after weeks sitting in a prison cell alone awaiting your fate, you'd been called into court. hongjoong sat in the witness stand, dressed in a suit, his hair a different color and an eyepatch over one eye.

you could not get used to how different he looked. how much older he was. the soft lines in his face were harder, and his eyes were ancient, as if he'd seen too much, and you did not dare ask anyone how much time had passed. you hadn't gotten the chance, anyway, since you'd been locked up the entire time.

hongjoong explained to the court that you'd been brainwashed. the serum. the research from the labs. the gaps in your memories. brain scans of how the serum affected you. the doctors had already told you how it affected your hippocampus and how they weren't sure how your short term memory would be affected. he hadn't looked at you the entire time he spoke. you hadn't had the chance to speak with him either.

the judge and jury ruled that you would be on house arrest for fifteen months, and you would need to do community service afterwards. you were banned from using your powers for two years.

you didn't think that was punishment enough, really, but you did not say anything. there would be enough outcry on the internet anyway, after the trial results were released.

that night, the government officials handling your case drove you up to an apartment building at the edge of town, and hongjoong did not look at you then either.

you'd had weeks to think about the aftermath of wooyoung surrendering. you'd let the armed officers cuff you, and only yunho stayed with you during it. you'd sat on the ground, with your hands behind your back, a flimsy piece of metal wrapped around your wrists, and hongjoong had appeared before you, a bloody scar running over his eye, and his chest heaving, and he crouched in front of you that day and held you tight. you were taken into government custody with his blood on your shirt, mixing with wooyoung's.

while in captivity and isolation, you knew you'd done too many despicable things, serum or no serum, to not be punished. even then, wooyoung was right.

that night, you stood in front of a red apartment door, and the government officials reminded you once more of the court's stipulations before they left you with hongjoong. you were given a bracelet on each wrist, so tight it made the skin around the bracelets tender, that rendered your powers completely useless. for the first time in your life, you did not have enhanced strength.

hongjoong looked at you then, for the first time in weeks, and you asked then, "how long has it been?"

"seven years," he said, his voice soft, his hard expression crumbling into something sad. his good eye flickered over your face.

"oh." you could not believe you were seven years older and you missed all those years. not only did wooyoung steal your autonomy, but he also stole years from you. you wanted to hate him for it, a part of you did. a part of you will never, though, and that's the worst part.

hongjoong held out his arms, and you'd blinked at him, and he said, "i'm sorry we couldn't figure out a way to get you out sooner. i told you you wouldn't have to do it alone again, but you did."

you shook your head, "that isn't your fault."

hongjoong let out a small laugh, shaking his head, his arms falling to his side.

you stepped into his limp embrace anyway. you hadn't had anyone hold you since yunho, and you needed it, despite everything.

he seemed surprised, but he quickly wrapped his arms around you, and he said, "i'm sorry."

you just shook your head, and hongjoong held you for a long moment before turning to the door.

when he opened the door to the apartment, yeosang and san were curled on the couch. they'd turned off the news as soon as they realized you'd walked in, but you'd still caught a glimpse of your face walking out of the courtroom.

"we thought it best you stay with some of us during your house arrest," hongjoong said.

yeosang had a burn across his face, a puckered scar that marred his pretty face, his dark hair pulled back from his face in a messy bun. he had scars on his arms, too, that ran all the way up. it wasn't there before. san's hair was short, and his eyes were harder as he looked at you. wary. they both looked so different from how you remembered them, especially when all you've seen of them these past few years were the memories in your head that kept you sane in the serum's liminal space.

you'd wondered briefly why san and yeosang had been chosen, but before you could ask, san explained, "you can't punch me easily and yeosang can...yeosang understands. you've also hurt us less than mingi or yunho or -"

he cut himself off, and his gaze flickered to hongjoong. you'd frowned. hongjoong sighed, but he just pat your back, and said, "i'm down two floors. you can't leave the building, but you can visit if you'd like."

then hongjoong left, disappearing into thin air.

the irony of it was not lost on either of you. three of the people who loved wooyoung most, learning to cope in a tiny three bedroom apartment together. it was not lost on you, when you'd be in the kitchen reaching for a wooden spoon or a plate or a pan or if you stretched your arms over your head while watching television, and san would flinch slightly at your movements. it was not lost on yeosang when he'd open his mouth to say something, raising his voice slightly, and you'd close your eyes, fear running up your spine. he swore he wouldn't use his powers on any of you again, but he made the same promise back then. that was the only thought that ran through your head at those times. it was not lost on either of them when you'd try to open a jar or lift something heavy, and you couldn't do it because of the damned bracelets, and you'd hide in your room for hours trying to ignore the way the thought of being so vulnerable reminded you of when wooyoung ordered yeosang to keep your hands in place, or the fact that all your life you were supposed to be strong and that guaranteed you at least a modicum of safety. if san and yeosang noticed your red eyes or the tear streaks the next morning while you maneuvered around each other in the small kitchen, neither said a thing. none of you ever mentioned the small moments of fear or sadness you'd noticed. you'd figured it was because things have changed between you all. at least between yourself and them.

it was worse when mingi or yunho would visit, and they'd flinch at your movements too. or hesitate to touch you. or treat you as if you were this fragile, weak thing they should handle with care.

it didn't help that you were stuck in the apartment building. there were only so many times you could go to the small apartment gym before you lost your mind. yeosang and san had a job, and you wanted to help with rebuilding as well, but you couldn't leave. the bracelets would electrocute you, hongjoong had said once, and you'd stared in horror as hongjoong shrugged and patted your shoulder gently. you couldn't even visit hongjoong because he was barely home in his apartment. the other patrons of the building avoided you completely, and you couldn't blame them for it.

you only knew a bit of what happened to jongho and seonghwa. they were in prison apparently, but their sentences were much shorter than wooyoung's due to a plea deal worked out when seonghwa had decided to spy for hongjoong, feeding information back to them and even helping yeosang and a few others escape. a light sentence for jongho was a part of seonghwa's plea deal.

you'd avoided the news as often as you could, and san and yeosang always changed the channel. it was strange, trying to figure out how to navigate living again alongside san and yeosang. the three of you didn't always get along. especially san and you, but that had always been your dynamic, even when you first joined the team. you would be an idiot to think everything would be normal between you three. the tiptoeing and awkward silences were enough of a testament to that. you noticed often that san's bed would be untouched, the mornings you woke up early to get some quiet time to yourself, and the door to yeosang's bedroom would be shut, soft music drifting out from beneath the door. perhaps before everything, you would have felt comfortable teasing them for it. now, you weren't sure where your dynamics stood, and what you could and could not tease them about. it made you sad.

the tension did not entirely dissipate for a while. not until one evening where you'd flipped through numerous channels, landing briefly on a news channel. your phone buzzed, san's name lighting up.

i'm bringing pizza home, by the way. with y/n's favorite toppings.

he'd been doing that more often lately, and you wondered often why. he never really asked what you wanted for dinner the times he brought anything home, but the past week he'd gone out of his way to bring home your favorites. even yeosang brought you desserts from various bakeries without you having to ask.

yeosang responded with a cute smiley emoji and a, can't wait! i'll be home in a bit too

you'd smiled at the previews, turning to change the channel, when you'd realized what the broadcast was about.

the eighth anniversary of the siege of seoul. the footage was devastating. you'd stared in horror as you saw wooyoung rise from the ashes, like a phoenix. as you saw yourself tearing through buildings. cctvs devolved into static. the footage was blurry. but it was you. you'd done that. and afterwards, there was a memorial. seven hundred and sixty two died civilians died that day.

"y/n."

you'd jumped at the voice, the remote falling from your hands. it clattered on the floor, and the sound of it made you jump again.

you craned your neck to look behind you in the direction of the voice, and san was placing the pizza on the kitchen bar counter as his gaze flickered between you and the television. yeosang was right behind him.

you'd blinked at them both.

your chest felt tight, and your vision blurred, but you said, "is this why you're being nice?"

san blinked rapidly, taken aback. he said, "what do you mean?"

"for the past week," your voice sounded tight, pitched, even to your own ears, "you've both been so much nicer. is this why? is it because...i did that?"

you didn't know why you were asking. you did do that. even if you didn't remember. even if you were brainwashed. you killed those people. you killed a lot of people.

"because i don't remember it," you gestured at the television still broadcasting the memorial, and your hands shook as you said, "i don't remember anything. and so...so if you're trying to make me feel better i don't think i deserve it."

"don't say that," yeosang said, tone soft, and brows furrowed.

"i killed people, and i don't remember it." your voice cracked then, and you couldn't help the way your eyes stung. you said, "what kind of horrible person can't remember that?"

"none of it was your fault," san's voice was firm, even as he approached you, as he crouched in front of you on the couch and turned off the television.

"then why does it feel like it is?" you blinked back the tears, "i don't know where i stand anymore with any of you. i don't even know what fucking year it is. but i know that that was me, and i did unimaginable things. to innocent people. to you and yun-yunho and mingi and joong, and i got off with a slap to the wrist. i told wo - i told him i hoped he'd die with the guilt, but i think i'm going to die with it first."

"i was the one that took you, y/n. i was the one who started all this," yeosang's voice rang through the apartment, a soft thing that filled you up, up, up. you looked to him, and the guilt in his expression made the tears spill down your cheek. "i've been distant because of it, but i didn't think you'd notice...or care. i just...i'm sorry, y/n."

he trailed off, and you shook your head as you said, "you didn't know how this would turn out."

"why do you do that?" san asked, even as he placed a hand on your cheek and wiped at your tears, "why do you forgive him so easily when you won't even forgive yourself?"

you'd blinked, frowning, "do you want me to be mad at yeosang?"

"i want you to stop crying," san wiped away all your tears before pressing his palms to your cheeks. "most importantly, i want you to stop tiptoeing around us."

"i'm not the only one. why do you flinch around me then?" your voice is louder as you frown at san.

"you've beat the shit out of us for years. i'm getting used to the peace. forgive me if a month hasn't fixed it." he'd rolled his eyes, "still doesn't mean i'm scared of you."

you let out a small laugh at the indignant tone, at the way san still held your face between his palms. his smile turned soft as he observed you.

you glanced sideways at yeosang, "i'm not scared of you either, yeo. i just...didn't know if you hated me."

"i don't hate you," yeosang said, gently. you held out a hand anyway, gesturing for him to take it. he relented after a moment, letting you squeeze his hand.

it was quiet for a long, long moment, before san murmured, "he really fucked us up, didn't he?"

san didn't have to say his name for you to know who he was talking about. san dropped his hands from your cheeks as he sat across from you on the couch. yeosang leaned over the back, leaning his chin against his hands. you dropped your hands to your lap. yeosang hummed, but his brows were furrowed, his expression troubled.

you observed the puckered burn scar on yeosang's face as you wiped your face of your tears.

you asked, "what's happened to him?"

you didn't want to ask, but you wanted to know. you would always want to know.

"death sentence, and solitary confinement in a maximum security containment center until then," san said, quietly. "we all agreed he should live with the guilt. he's technically on death row, but he'll probably die of old age before the state carries through with it."

you watched san's eyes glisten as he spoke.

"do you think he feels guilty at all?"

san only shrugged, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

yeosang said, "i think he does. he always did."

"you think so?" you asked, reaching up to touch the scar on yeosang's face, the skin rough under your touch. you dropped your hand as you said, "even after this."

"he cried after," yeosang murmured, his eyes faraway. "isn't that fucked up? he cried, and he asked me if i wanted to leave that night."

yeosang laughed, but it sounded hollow.

he said, "you were there."

you'd nodded, but your heart lodged in your throat. you said, "i think i was always there."

"you were," san said quietly. "he never let you leave his side. he let yeosang leave, but he...he never let you leave."

you took that in. the few times you'd woken up, it was beside him. of course it was. of course he didn't. san reached over and thread his fingers through yeosang's limp hand, his thumb drawing circles along the back of yeosang's hand.

yeosang asked after a moment, "do you think we'll be okay?"

"we can try." you murmured. "we have to try."

san nodded and nodded, and yeosang brought the box of pizza and a bottle of wine to the table, changing the channel on the television without another word.

~.~.~.~.~

years later, too many years to count, you find yourself standing on the other side of the glass.

wooyoung sits in a chair in a white room, every wall made of glass. his hair is overgrown, and his tanned skin paler than usual without the sun. he has the same demeanor as he always does, an easy nonchalant façade that you don't think will ever go away.

your phone buzzes in your pocket, no doubt a text from yunho or mingi or hongjoong.

they said they'd be waiting outside. yunho, mingi, and hongjoong agreed to pick you up for dinner afterwards. yeosang, san, seonghwa, and jongho would meet you both there.

the first time you met seonghwa again, he'd crumbled to the ground, holding your hand in his cold hands, and he repeated apologies like he was praying. jongho cried. it took a while, as it did with everyone else, to rebuild what you had. even then, you didn't think it was entirely there. it was certainly different.

his voice is full of static.

"i didn't think you'd visit," wooyoung says, and his voice is rough from disuse.

hearing him talk, seeing him, it made your heart feel heavy. the anger you felt towards him, every time you couldn't remember something that you could have before he put the serum in you, every time you saw the scars over your heart, every time you were reminded of what you did for him, every time yunho or mingi or san or hongjoong flinched, every time you went to the doctors to check if the serum was fully out of your system and the trigger words no longer worked, returned tenfold as you looked at him. you thought you'd come to terms with it. you thought you were okay enough for this. maybe you were wrong.

you said, "i didn't want to."

"then why are you here?"

"i wanted to ask you something," you say, wooyoung's gaze flickering over you.

wooyoung smiles. it reminds you of Before. you shake that thought from your head.

you say, "do you regret it?"

wooyoung's eyes flickers between yours. his voice is a soft, crackly thing, "sometimes."

you stare at his admission.

wooyoung laughs, "i've had a lot of time to think. if there's one thing i've come to terms with, it's that i ruin everything i love."

"you do," you say, thinking of yourself, and san and yeosang and hongjoong and yunho and mingi, even jongho and seonghwa.

a beat of silence, before wooyoung says, "can i ask you something?"

the guard knocks on the door, signaling that your visit is almost over.

you nod.

he asks, "are you happy?"

wooyoung's eyes are soft, sad, and you find that the part of you that will always love him, despite everything, curls in on itself. however, the part of you that is always angry, that despises him for admitting his feelings for you only to take seven years from you while you forcing you to do the most despicable things, wants to scream at him. wants to hurt him. wishes the glass wasn't there so you could kill him the way you'd wanted to years ago. you will always resent him for his choices. he knows that. he nods as if he can hear your thoughts.

you say, "happier than i've ever been."

he nods, but his eyes are a glassy thing. the guilt in his expression is clear then, and you find it satisfying more than anything.

"and everyone else?"

you want to say, the happiest they've ever been.

but you choke. you can't say it. you can hurt him using yourself, but using your friends? you can't do it, despite everything.

they weren't the happiest they've ever been without wooyoung. you've seen them try to move on with the heavy burden of jung wooyoung on their shoulders. he would always remain a hole in their hearts, and in their groups, in their group chats and dinners and conversations. in fact, when you told hongjoong you wanted to visit, he hadn't argued, only looked as if he would cry - something you've never seen from him in all the years you've known him.

"why did you do it? was it really worth losing everything? was..." you frown, "was losing us worth it?"

wooyoung was always one to stand by his resolutions, but perhaps years alone has changed him more than any of you could have.

he murmurs, "i have to believe it was."

the guard knocks on the door, opening it. the creaking hinges echo in the room.

"goodbye, wooyoung," you say, knowing damn well you don't think you'll ever return.

wooyoung smiles as if he can tell.

"goodbye," he says.

#ateez angst #ateez scenarios #wooyoung angst #hero/villain au #wooyoung #ateez

73 notes · View notes

funsizedshark · 2 years ago

Note

your griddlehark was such a funny and cute reading! and i was wondering if you have any griddlehark recs on ao3? thank you!!

hi anon! first of all thank you so much, i'm so glad u enjoyed it hehe and second of all!! i absolutely do :] i wouldn't call myself an expert but ive been going through the tag and i definitely have a few favorites that i need to comment on because i really loved these fics a lot. all of these are currently complete! i hope you enjoy them and if you want im always up for discussing great works hehe

here we go: not enough to ruin me by autumntales: 29k, the handmaiden au set on the ninth. showstopping amazing incredible if you havent seen the handmaiden i think id recommend you watch the movie first because knowing the plot twist is coming makes it even sexier but! theres no movie knowledge required. excellent work.

its a long road (losing all you own) by greekphilosophress: 5k, library au, harrow thinks shes being haunted and antagonized by gideon. honestly whats new. harrow's internal monologue on the brink of a nervous breakdown is what rlly makes this fantastic

the things that befall cavaliers by ThatAloneOne: 1k, short and sweet in that rip your heart out way. gideon and harrow from the end of gtn are time-looped back to the beginning of the events while theyre still on the ninth. i wanna read a 40k fic with this premise now

Midnight at the Mithraeum by zoicite; 66k, harrow is the manager of a speakeasy, gideon works at a casino, they hate each other and wake up married. literally what more could you ask for. i love realistic relationship development and even though they are very stupid and bad at communicating i adore them

Cake by the Ocean by zoicite: 15k, same author!! gideon bargains her voice for human legs after she saves harrow from drowning. it goes just about as well as you imagine it would go but its hilarious

The Furnace of You by Cypseloides: 67k, post htn (not nona compliant) where harrow, gideon and cam(and pal) end up escaping from the mithraeum. the summary reads angst. dramatiques. kissing. and theyre right its all of that but theres also camilla being incredible. palamedes being just as great. and most importantly, gideon getting some LOVIN

blue gray green lavender by smolranger: 29k, harrow and gideon are forced to work together to participate in a sailing race. this made me want to learn how to sail, which is the highest possible compliment i can pay a fic-you made me wanna learn something. thats incredible. i love it. the amount of detail in it is so good to read and the griddlehark is just. chef's kiss. excellent work

raise the gates, love by syntheseas: 3k hades (the videogame) au where gideon is zagreus and harrow is thanatos. if uve ever played the game youre gonna love this, its so good and the premise is PERFECT like are you kidding. thats Them

trust/fall by strangehunger; 4k, piercer harrowhark lets tattoo artist gideon tattoo her. anon u dont know me but tattoos are IT for me so this really checked all the boxes for me personally

we've got a good thing goin' by sinshine: 14k, nebulously post htn, team 69 find a safe house and its. the tern family vacation home. its hilarious. griddlehark try and fail to figure their shit out until they get it right. i love it

beat your swords into ploughshares (and your spears into pruning hooks) by NotAFicWriter: 18k, post-war, harrowhark goes cottagecore and avoids everyone. she plants tomatoes instead. little butch farmer harrow was everything i never knew i needed but this fic DELIVERED. i was yearning for a butch farmer wife like ten words in

eyes and words so icy, oh but she burns by groundedsaucer (coasterchild): 47k, harrow is a figure skater, gideon is a hockey player. obviously they end up pair skating together for a competition. obviously they hate each other at the beginning. i went into this with high expectation and finished it with the delight i usually associate with good sports anime. loved it

nothing safe is worth the drive by saltwaterconfessions (rosesandcinnamon): 4k, modern au with out besties on a road trip, the pining is incredible. hit a little bit too close to home ! the lesbian yearning is strong in this one !

let’s drink to feelings of temptation by overnights: 25k, bartender colleagues au, extremely fun because i love them being antagonistic. it fuels me.

memories of darkness undone by the light by corpsesoldier: 5k, not nona compliant post htn, if these two just TALKED TO EACH OTHER............ i swear to god. also an excellent example of lesbian miscommunication and yearning. really good

i hope u have fun reading! make sure to also check out other fics by these same authors and send them some love :] i might update this list in the future as i read my way through the tag. have a nice day!

#anons #answers #tlt #fic recs #captain's log #i might put this in a read more later! and maybe add some other links in the future just so i have this post as reference #if anyone else asks for recs #heres to hoping the links work lolol #have fun anon!#griddlehark

81 notes · View notes

thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 3 years ago

Text

Breaking in the Booze

kiribaku / f.reader

genre: aged-up/prohero au, fluff, how much more domestic can we get

warning(s): drinking (obviously), bakugou+y/n are moving by themselves so kirishima can work (he feels kinda bad), they all share a bath but its super sweet :DD (so what- brief mentions of nudity?)

w.count: 4k

synopsis: it took a long hard time, but finally you, katsuki and eijirou were finally moving into a house you all three just bought. moving day it hectic, but so worth it. kaminari sends booze home with kirishima as a congratulatory gift- so why wouldn't they drink it?

a/n: this is technically a sequel to Forgetful Fuckin' Drunk, but it can be read as a stand alone fic! this time, kirishima's the one getting drunk hehe

-x-x-x

If you had to explain to anyone what it felt like inside of a moving truck packed full with furniture and boxes in the middle of summer, you'd just tell them hell would feel better.

Moving was exciting, you wouldn't want anyone to think it wasn't. It was just much less exciting and much more sweaty in the summer heat. Trying to get an early start wasn't much help either since the sun was already barreling down and producing sweltering heat by 8 am.

"Holy shit," Katsuki groaned, rolling up the short cut sleeves of his gym tee- the fabric already irritating him. Thankfully, when you three loaded this truck, it was evening of the previous day- so all y'all had to do was drive to the new house and unpack. Problem was, Eijirou was called into the agency by Fatgum- since he still worked there until Katsuki and him could work up an agency of their own.

You weren't a prohero, but you were a graduated and decently known support technician for heroes. You currently worked along with Hatsume, a fellow UA graduate who always had some sort of gear or idea cooking up.

Of course, when Ground Zero and Red Riot get their agency dream off the ground, they've already set aside a plan for a workshop and office space for you because there was no way they were going go go independent without you.

That all being said, that left Katsuki and you to handle everything on your own. Eijirou tried to tell Fat that today wasn't exactly ideal, but Katsuki and you pushed him to work- you two could handle it.... somehow.

"Okay babe," Katsuki, huffed again. The tail end of the truck was packed with all the larger furniture and first off the chopping block was the two piece living room set Katsuki and Eijirou bought back in their previous apartment that consisted of a three section couch and two section love seat. That couch was going to be item number one off the truck. "This mother is heavy as shit," he told you standing on one end of the three cushion couch. "Think you're gonna be able to handle it?" For once, his tone wasn't teasing or challenging when it came to a situation of strength.

You thought him and Eijirou were going to pop a blood vessel just loading this thing up yesterday, so to say you were a little nervous was an understatement. It wasn't like you were all that weak, in fact you were toned in your own ways; but you weren't at your boyfriends' strength levels either. You knew this was going to suck just as much as Katsuki did.

"Well," you huff, touching around the couch and it's arms to see where the best place to grab on to was, "I don't think we really have a choice, now do we?"

After a little bit of tips, like the obvious of lifting with your legs not your back he also advised you to absolutely tell him if your grip is slipping because he will immediately drop the couch off the truck if it's too much to handle. Eijirou's bank account be damned (he'd understand).

So, after double checking that the metal ramp you hand pushed up against the truck's dock was secure and wouldn't slip and cause your sudden and immediate doom by being crushed, you and Katsuki heaved.

Your forearms burned as your fingers were so tightly fisted where they grasped on the fabric you thought they'd break off. You shuffled backward as carefully as you could down the ramp, regretting that you decided to go first at all. Katsuki was huffing and suffering just as much as you were. His eye flicked from keeping the couch upright to looking down at you to make sure you weren't going to slip and fall; all while making sure he wasn't pushing or moving too quickly to make you stumble.

If you so much as slipped, he would pull that couch back and fling it away himself with an explosion. It may be heavy, but it wasn't indestructible.

"Fuck- you- shiiit- you okay?!" he grunted in harsh stutters. You didn't speak back to him, too afraid that if you did your concentration would be broken and you'd be done for.

Somehow, you both shuffled your way to the pavement and safely off the metal ramp uncrushed. You dropped the couch in sync with the blond. You nearly collapsed as your arms screamed and tried not to think about the fact that you still have to carry it inside.

Katsuki flopped over the arm as he cursed under his breath like all the words his mama ever taught him were mature ones.

"Well," you huff, "at least it's down. Half way there?" You tried to reason. Katsuki just lifted his head and gave you the most deadpan look.

"You have got to be joking."

You bark out a laugh before he cracked a smile. Rolling his eyes he straightens back out before rolling his shoulders.

"Fuck this couch- we'll do it last. For now, lets just unload the smaller shit." The wristwatch he wore showing him the early hour. "Hell, if we have to, we'll leave the damn thing outside for Ei to bring in later. He's jacked enough to lift it himself."

"Now, you know that's not true. I saw you guys struggling with it yesterday."

"You didn't see anything."

"Ah, right," you playfully tap your forehead. "I forgot that I went temporarily blind when you guys were loading the truck up. I must have been hallucinating."

"You are insufferable."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to sleep in my own separate room then, huh?"

"I think the fuck not!" He cried as you barked out another laugh at him. The rest of the morning went by smoothly, aside from the awkward struggles of dressers, tables or dining chairs. Bringing box by box inside and into the rooms they were labeled for, soon the inside of your new house was stacked high with boxes.

It felt like you were inside a giant playhouse with stacking blocks and the thought made you chuckle as you watched Katsuki trip over the same small box he kept over looking for the third time in a row.

It was around 3 in the afternoon when you and Katsuki decided that working hour after hour with only minor breaks was called for an actual break. Slumped against the outside wall just next to the front door with his legs extended out, he groaned.

"This is taking longer than I thought."

You nudged him with your foot as you offered him a glass you had dug out of one of the kitchen boxes filled with water. "Blame Eijirou- he has a hard time throwing anything away. Sip, don't gulp," you advised as you noticed him taking long drinks that would definitely make him puke after all his moving around all day in this heat.

After your break and a few sipped on glasses of water, you were back at it again. All the boxes and furniture had been carried inside- although not all in it's proper place yet. Well, all furniture accept for that damn couch. Katsuki didn't want you straining like before, so he was going to wait for Eijirou, even if he didn't get home until midnight- it was staying the fuck outside.

It was evening when Eijirou finally came back home. Decked in a pair of swears with a two red gears on the right pocket and a stained, white t-shirt. He also had his duffle on his hip filled with his hero gear.

"I'm back guys!" He felt all giddy seeing the once empty halls and rooms lined with furniture and boxes. He felt even more giddy hearing you and Katsuki welcome him back home as you rummaged around in boxes looking for whatever.

"About time," Katsuki huffed. "Come help me carry in that damn couch," he instructed. Eijirou dropped his duffle which you quickly took and relocated so the boys wouldn't trip on it.

"I saw it sitting in the driveway. Couldn't get it inside, huh?"

"What? No, I didn't want y/n to lift that heavy piece of shit again. Nearly crushed her this morning."

"Crushed?!"

"No! It did not," you immediately deescalated. "It was just heavy and awkward. I was fine." You crossed your arms and cocked your hip to one side as you knew Katsuki's turned back hid the smirk on his face.

The two of them went out and you could hear their grunts and groans of the heavy piece of comfort. You decided to quickly kick boxes out of the way and create a clear path they could travel. Snatching Eijirou's duffle back into your arms, you hear a few things inside clink.

They didn't sound like the thick, metal gears he wore around his shoulders for protection and support- but instead sounded delicate like glass.

Unzipping the back as you set it delicately on the table in the kitchen. you pulled out two large bottles of liquor. You held the necks of both in either hand, looking at them quizzically.

You were soon brought back to reality when you hear a small thud followed by relieved moans. Coming back to the living room, Katsuki was bent backward, his hands on his lower back between his spine trying to relieve any aches. Eijirou was bent over, hands on the couch arm huffing. You scoffed at them in good faith as you lightly clinked the liquor bottles together.

The two both looked at you, Katsuki straightening his stance and Eijirou looking over his shoulder.

"The hell did you get those from?" Katsuki asked, not remembering having them in any cabinets that were loaded up.

"Eijirou's duffle. You're not drinking on the job are you?" You tease since the bottles weren't even open yet. He chuckled as he stood up and walked over to you, taking one bottle from your hand and reading the label.

"Oh, definitely. Nothing like a drunk Red Riot out to save innocent civilians," he chuckles playing along before he quickly dismisses the joke. "Nah. Pretty sure Fat would throw me out a window if I did that. Amajiki might actually raise his voice at me too. No, this is from Kaminari."

"Kaminari?"

"When did Dunce Face have the time to buy and give you liquor?" Katsuki asked, coming over to the two of you and standing on Eijirou's other side.

"Dunno," Eijirou shrugged. "He just popped by the Fat Agency before I left this afternoon and gave it to me as a house warming gift."

"He couldn't have gotten us anything else?" Katsuki clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. "I swear, all that's on his mind is alcohol and women."

"Don't say that," you reached around Eijirou and swatted at Katsuki's arm. "He thinks about Kyoka and his job all the time. He just... likes to have fun too."

"Yeah, Kats," Eijirou joined. "Take a page out of his book and loosen up." Katsuki tutted and Eijirou smirked. "Well, I guess it's fine if you don't. After all, if you start drinking again maybe you'll think that only y/n and I live here and you'll be all dejected being left out again."

The blonds face erupted into a fit of reds between anger and embarrassment. The lost memories of the last time he went out drinking with friends you both had told him about were once again thrown back in his face. Thinking that you and his boyfriend were dating each other exclusively and not also with him.

He threw his arms down in a fit. "Oh shut up!" He cried as you and Eijirou shared a laugh.

Soon enough, there was calm between you all as Katsuki and you took to the kitchen, well before Katsuki shooed you out of it. He hated people in his kitchen on a good day, but now it was all cluttered with boxes and foam padding and tape and he couldn't stand it with another body in it as well. You were shocked you were allowed inside for as along as you were at all.

Eijirou gave you a quick 'got kicked out huh?' as you just nodded and started helping him unpack. Eijirou was busy sorting stuff in the living room as you made your way into the master bedroom that would be all three of yours to share.

One long dresser with a vanity mirror sat next to the door and reflected the large bedframe with an equally large, naked mattress on it. Two other dressers mirrored each other on opposite walls, and the closet was two sliding, white doors wide.

Boxes were stacked everywhere, on the bed, on the ground, besides the dressers, in the closet- everywhere.

You weren't sure how long you were going through them before you were being call back into the kitchen to eat something. You three talked a lot over dinner, about the house, how Ei's day went, how Fatgum and Amajiki were doing, about the team agency you all dreamed off- so much was discussed over a quickly thrown together batch of miso.

After dinner, you were cleaning up with Katsuki, scrubbing dishes as you handed them to the blond to dry. Eijirou came bouncing back in the kitchen from the bathroom where he stood between the both of you, both of his arms slinging around you two. One hand on Katsuki's hip and the other on yours.

"You guys want to take a bath with me?" He sang. You could feel the dampness of his shower he just took from his arm around you in his nighttime tanktop.

"You just took a shower though?" You told him, handing Katsuki another bowl.

"So? That was just to get clean. Now we can just relax, you know?"

Before you could tell him that maybe it could happen another night, Katsuki was already agreeing for himself and for you with a quick 'sure'. You were shocked, since he wasn't a fan of baths in general. In fact, of the three of you, you favored them most bc of all the scented oils or salts you got to use.

The moment dishes were cleared away, Eijirou was dragging you both to the en-suite bathroom off the master bedroom. The main bath had a standing shower, toliet and standing sink. But this one was more extravagant.

It was a long counter top with two sink bowls and a large, long mirror stretching it. The tile was large in white squares that chilled the bare foot. The shower was right inside the door, long with two shower heads on opposite ends and separate from it was a large, oval tub. In the back of the room was a double doored pantry, well away from any source of water for anything that needed to be in the bathroom from soaps, to toiletries, to clothes hampers and towels.

Honestly, this bathroom was one reason you were so dead set on this house.

Eijirou practically danced as Katsuki began to undress, you following him as he started the water, adding in a few drops of your newest favorite scented oil. Katsuki wasn't usually a fan of oils, making him smell all sweet since he was a big-tough-guy. But, he had let it slip once that he really didn't mind them because when he used them, he smelt like you. Eijirou always loved your oils, even if he didn't use them. He liked talking to you about the smells and effects they have- since he liked seeing you get all excited of a new scent or brand.

The tub was big enough to fit all three of you somehow comfortably. Sitting between the two of them, both of their arms were laying across the tub's edge and behind your shoulders. Just like during dinner, conversation flowed so naturally. Even when it did die down and get quiet, you just watched the oil swirl in the bathwater and basked in the peace.

But of course, you couldn't stay in the tub forever. When you all got out, you were all pruned up on your fingertips and toes. Eijirou wrapped you up in a giant red towel.

"You're like a little, red sushi roll," he told you as you just rolled your eyes.

Once everyone was dressed again, clean and relaxed, you three went back to the living room and sat on the couch. The TV you all had wasn't set up yet, still just sitting on the floor. It'd have to be something for tomorrow though since no one wanted to bother with it.

Instead, Eijirou suggested drinking the liquor Kaminari gave him and since you were already home and ready for the night, you agreed easily.

-x-x-x-

You're not sure what Kaminari was thinking, buying you guys hard liquor especially since Eijirou was able to somehow down the potent liquid shot after shot without so much as flinching.

While you and Katsuki were drinking by mixing with sodas or other flavors or just taking it easy, Eijirou was just straight balling it. Attractive in a way, but also not so great when he was 6 shots in and already drowsy.

Eijirou wasn't a hard drunk to deal with, not like Katsuki, but he was sleepy. In that way, it was almost more irritating than a stumbling, emotional blond. He would just pass out at any time and it was like when he did, gravity decided to push down on his body because he felt impossible to move.

Quite literally feeling as heavy as a boulder.

You always knew when it was going to happen because he'd get all sing-song like, drawling out words like any typical drunk, and gushing about his partners. He'd flop over you or Katsuki or cling to you both as a last resort to stay standing should he pass out standing up. You thought of it as his brain's last ditch effort to avoid injury even while piss-drunk.

You had gotten up to get him a glass of water, to help sober him up a little since he still had to work tomorrow afternoon.

"Get the hell off me you damn drunkard!" You heard Katsuki shout from the kitchen as the water filled the glass and cooled your palm. You chuckled.

"No!" Eijirou whined, no doubt being pushed away, but not deterring from his goal of smothering his boyfriend. Coming back into the living room, you were correct.

Katsuki was holding Eijirou buy his shoulder in one hand and pushing against his chin with his other. His face was flushed, but you couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or his fluster.

Eijirou was weakly swatting his arms around, trying to grab his boyfriend, but was too weak to actually snag him anywhere to make it count. His face was red like he had a sunburn all from the amount of liquors he's drank. It was rare for him to drink so heavily, so when you agreed to all drink at home, you were shocked to see him down so much so quickly.

Eventually he gave up, flopping forward and onto Katsuki's leg. His arm came to wrap around his thigh. "You smell nice," he cooed while Katsuki just rolled his eyes.

"You damn leech," He sighed before his hand came to rest on Eijirou's red hair that lay flat on his head- devoid of any hair gel.

Moseying over to them, you kneeled in front of Eijirou who lay on the couch sideways. You joined Katsuki's hand on his head and lightly scratched around his ear and if he were a cat he probably would be purring. He cracked his eyes open to see a very blurry you- but you nonetheless.

"Hey, Ei," you cooed as he smiled drunkenly at you. Affectionate and sleepy- that's what Eijirou was when smashed.

"Hello, Sweetcheeks."

"Can you do me a favor?" He hummed, his cheek smooshed up against Katsuki's thigh. "Try and sit up for me so you can drink this." He squinted at the glass you held.

"What is it?"

"Water."

"I don't want to drink it."

"You have to, dumbass," Katsuki scolded, lightly pulling on the tip of his ear, making the redhead whine and weakly kick his legs. "Our girlfriend asked you to do something." Somehow, that sentence had Eijirou sitting up almost immediately.

"You're right!" He shouted, ignoring the spinning room around him and not seeing Katsuki beside him frantic like he was ready to catch him if he fell off the cushion. "I have to! Y/n asked me, if I didn't that wouldn't be very manly, would it?"

He stuck his hand out towards you.

"Water me," he dramatically spoke with a fake, deep voice. You laughed, carefully handing his glass and guiding his hand up to his mouth so he wouldn't spill it all over himself.

Katsuki shook his head as he chuckled, resting his elbow on the couch arm while his curled fingers pushed on his cheek as he leaned to the side to watch.

After he finished drinking, you took the glass and Katsuki took it from you, standing up.

"We should get him to bed," he suggested and you nodded. You watched Eijirou's head start to nod back and forth obviously fighting the pass-out stage of his drunken stupor. Giggling, you stood up, grabbing his hands and placed a kiss on his head.

"Come on, big boy, let's go to the bed."

During your time unpacking boxes in the bedroom, you had dressed the bed in a fitted sheet and threw a few pillows and blankets on the mattress. Ready for bed, Eijirou flopped into bed face first into a pillow. You sat on the mattress edge, petting his hair and marveling at how soft it is. Between him and Katsuki, you weren't sure whose hair was softer.

"That feels good," he spoke into the pillow as he turned his head so his cheek pushed into the plush.

"Good."

When Katsuki came into the room, Eijirou was immediately whining him over as he soon took a seat on the other side of the bed with Eijirou in the middle. You both always had Eijirou in the middle of the bed- or against a wall when it was only him and Katsuki in their old place- when he drank so there was no chance of him falling off.

The lights were turned off and the three of you settled in. Katsuki lay on his side, one of his arms folded under his head and the other on Eijirou's back, rubbing his spine up and down. You mirrored him on the opposite side of Ei as the redhead muttered on and on before finally falling asleep.

"He's going to regret drinking like he's going to war tomorrow," the blond scoffed with a lift to his lips.

"Oh, most definitely."

"Whatever, can't do anything 'bout it now. Go to sleep," he told you. And you were ready to do just that. It was a long, tiring day and there was still a lot of work and unpacking left to do. Rest was in your best interest.

"Good night, Katsuki."

His hand stopped rubbing Eijirou's back and latched onto your hand, lacing your fingers over the small of the red head's spine.

"Yeah, night."

The next morning, Eijirou pushed his pillow over the top of his face as he lay on his back, groaning and moaning about how bright it was and how much his head hurt. Katsuki laughed at him and you gave him medicine for his head.

"I'm gonna punch Kaminari the next time I see him," he whined, voice muffled from the pillow.

"He's not the idiot who drank himself stupid," Katsuki teased, slapping his thigh.

"Shut up." Katsuki laughed louder, Eijirou whined more, and you were just happy that you three were finally together under the same roof.

-x-x-x-

a/n pt.2: i tOLD y'all it was gonna get domestic. so like, how much for like some feedback? bc i would prefer words/reblogs over likes pls. pls tell me how this was- i will shake an empty tin can for words like coins at you.

#kiribaku #bakushima #kiribaku x reader #kirkbaku x reader fluff #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bnha fic #bakugou fic #kirishima fic #bakugou fluff #kirishima fluff #kiribaku fluff #bakushima fluff #female reader

525 notes · View notes

untiltheendoftime · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: Staring at a stranger leaves you with an empty plate of fries and a heart filled with the slightest bit of love.

gif by @stevenrogered

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: A normal amount of swearing, other than that it's pure fluff.

Writers note: This is for @celestialbarnes "4k writing challenge"

Reblogs, likes and your thoughts are so much appreciated. Feel free to point out any errors.

─── ☪ ･ ☪ ･ ☪ ･ ☪ ･ ☪ ───

Can I steal your fries?

You had found yourself in a small diner, after another terrible date, with a large portion of fries in front you. Perhaps alcohol would've been more helpful to forget the whole day, but sadly your work schedule didn't allow you to get drunk and risk a hangover.

As soon as you sat down, you deleted the dating app off your phone, earning an amused look from the stranger in the booth in front of you when you had muttered something along the lines of "Fuck this shit." and "Might as well start referring to myself as a trash can if trash is all I attract."

You could feel the warmth of a blush rising on your cheeks when you heard the stranger chuckle and you were sure that you looked exactly like the ketchup on your fries. Why did you have to blush so easily? Fuck.

Unfortunately he was quite handsome, which didn't help your ketchup-face problem at all. His hair was rather short, though it looked like he was growing it out, and he gave off cozy vibes with the navy blue hoodie he was wearing and the steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He was far more than quite handsome. It was then that you noticed that his eyes, unfairly blue like the sky on a perfect summer day, were focused on you.

He fully caught you staring at him. Damn it.

In order to hide your embarrassment, you quickly adverted your eyes to the plate in front of you. Suddenly the fries were very interesting.

The sound of footsteps appeared and just when you had thought that you creepingly staring made the stranger leave, a muscular body came in sight and you were starting to feel anxious.

Thinking that apologizing was the best way to get over with this as soon as possible, you tried to come up with an excuse "Look, I'm sorry for staring. I jus-" you started bubbling, but he quickly interrupted you.

"Wouldn't have caught you staring at me if I wasn't staring as well, would I?" he said, his voice surprisingly sweet and when you had gathered up enough courage to look up at him, you were welcomed with a breathtaking smile.

Without any hesitation, he sat down in front of you and the anxious feeling quickly washed away, being replaced with irritation instead. Sure, he didn't look bad, but he was a stranger after all.

You eyed him suspiciously and he did the same, obviously mocking you. "I don't want to sound rude but I believe your coffee wants your attention more than me" you said, actually not really bothering to sound polite.

"Does sound rude to me, doll."

He probably used the nickname a lot, however it didn't stop you from feeling flattered. Not wanting to acknowledge it, and turning red again, you decided to keep your mouth shut.

The silence was starting to feel uncomfortable and from the way his brows slightly furrowed with thought, you could tell that he didn't want the conversation to end so soon.

"You're not here for the first time and I actually wanted to talk to you for a while." he admitted, "Even tried to get your attention, but all you did was stare into your phone and yeah" a faint blush crept up on his cheeks.

It took you a solid minute to process his words. Yes, you were a frequent customer, most of the times visiting after another date went downhill and sometimes you would google dating advice and gag at all the bullshit everyone wrote. You didn't exactly hate being single, though having someone to come home to wasn't the worst thought you could think of. The more dates went wrong, the more you and your family, especially them, began to wonder what was wrong with you.

"Always love a stranger watching me" you joked and instantly grimace at how badly you had worded it. That's not what you meant.

His laughter filled your ears and it was full of warmth and so contagious, you had to laugh as well.

After the laughter had died down, he cleared his throat and extendended his right hand to you "I'm Bucky" he softly said and while shaking it, the contact sending slight shivers down your spine, you tell him your name.

"Now that we know each others names, can I steal some of your fries?" Bucky asked, not waiting for an answer as he reached for your plate.

"No" you chuckled out, playfully swatting his hand away, and he glared at you for a second before dramatically putting the hand on his chest, claiming that you've really hurt his feelings and it might take decades to mend the pain in his heart.

The conversation between the two of you flowed nicely. He told you about his visits to different countries and you would ask questions about how the people were and if the food tasted good, the latter truthfully answered with a "I usually went for cheeseburgers due to the lack of time."

You had told Bucky how much you despise going on dates now because your family would pressure you, saying that the problem has to be you since your ex shortly found a significant other after the break up.

Bucky's jaw tightened at that and he voiced out how fucking rude your family was, wondering if they don't have anything else to do than rubbing their noses in your love life. Seeing that he has was way more understanding than your own family, empathy had always been something all of them undoubtedly lacked off, made you even more fond of the handsome stranger and you felt comfortable sharing personal pieces of your life with him as hours passed by.

Midway through your story you paused to look at your plate, realizing that it was almost empty now and the only reason why he didn't stop your rambling was because it allowed him to eat your fries.

"Stop taking my fries." you muttered out, causing him to grin.

"What are you gonna do about it?" he questioned, voice heavenly charming as he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows at you.

Perhaps this was the most cliché thing to do, but the look he gave you when you threw a few fries at his face was something you wish you would've gotten a picture of. His eyes were still slightly widened in shock when he, not so attractively, shoved all of the fries in his mouth, making you laugh at his childish behavior.

"I got to eat the fries. Seems like I won, sweetheart." he proudly declared.

Banters and stories later, your eyes caught a glimpse of the clock on your phone and you frown when it reads two a.m

You jolted up from your seat, calling out an apology to the old waitress who seemed to be startled by the sudden change of energy. "I do enjoy talking to you, but my shift starts in six hours." you said, your voice laced with a hint of sadness.

Bucky stood up as well and reached for your phone that was still lying on the table. He handed it you, signaling for you to unlock it, and when he had access to it, he quickly typed in his number and pressed the saving button. A cheekish smile on his lips when he puts it in your grasp again and you can't help but beam at him, too.

He held his hands up in defense, "Figured you need my number after you have deleted all the datings apps."

You rolled your eyes in response and, who knows where the confidence boost came from, step closer to him. "Goodnight" you murmured, pressing a light kiss to his cheek and they instantly heat up, which made him look adorable. Maybe you had found someone who blushes just as easily as you.

Once you had entered the front door of your apartment, your phone gave off a noise, signaling that you had received a message. A quick glance at the screen told you that it was Bucky asking if you came home alright. He definitely is a gentleman. Just when you were about to answer him, another text popped up. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop you from grinning like a lovestruck teenager while reading it.

Bucky:

When will you take me out?

Sincerely, your trash

─── ☪ ･ ☪ ･ ☪ ･ ☪ ･ ☪ ───

First story on here. Hopefully it's not that bad? I would absolutely love to hear some feedback. Thank you for reading everything ♡

529 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

Text

artificial scarcity || (soft)dark!Jake Jensen x reader

summary: you'll realize how good he can treat you, how badly you need him, one way or another. you just need a little encouragement, that's all.

word count: 4k, somehow...

warnings: smut! (dubcon; she is fully consenting but under dubious circumstances), drugging (technically), kidnapping, imprisonment, starvation, touch-starved reader, bed sharing, grinding/thigh fucking, size kink, spanking, implied stalking/voyeurism, implied noncon (kinda?), jake being possessive and manipulative and creepy

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble which is why the pacing might feel a little rushed in the beginning but I hope you guys don’t mind!

Jake was normally a relatively patient guy, especially with you since he had an obvious soft spot for the newest member of the team. But after months of trying to get your attention, of his abysmal flirting not getting him anywhere, of you becoming more and more comfortable with the idea of him as a friend and nothing else, his patience was running thin.

He was tired of waiting for the perfect opportunity to rescue you and show you that he was the perfect guy for you. He was tired of waiting for you to figure out that he could be everything you needed if you just let him. So, he figured he needed to manufacture a chance to save you; he needed to take away some things just to bring them back, show you what it was like to let him take care of you.

Getting close to you was easy, you were teammates and friends so you trusted him. The tricky thing was he didn't want you to know it was him, so he used your trust to lure you right into his trap.

Movie night tonight? There’s some cheesy slasher playing at the drive in at 1930, he texted you as soon as he could to the showtime to decrease the odds of you having any time to tell anyone about your plans to meet up with him; he’d rather not have the heat of being the last person to see you before your disappearance.

yeah sure! are you driving? you replied almost instantly.

Yep, I’ll pick you up at S Lamar and Hanover in 10, he informed you, knowing it was close to your apartment but far away from any security cameras or likely witnesses.

He parked a block away and walked around the corner to see you standing there under the flickering streetlight looking at your phone. You were waiting for him, and as he hid behind cover to come closer, you were clearly looking around for where he might be. Thankfully, you didn't see him or his tranq gun, and he got your neck on the first shot.

He ran to catch you before you fell, relishing the weight of your body limp and pliant in his arms. Somehow, he resisted the urge to play with you now, knowing it would be worth the wait to let his whole plan come to fruition.

The room he locked you in was dark and damp, barely any light but enough to see the half-full water bottle he left for you; your chain was short but you could reach everything you needed. It broke his heart to hear your cries but he had to ignore them, if he came in now it wouldn't make sense. He needed to be patient.

When the video feed from his camera inside showed that you'd fallen asleep for the night, he snuck in to bring you a new water bottle and a little granola bar since you'd screamed all day about being hungry. You seem surprised when you woke up and saw it, quickly grabbing the bar but taking a long time to examine and smell it first before eating, like you were afraid it was poisoned. But you ate, and drank your water, and waited for rescue.

Day 3 was the hardest to watch. You tugged at your chain so much that he worried you'd hurt yourself. He decided tomorrow was the last day because he couldn't take any more of this.

On the fourth day, he waited until you started to cry yourself to sleep before shutting down his equipment and finally coming to the door; he took a deep breath, preparing himself, before dramatically kicking it down and gasping when he saw you. He called your name into the dark and you barely had the energy to open your eyes, poor thing.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" he yelped, dashing over to where you were chained and picking at the lock. "I'm gonna get you out, don't worry, you're safe now."

"Jensen...?" you mumbled sleepily, making him smile and stroke your face a little.

"Yeah, I'm right here."

He carried you to his car and drove you home-- not your old home, your new one which also happened to be his apartment.

"I think it's time to wake up, I'm guessing you wanna take a shower," he cooed at your sleeping form, watching you stir in his arms before finally blinking your eyes open and looking up at him.

"Oh," you whispered. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes," he laughed, "you've been out the whole ride here."

"Oh…” you repeated, “and where are we?"

"My apartment. I didn't want to leave you alone right now."

You nodded, seemingly in agreement. "You can put me down now."

He reluctantly did as you'd asked, watching you carefully put weight back on your legs.

"Woah!" he chuckled when you wobbled a bit, reaching out to catch you, but you recovered.

"Thank you," you whispered, and he smiled at you.

"Just wish I'd found you sooner.”

"Um, you said I can take a shower?"

"Yeah, down that hall, first door on the right. I'll bring you some clothes,” he explained, and you smiled weakly before navigating your way to the bathroom.

You looked so good in his clothes that his heart skipped a beat when he saw you step out into the living room. The t-shirt that was almost too tight on him was baggy on you, reminding him of how delicate you were in so many ways, how much bigger he was than you.

It reminded him that if he really wanted to, he could force himself on you and you'd be helpless to stop him. But that wasn't what he wanted. It was going to be so much better this way.

"Wanna go to bed now? I'll take the couch," he offered.

"N-no," you stammered, and he gave you a quizzical look. "I don't… I don't want you that far away."

"Okay, I could sleep on the floor," he bargained instead, "in my room, with you."

"No," you sighed again, "then I won't be able to see you."

"I'll be right there," he reminded you.

"It's a king, right? You can share with me."

"Are you sure?" he pressed. "I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No, please, this is the only way I'll be comfortable."

"Okay," he smiled, guiding you to the bedroom. He let you watch him take off his shirt and smirked a little when he saw you ogling.

"I usually just sleep in boxers," he admitted nervously. "I'll put on some pajama pants at least."

"It's fine, really," you smiled. "I don't wanna be any more of a burden than I already am."

"You're not a burden."

"And I'm not gonna wear pants to bed anyways," you shrugged.

"O-oh."

But he hadn't given you a new pair of panties to wear because he didn't have any to give you. Which meant that if you took off the sweats he'd given you, that'd leave you in his shirt and nothing else.

He tried not to let that thought go straight to his cock as he unbuttoned and pushed down his pants, seeing you conflicted on where to look, before getting in bed. You did the same, taking the sweats off once you were under the covers and tossing them out from under the blanket.

"Goodnight," he smiled as he turned off the lamp, hearing you whisper it back before starting to shift around and get comfortable.

He didn't have to wait nearly as long as he had expected to hear you meekly whisper, "Jensen?"

"Yeah, is everything alright?" he asked, voice full of concern.

"I… I don't want to ask you for anything else…" you sighed.

"No, hey, it's okay," he assured, "ask for anything."

"Would you, um, would you hold me?"

He cleared his throat a little. "If you need me to."

"Please, it's the only way I'll be able to sleep."

He sighed a little but relented, coming over to your side of the bed and spooning you, gingerly laying one arm over you and trying to avoid touching you anywhere too personal.

"Thank you," you sighed sleepily.

"Whatever you need,” he assured.

"Jake, why are you doing all this for me?" you asked quietly, turning back a little to look at him.

"You're my teammate, nobody gets left behind,” he explained. “Besides, this is all my fault anyways. You were waiting for me when they got you."

"No, Jake, don't say that. It's not your fault."

"Alright, but it's not yours either. You didn't deserve that."

“You’re right, but I don’t deserve this either,” you mumbled.

“Yes, you do.”

You shifted slightly against him, humming contentedly, and he groaned.

"I think maybe we should stop," he hissed, pulling away— but you stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"No, wait," you whimpered. "Why? What’s wrong?"

"I, uh, I guess I'm just experiencing some of the consequences of laying in bed with a beautiful woman…"

"Huh?"

"The, um, the biological consequences."

"I— oh,” you whispered.

"Yeahhh...” he trailed off awkwardly.

"No, hey, it's okay. I don't mind, I mean, you can't help it,” you shrugged.

"Sorry, I'm not normally this easily amused but it's been a while, so…"

"I understand," you assured, "really, it's okay… just don't go."

He just barely heard your gasp as he pressed himself against you, his shaft cradled perfectly between each soft globe of your ass. "Is this okay?" he asked quietly.

"Y-yeah," you answered, making him suppress a laugh since it was obvious you were noticing his size. He would bet a grand at least that you were getting wet right now, if he had anyone to bet against.

Your back arched a little, pushing your ass into him with more force, and you actually started to rock your hips ever so slightly.

"Stop moving," he hissed through his teeth.

"I'm not…" you denied weakly.

"Yes you are, you're… rubbing yourself on me."

"I'm sorry, it just feels good,” you admitted sleepily, surprising him with your forwardness. “You like it too, right?"

"Yes, but I feel like I'm taking advantage of you,” he admitted worriedly.

"You're not,” you promised, “you did so much for me— you saved me— and I want to help you, too. You said it's been a while since you were with anybody, I could help you out… you know, you could rub up against me until you…"

He groaned a little but leaned in closer until his lips were right against your ear. "Are you sure? Don't do me any favors, you don't owe me anything."

"I want you to," you assured, making him smile and nod a bit, taking a moment to enjoy a deep breath as he prepared himself.

Carefully, he began to rock his hips forward, rubbing his cock on you through his boxers. Even with a layer of cotton in the way he could feel your warmth, he could imagine how smooth your skin was. If you hadn't been able to make out the shape of him before, you certainly could now— the ridge of his head was probably digging into you, and on particularly long thrusts he could feel your ass against his balls (which, inversely, meant you could feel his balls against your ass).

He held your hips as he picked up his pace a bit, grinding into you and breathing heavily in your ear. You gasped and tried to hide a moan by biting your lip but he heard it. It was even more obvious when he whispered your name to you, heavy with desire, and rubbed your spine with his finger. Your back arched even further, inviting him to push harder against you until he felt the slightest wet patch forming on his boxers— not from him, from you. It made his cock throb and his breath catch in his throat.

Overcome with need, he pushed his boxers down quickly before getting back to it, both of you moaning at the feeling of his skin on yours. He was so close to your pussy he could hardly stand it, and he knew you must be dripping right now, desperate to be filled. He could probably slip right in and you wouldn't even stop him, but that wasn't what he needed from you right now. You needed to ask him for it. He knew you wanted it, but he needed you to know you wanted it.

A drop of precum formed at his slit, smearing onto your skin and easing his way further.

"I want you to feel good, too," he whispered. "I don't just want to use you."

He pushed his cock down and slipped it between your thighs instead, sliding right against your wet, silky folds. You whined beautifully as he thrusted forward, your thighs clenching (and therefore gripping him even tighter) when his cock slid right over your clit.

Your wetness was plentiful enough to drench him just from this, so he already knew the answer but he still asked, "does it feel good?"

"Yes," you sighed. "Yes, it's good…"

He knew he could make you come like this, and he knew exactly how to, but that wouldn't get him what he wanted. Instead he only gave you enough to keep you on the edge, moving too slow to really let you finish. You even tried to move faster but his grip on your hips was too tight, keeping you still so he could savor his own pace and keep you desperate.

"Fuck me," you moaned.

"I don't have a condom," he whispered nervously.

"I don't care, just please…"

That was all the encouragement he needed, pulling back enough to guide his head to your entrance before sliding right in. Your wet, hot walls stretched open to accept him, struggling against his girth but eventually giving way.

Your hand shot back to grab onto his thigh, trying to keep him from going too deep, but he had no intentions of holding back now that he was inside you; he delicately grabbed your wrist and guided your hand back to your chest where he wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

"Baby," he moaned into your ear as his hips met yours. "This is my pussy now."

You gasped and shivered in his arms, eyes falling shut as he pulled back and pushed in again, incredibly slow but as deep as he could push himself.

Your moans were perfect, even better than the ones he'd heard when he hacked into your webcam because it wasn't just your fingers or toy anymore, it was him— exactly what you'd always needed, whether you knew it or not. He'd dreamed of this for so long and now that he had you he couldn't imagine ever letting you go. Every inch of your channel was like heaven, every moan was somehow more beautiful than the last.

"That's it, baby, take all of me," he purred when he pressed deep into your cunt, holding your hips so the tip of his cock hit the deepest parts of you. You made the cutest little choking noise and he kissed your neck while trying his best to make you do it again, moving faster and slapping his hips against yours more firmly.

"Jake," you managed to whimper, and he groaned through his teeth.

"Yeah, I'm right here," he promised. "That's me inside you, sweetheart, that's my cock filling you up."

He leaned back slightly and pulled your ass apart so he could see his cock stretching you out, disappearing into your body. It made his head fall back for a moment before he pulled you close again and started thrusting faster. He reached around and brought two fingers to your clit, rubbing it fiercely as he kept thrusting.

"Oh fuck," you moaned, "Jake, right there… I'm gonna come…"

He laughed a little, kissing your ear as a show of approval. "Baby, you're so sensitive," he praised, giving your clit a little spank. You cried out and shuddered, bouncing yourself back on his cock, meeting his thrusts. Amused by your neediness, he stopped moving and watched you go.

"There you go, sweetheart, fuck yourself with my cock. Make yourself come."

You whined and kept going, your ass slapping against his hips loudly. He kept rubbing your clit as you worked his cock, your walls starting to clench down on him rhythmically and your body beginning to shake.

The absolute second he heard you cry out with pleasure as you reached the peak, he grabbed you and rolled both of you over until you were on your stomach and he was brutally fucking you into the mattress. He could still feel you pulsing around his length, gripping him tight and pulling him deeper.

"That's it, keep fuckin' coming for me," he groaned. "Gimme one more and then I'm gonna fill you up."

"Jake!" you yelped, grabbing onto the pillow and even biting it as he slammed into you.

"You're so good, baby, your pussy feels so good," he growled, pinning you down by your shoulders as he sped up even more. He laughed when he felt your walls weakly fluttering, his balls hitting your swollen clit with each thrust. "Gonna come again already, baby? Just from my cock?"

"Yes," you sobbed hoarsely, "yes, Jake, I'm gonna come again— oh my god, please don't stop…"

"Oh, I won't stop," he assured. "You take it so fuckin' good, sweetheart, like you were made for it. Like you were made for me."

You moaned loudly and he took the opportunity to spank you— not incredibly hard but enough to make you whine a bit… and get even wetter.

"Oh fuck, you like that huh?" he purred with a grin. "You like it rough."

"Yes, fuck, I love it," you agreed with a moan. "I'm— I'm coming, Jake, don't stop."

"Yeah, I know," he chuckled, "I can feel it. Feels so good when you come on my cock, baby…"

You went suddenly from arching your back and gripping the pillow to falling limp and relaxing, your body his toy now as he fucked you to the point of overstimulation. Your moans were exhausted and muffled now, your walls clinging to him desperately as he continued stroking every sensitive place he could reach (which was all of them).

He could so easily pull out and paint your back, or jerk himself off over your ass, but if he was going to claim your body then he was going to do it right.

He didn't warn you in advance, just in case you suddenly decided to tell him to pull out, but he did make sure you knew what he was doing. "Fuck, I'm coming!" he moaned as his cock flexed and his seed filled you, still thrusting in time with each pump of his release. It was nearly overwhelming, physically and psychologically. He was finally filling you like he'd fantasized about basically every time he got off since he met you, finally making you his the way you should've been from the beginning.

He sighed and laid down on top of you, smiling as he kissed all over your face, neck, shoulders, and back.

You giggled sleepily, but whined when he tried to pull out, bringing your legs up to hold him inside. "Don't go yet," you pleaded.

"Okay, baby, I'll stay right here until you fall asleep," he promised. "Goodnight, beautiful…"

Not only could he not think of a night he'd slept better in his life, but he was pretty sure this was the best any man had slept in the history of sleep. But even then, he wasn't at all disappointed when you woke him up.

"Good morning," you whispered in his ear with a giggle, making him blink his eyes open and look down at where you were resting your face on his chest.

"Good morning," he returned with a grin, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.

"Last night was… pretty amazing," you smiled coyly, and he stroked your cheek as he felt it warm even more.

"Yeah, you have no idea," he chuckled, lifting your head so he could give you a kiss. It was supposed to be quick and wholesome but you deepened it instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Just as you started to climb up to straddle him, he heard your stomach loudly growl and he pulled back to laugh.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but it sounds like you've got some other needs to take care of first," he smirked.

"Ugh, you're right," you sighed, "I'm going raid your kitchen."

"No, let me do that, I'll make you something— whatever you want," he offered, starting to sit up, but you pushed him back down.

"Jake, you've done enough for me already. I don't even know what I want, that's why I wanna go look at what you have."

"If you insist," he relented, watching you hop out of bed and playfully smacking your ass when it was within reach. You giggled and scampered away, leaving him to lay back and put his hands up behind his head, taking a deep breath of satisfaction. His plan had not only worked but gone beyond his expectations— clearly you had wanted this, on some level, from the beginning, you were too eager for him to believe otherwise. But that didn't matter now, because you were finally his and it was exactly as he'd dreamed it would feel: right, undeniably and overwhelmingly right.

He decided to take a break from basking in his own glory for a while to get up and find some food for himself as well. After all, he planned on fucking you at least one more time today so he'd need lots of energy to keep him going.

He slipped back on his boxers and walked to the kitchen, finding you there standing oddly still. "What are you doing?" he asked with a bemused scoff.

"Jake…" you mumbled, staring into the cabinet blankly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer but stopping in his tracks when he saw what you were looking at: a six-pack box of granola bars. He sighed a little as he internally chided himself for such a rookie mistake. "Baby, seriously, what's wrong?"

"I… these… this is the same kind they gave me… it was the only thing I ate for almost four days."

"Oh my god," he whispered, stepping up behind you and wrapping his arms around you to try to soothe you. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring back any bad memories. You only ate granola bars for four days? Honey, you must be starving, please just let me cook you something—"

"No, not only granola bars: only a granola bar. Just one…"

You reached up to grab the box but he held you tighter, trying to stop you. Instead what happened was you accidentally knocked the box over, exactly five bars sliding out and landing on the floor with a crinkly thud.

You gasped with realization and tried to squirm away but his comforting hug turned into restraint instantly. "Jake, let me go…"

"I'm sorry, baby, but I don't think I can do that."

"Jake, please," you begged with a sob. "Why did you— how could you?"

"I know you had feelings for me, you just needed a little encouragement."

"Feelings for you? I hate you!"

"Huh, that's odd, because I distinctly remember you begging me to fuck you last night,” he taunted. “I remember you coming for me, twice. Is that what you normally do when you hate somebody?"

"You're a monster," you sneered.

"And you're stuck with me, whether you like it or not," he chuckled, spinning you around to bend you over the counter, pressing his hips against yours as you whined and failed to squirm away. "So you might as well let yourself like it."

#dark!jake jensen x reader #jake jensen dark fic #soft!dark jake jensen #jake jensen x reader

986 notes · View notes

thedamageofherdays · 3 years ago

Text

This week's (16-08-2021 - 22-08-2021) reading log is here. This week's reading log is super duper long and filled with lots of good things (my apologies for the long post, I really could not find a good spot to do a read more). I discovered some new favourites and re-read some old favourites and while I had an intense week personally at least the fics I read were absolutely phenomenal. I do recommend checking out the warnings as some fics are a bit heavier/angstier and you might wanna be prepared. Most of these fics are Stucky but there are a couple of other ships in between.

If you are looking for more fun and/or good things make sure to check out the @marveldisabilitycelebration as well to see all the awesome art, fics, meta, etcetera people created! And while I am mentioning events I am a mod for let me also just quickly mention that sign-ups for the @stuckygiftexchange are still open until the end of the month <3

Favourites are marked with a 🌻 Fics that are only available to AO3 users are marked with a 🔒 and Tumblr fics are marked with a 🍀

🌻 The Bends by dreamsinthewitchouse @dreamsinthewitchouse [Danbeau, side Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Memory is not a house you can just walk back into after finding the key you thought you’d lost. It’s a thing you wade into and out of, rewriting it as it rewrites you.

It’s not without its rewards, either - recovering a memory about Maria and Monica, about her life, feels better than socking a thousand bad guys in the face, better than all the photon blasts in the world.

Then again, realising there’s still memories she can’t access, even after all this time, feels like drowning in space.

Not the one out there - the one inside her.

🌻 Sweet & Salty by musette22 @musette22 [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Idiots in love. That's it. That's the fic.

When life gives you lemons by moonythejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 34k words, Explicit] (11/15 chapters)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

🍀 SamRhodey Tumblr Fic by ipoiledi [SamRhodey, ? words, Teen?]

“Wilson, this is Rhodey; Rhodey, Wilson,” Tony Stark says, and suddenly some six foot tall sexy guy is shoved right in front of Sam, and they both stumble a little, bumping into each other. This is a crowded party. “You guys have things in common, right?” Stark asks. “Uh, Army stuff. Talk about that. I hate wallflowers; stop wallflowering and talk to each other.”

Shorteralls by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 6k words, Explicit]

The first time Bucky ever saw Steve Rogers, he was struck by how Neanderthal-like his response was. It was immediately followed by a bout of mental scolding. The second time was just about the same. The third time, it was actually appropriate for Bucky to start a conversation with him, at which point he was determined to be the gentleman.

No such luck. Steve Rogers is, always has been and always will be, a relentless flirt. These days, Bucky's Neanderthal-ist feelings about Steve are consensual and highly appreciated. More so now that they're having a baby.

what the fuck are perfect places anyway by tigerlilycorinne [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Steve clears his throat and stands. “Well, I should head in. I might want to begin packing.”

Bucky stills. “You won’t,” he says, trying to sound commanding. It only comes out uncertain. “Don’t.”

Steve shakes his head. “Maybe not tonight,” he says, and Bucky knows they’ll be discussing this again soon.

“Then stay. Play… play cards with me or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows jump up, his mouth tugging up in another of his bemused smiles that do things to Bucky’s insides, but he drops his hand from the doorway and steps back into Bucky’s room. Somehow, Bucky feels as if he’s won—not the war, just the battle.

Steve won’t stay forever. But he’ll stay for cards.

Steve and Bucky, on the run after Civil War (with a few alterations to canon), are laying low in Wakanda. But they can’t stay there forever.

🌻 honestly thought i’d be dead by now, but what you can trust is that i need your touch by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 105k words, Explicit]

Bucky is 37 years old; he’s unmarried, hasn’t had a Sub of his own, is definitely not ripped, comfortable at his job as an Advanced Practice RN at Brooklyn General ER, and just got his Five Years coin from AA.

Steve is 26 years old; he’s unmarried, his last and only Dom has Alzheimer's, he's worryingly muscular, uncomfortable in his job as the government’s poster Alpha for masculinity and strength, and worries more than he should about his BMI.

Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky meet initially in a not-cute moment. Bucky’s tired as shit thanks to the sudden alien invasion that shook New York and Steve is tired as shit because he hasn’t slept more than 20 minutes at a time in – well, since 1936, probably. Bucky’s Alpha instincts get irritated at the sudden presence of another "Alpha" into his territory and Steve’s suppressed submissive tendencies latch onto this grumpy bachelor Alpha and he only suppresses it further.

Bucky’s grumpiness and Steve’s duckling impressionism aside, both of them are a mess. But since both of them are a mess? Their messes seem to fit pretty well together.

Deep Sea Diving by Aida Ronan [Stucky, 5k words, Explicit]

Steve's wallowing in heat-related misery under a shade tree in Central Park when a man walks by in bright red booty shorts and a crop top. RIP Steve Rogers. It was nice knowing you.

honey, make this easy by steebadore [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

Bucky likes the way he looks. His silk button up with the tiny gold polka dots feels soft on his skin and is tailored perfectly; no pulling at his chest or belly. His hair falls in shiny dark waves and his skin is smooth and dewy. He looks expensive. He looks taken care of. He looks like Steve’s.

🌻 let's take it back to the start by howdoyousleep @howdoyousleep3 [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

How it all began.

This sleepwalking through my life. by barthelme [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

The internet is an interesting place and when Bucky came home (or, when he came to live with Steve), Steve did a lot of research. Apparently, it’s not safe to wake a sleepwalker. He assumes that waking a sleepwalker with traumatic dreams and PTSD is beyond just being frowned upon.

And he tells himself--has told himself--that this is safer for Bucky. That if he were to stop him and wake him up, that Bucky would be mortified to be slurping on his best friend’s cock. That all of the improvements he’s made would be lost, would be repressed, would be just--

They’d be back at square one.

So he lets Bucky do it.

🌻 the way i've been craving by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

"Lunch break at 12:30. My office. Hope you’re hungry…"

It’s the ellipsis that sends Bucky’s insides swimming warmly, his heart beating twice as fast against his ribs where he sits in class. Senator Rogers is concise, direct, to the point. Without an ellipsis this is lunch, this is a meeting. With it though?

This is a booty call.

nasty but classy by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

“No, you don’t have to know the purpose, that doesn’t matter. Nat showed me this challenge where couples drink a lot of wine and get drunk together but they can’t touch each other. And whoever touches the other first has to...has to give the other head.”

🌻 Put It on Repeat, It Stays the Same by giselleslash [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Steve and Bucky have a one night stand that turns into a friends with benefits situation. A weekend snowed in at Bucky’s apartment brings to light how much that really doesn’t suit either one of them.

Greetings to the New Brunette by victoria_p (musesfool) [Stucky, 10k words, General]

"You said he should have a hobby. That it would help."

"I meant, like, knitting or coin collecting. Motocross, if he was feeling antsy. A baby's not a hobby. It's lifetime commitment."

🌻 Rogers & Barnes: Partners by triedunture [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky have to pose as a couple for a mission. Nat insists it really is the only option. She's checked.

The complication: unbeknownst to even Natasha, Steve and Bucky's friendship has been rocky ever since Bucky confessed his tender feelings and Steve left him out in the cold. Can asexual, completely-in-love-with-his-angry-best-friend Steve complete the mission and win Bucky's heart?

(The answer is yes. Yay!)

this will be our year (took a long time to come) by biblionerd07 [Stucky, 4k words, General]

Bucky's therapist is worried he's using Steve as a crutch and wants him to try going on outings without Steve. It wouldn't be terrible, honestly, if Bucky could just manage to open his mouth and say something to Steve.

I'll hold my breath by Little_Lottie (tfwatson) [Stucky, 8k words, Mature]

Sometimes Bucky’s hands flex in Steve's direction. Neither of them knows exactly why, but at least one of them has a hunch.

Bucky touches everything but Steve, even though Steve is all he really wants to touch.

Start from the Beginning by Mumble_Bee [Stucky, 13k words, Explicit]

What about a sex pollen fic where the pollen-ed one doesn’t remember getting hit in the face with a sex flower, and wakes up midway through the depollenating?

Or: the one where Steve wakes up on his back with a stranger buried balls-deep in his ass.

Match by emphasisonem [Stucky, 4k words, Mature]

The situation’s actually kind of funny from the right perspective, Bucky thinks as he reads the message for what feels like the hundredth time. He’s finally matched with a hot, funny guy. Tall and broad and clean cut. An absolutely breathtaking smile. Bucky’s walking wet dream. And he’s good. They haven’t messaged on the app, but Bucky already knows him.

He knows him because Steve Rogers is an art history professor at his university. His art history professor.

Best friends and married since childhood by StuckySituation [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Inspired by @/peterssquill's post in tumblr: "bucky and steve got married on the playground when they were like eight and though neither of them would ever admit it to anyone, even each other, they still consider it official"

~♥~ ♥~ ♥~

“Natasha, stop trying to set me up with every woman you meet, I’m-”

“Too shy? Too scared?”

“No, I’m-”

“Too busy? You’re mostly retired these days, not a good excuse anymore.” Natasha smirks and then drawls: “Or just too gay?”

Steve flushes at that, even if isn’t true -- he’s bisexual, not gay. “Let it go, Nat, I’m not looking for anything. I’m already married, for fuck’s sake.”

Clearly not what she expected. “What.”

Steve grimaces. He didn’t mean to tell anyone that, ever.

“Sorry, can’t talk about it right now!” he says and jumps out of the plane.

Nobody Should Be Alone on a Holiday by emphasisonem [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

“So, um-” Bucky begins speaking again, pulling Steve from his less-than-work-appropriate thoughts. The brunet has shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, and he’s shifting from one foot to the other as he smiles shyly. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Steve grins, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bucky swallows deeply as one of his hands comes up to pull at the collar of his button-up, and Steve can’t help following the motion of his Adam’s apple.

“I was, uh-” Bucky continues- “That is, I heard you don’t have Thanksgiving plans?”

In which Bucky finds out that Steve's going to be alone on Thanksgiving and invites his coworker to spend the holiday with him.

🌻 It's Been A Long Season Through by thiccbuckybarnes @thiccbuckybarnesfic [Stucky, 49k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes is in desperate need of a change in scenery, which is why he makes the foolhardy decision to quit his job, leave his asshole of a fiance, pack up his life, and move to his grandfather’s old farm all within a single day.

He expects confusion, hardship, and maybe even failure. But love? He wasn’t expecting that.

Or, a Stucky Stardew Valley AU that nobody but me wanted and that’s ok.

oh, peach pit, where'd the hours go? by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 10k words, Explicit]

Can't see the forest for the trees.

Or, Steve learns that just because he and Bucky got their happily ever after, it doesn’t mean the past won’t come back to bite them.

I'll find my way by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 725 words, Teen]

Steve had watched Bucky fall, and nothing had been the same since.

AU-gust day 19: Daemons

special delivery by glim @glim [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

It's not that Steve's bad at taking care of himself when he gets sick; he just wishes he didn't have to all the time.

At least he can order most of what he needs online. That's some small comfort, that he can have soup and ice cream and everything else brought to his door.

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

🌻 Rock On! by millesable @marvelousescapism [Clintasha, 700 words, General]

“Hey, Romanoff!”

He lifted his hand, index finger and pinky finger raised, thumb out, all other fingers tucked. Their secret sign; their confession for the world to see, safe in the knowledge that the world wasn’t listening.

“Rock on!”

🌻 You Like the Way I Look by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

Bucky sidles up to him, hand boldly coming to rest on his chest. “What about you, big guy? Care for a dance?” Steve watches Bucky’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction, somehow already knowing he’s got Steve on the hook.

A decade out of the ice, Steve Rogers returns to New York. Reeling from a battle against the Chitauri, a night with the troublesome Bucky Barnes might be just what he needs.

Join the Rebellion by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 765 words, Teen]

Bucky knew he shouldn't be out after curfew, but he couldn't resist the urge. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it was where he wanted to be.

AU-gust day 20: Dystopia

🔒 Five Days in December by mywingsareonwheels @mywingsareonwheels [Evanstan, 4k words, Teen]

“Shit shit shit shit...” muttered Chris to himself, glad that the sound of piped Christmas carols was drowning out his swearing amid the picture books. Most of the store was heaving even though it was Sunday, he’d been recognised at least three times, finding presents for all of his nieces and nephews was proving far more of a headache than expected, and he’d just sent a pile of copies of "Strictly No Elephants" tumbling off the bookshelf.

He scrambled about trying to pick them all up, and then dropped them again as someone bumped right into his backside. He lost his balance, caught himself against a bookcase, and a landslide of "Carter Is a Painter’s Cat" joined "Strictly No Elephants" on the floor. He yelped.

“Ah fuck, I’m so sorry… Chris!”

* * * * * * * * * *

London, December 2021. Amid cats, books, and the cold English drizzle, Chris finds everything he was hoping for and thought he would never have.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Reaching for Fire by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit]

Bucky has always felt a fire in his heart (and other body parts) when it came to his boss, Steve Rogers, but he's made sure to never feed those flames. When he finds out about Steve's second job, though, he's tempted to let that fire out.

i've been dreaming of a face like yours by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

Bucky is about to busy himself with making a small dinner for himself when he stops in his tracks at the figure drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and smirking at him.

It’s Steve.

“Surprise, sweet boy,” he says before setting his cup down.

Or, PWP reunion sex

🌻 Somewhere, Under Your Skin by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 16k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes treats himself to a one-night stand after having a very bad no good day.

The sex is good--great, even. Might be the best sex of his life.

But Bucky wouldn’t have slept with the guy if he had known that he was going to continuously run into him every day for the next fucking month.

Or, a Big Grump Bucky has a hot one night stand with a college kid who is popping up everywhere in his everyday life and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

(Written for HYBB Bingo Square: Grumpy Bucky)

i've played heartstrings before but not in your key by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 11k words, Explicit]

He glances down, seeing a folded couple of papers, before peering up at Bucky. The older man is biting his bottom lip, making it pretty and red. Steve wants to run his tongue across where his teeth are digging into his flesh.

"What's this?" Steve asks, setting his phone down, emails forgotten. Bucky shrugs and looks away.

"I dunno. You tell me, genius," he says, sounding bratty enough that it makes Steve's dick twitch in his pants. Jesus, there has to be something wrong with him.

Steve glances once more at Bucky, who now has his arms crossed against his chest and is pointedly not looking at Steve, before picking up the stack of folded papers. He opens them, seeing a collection of maybe five or six sheets of paper. His eyes immediately land on the list of familiar words with negative next to each one. -- Or, Steve Rogers is a jealous, possessive little shit that wants nothing more than to mark up his boyfriend and stake his claim. And Bucky knows it. (And he likes it.)

🌻 I'm Home (With You) by BonkyBornes @padfoot-and-the-marauders [Stucky, 2k words, General]

In any other circumstance, the apartment would've been perfect. But it was today, and the fact that he was here meant he wasn’t out searching. He knew they hadn’t had any leads for weeks and he knew Natasha was right; all three of them were exhausted and a break would do them good. It just felt wrong to Steve that he was comfortable while Bucky was still out there—somewhere. Probably cold. Probably hungry.

The knock came again. Sighing, Steve unwrapped his hand from the dog tags and remembered how to move. Cold wind and snow greeted him when he opened the door. The solitary figure was walking down the steps, collar popped against the chill.

“Did you need something?” he called.

The person stopped. They were still. And then they turned. *

Or, the Christmas Steve deserved after Winter Soldier.

The portrait by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 915 words, General]

Steve Rogers has a Gift. He can help people find their soulmates, all he needs is some art supplies, a quiet place, and eye contact.

AU-gust day 21: soulmates

Maybe A Muse by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 2k words, Mature]

When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude.

#my reading log #r's reading log #fic rec #stucky fic rec #fics recs #stucky #danbeau #samrhodey #longpost #long post #clintasha #evanstan

164 notes · View notes

panchatea · 3 years ago

Text

I Dreamt of Clowns Last Night

First of the 3 Kinds of Love in One Lifetime Trilogy Series

Part 1 of "First Love and Puppy Love" Series

Minju x Male Reader

wordcount: 1865

Categories: I don't how to categorize it but this is probably fluff and this is not smut.

A/N: I really wanted to write Minju, and since I'm writing a big fic, I wanted to have a break from it so I tried challenging myself to write a short fic. I can't really write a fic under 4k but I wanted to try it. Plus I wanted to try a new writing style. This is not edited tho so there might be many grammar errors.

support me on KOFI

Sharp and faultless blade by your neck. He was grinning from ear to ear while laughing maniacally as the blade cut further on your skin. White makeup decorated with rainbow colors and a red nose. He suddenly stopped laughing and looked confused. He retrieved the knife from your neck, but it was only a second of relief as he quickly raised it above his head and stabbed it directly in your face.

Dead and Lifeless.

Open your eyes and wake up. It was all just a dream. You were panting, and tears unknowingly traveled down your face. You were never afraid of them, but them hunting you down every night and every dream, it was truly a nightmare.

You decided to escape the ephialtes’ cradle named your bed, and head to a nearby convenience store.

At this point on, a cliche story would require you to maybe drink some alcohol or huff some cigarettes to indicate that you were a lonely man sleeping inside a big flat, but your body implications wouldn't let you, so you just settled for a banana milk.

"Hello, Mister! I see that you are lonely tonight, would you be so kind to buy me?"

A sex worker? She must be new because that line sounds like a rehearsed line from a movie. You looked up and found a gorgeous girl. She doesn't look like a call girl at all. Not that you were discriminating, but she was wearing designer brand clothing from head to toe. Her outfits look casual, but they must cost at least a few hundred dollars. You can't be wrong because you just saw the same entire look from a magazine earlier.

A college student looking for extra money?

No.

Maybe a rich girl who ran away from home would be closer.

She smiled at you, and that one smile almost kicked away every gloomy atmosphere you were carrying. You've been having sleepless nights and very tired of life, but that smile was very soothing.

"So will you? Or will you let this beautiful girl get taken by some random horny dude who would treat her like a fucktoy?"

Another ripped-off line from a movie. You honestly refuse to believe that line came from a girl looking as innocent as her. She definitely looked inexperienced and her voice sounded a little nervous.

Maybe a beautiful girl as a hug pillow wasn't a bad idea. It's not like you were desperate for sex, and her line implied she wanted someone caring to take her for the night.

"Sure, follow me."

Your two feet led you back to your apartment, but this time there was an extra pair with you.

"You must be pretty rich! This is an expensive flat."

She was right, a very expensive flat that was too big for one man, well at least just even for a while there would be two people inside.

You couldn't believe that you brought a stranger home. A very beautiful stranger, but that doesn't justify it. You didn't even know her name.

"Aren't you going to ask my name?"

And there she goes, your stranger may be a mind-reader. You smiled, however, you quickly shook it off. There wasn't even a thing worth smiling at.

"Yeah sure, what's your name?"

Now that you took a second look at her, the girl seemed familiar. Why was she even doing this job? She could have been a successful model or a famous idol.

"Kim Minju! My name is Kim Minju."

She smiled again. One thing you noticed about her was that she smiles a lot. She was very cheerful for someone in her line of work. Her smiles weren't fake, and they were genuine. You still couldn't believe that this girl might have slept with countless men and did sexually possible things. Maybe this was her first time, but you weren't the one to pry.

"I see Kim Minju. Nice to meet you, so for your payment if I may ask?"

Her eyes gleamed, and she was so close to jumping from excitement. She was fidgeting from where she was standing.

"Uhm, I'll take a serving of noodles, and if you could let me stay here for the night that would be great!

Noodles and lounging? That was weirdly cheap and unusual mode of payment. Nonetheless, you agreed and gave your name also. You ordered her food and decided to watch some tv in your rarely used living room.

"What? That is hilarious! The cute girl stopped the giant ball, but that bulky-looking guy didn't."

Her laugh was a nice change of pace, and before you knew it, you were laughing with her also. She used your lap as a pillow, and your hand unknowingly started stroking her hair.

It was amazing how one stranger could lighten up the gloomy atmosphere. It was magical how one girl could put a smile on your face again.

The doorbell ringed, and she hurriedly came to the door to pick it up. Minju found comfort in sitting near your sink and eat her noodles there.

"This is really delicious! Do you want some?"

Her eyes widened as she ate her with such bliss on her face. She was genuinely enjoying it as if it was her first decent meal after many days.

"I'm fine. Just eat Minju-sshi, it looks like that serving is not enough for you anyways."

She smiled and agreed before munching her food again. It may be the most redundant thing you did for the past hours but you smiled again. You couldn't help but beam delight just by watching her eat.

"Thanks for the meal."

Minju jumped down from where she was sitting and stretch a little, before looking at you as if she decided on doing something.

Staring at her you noticed how unrealistic her proportions were. Long legs, thin waist, and a small face — a befitting figure for a model.

It was peaceful, and if given a chance, you would stay there and kept staring at her, but your eyes widened as she started to grab the hem of her shirt. Minju lifted her shirt and started undressing herself.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Your heart pounded and you started to panic. You quickly jumped from your seat and grabbed her wrist, simultaneously stopping her from removing an article of clothing from her body. Your gaze met and her baffled eyes locked with your worried eyes.

"Uhm… undressing? How are we supposed to have sex when I'm still wearing clothes?"

You mentally facepalmed yourself. She was oozing innocence. Minju was not a callgirl or a sex worker. Her actions just confirmed it, you were not sure how did she end up asking you to buy her, but she definitely didn't know what she was doing.

"It's okay you don't have to. We are not having sex, and I am not doing that to you."

She released a sigh of relief. A big burden on her shoulders must have been lifted. You didn't let go of her wrist just yet as you lead her to your bedroom, and she willingly followed you.

"So if we are not having sex, what are we going to do?"

Minju trusted you and your statement that you will not do anything to her. She just followed you with her cheeks turning pink. You saw this and couldn't help but blush yourself.

"We are going to sleep, Minju-sshi. Look here, I just don't want to sleep alone tonight."

You couldn't deny that you felt something in your nether region, but this—her hands gripped on yours—her soft hands and fingers tangled in yours were arguably the lewdest thing in the world.

"That's all?"

It was less than she expected, but it was just all she could take. She honestly gambled herself doing this and she just hoped that the person who would take her in was gentle enough with her.

"That's all, and probably some cuddling…"

Minju thought it was cute and was flustered after hearing what you said. You were embarrassed too, but you just wanted to take your chances.

"Let's cuddle all night then!"

She was clearly embarrassed with what she said as let go of you and ran towards your bed.

"So Minju-sshi, care to tell me why you are pretending to be a call girl?"

It took a lot of courage to have the courage to both asking her and laying next to her. Your bodies were inches away from each other, and for the first time, you've realized that your bed wasn't so big after all.

"I ran away from the dorms, because of the pressure."

Minju was facing the other side, but you could imagine her pained face. She took your hand and wrapped it around her waist.

You didn't try to say something to comfort her. Instead, you kept your arms tight around her and tried to share your warmth with her. You didn't know if there was something any warmth in you left, but you were willing to give it all to her.

“How about you? Why did you accept my offer?”

Oh right, the clowns. You forgot about the clowns, and fatigue from the sleepless nights when you met her. Her scent, her smiles, her laughs, and her touch made you forget. The stranger named Kim Minju made it all go away and filled the empty bed that used to be a nightmare’s cradle.

“I’ve been having nightmares, and I thought if someone were to sleep beside me at least someone would wake me up from them.”

Minju understood it because she was having nightmares too. Part of the reason why she was out at midnight was because not of clowns, but it was because she was afraid of her being the clown and laughingstock for many people.

“Let’s have a deal then, I will save you from your nightmare so will you save me from mine?”

Just as you were willing to give her your warmth, Minju was willing to give hers too. You two were strangers to each other. You didn’t want to admit it but you were just as inexperienced as her. You were too cowardly to accept a girl literally stripping in front of you, but you’re confident that you could save her from her clowns.

If you could not save yourself then maybe you could save her, and she might be the answer for yours.

“I’m glad I met you Minju-ssi.”

Minju was warm, and you were glad that she was wrapped in your arms. She was just a stranger but at that moment, Kim Minju was also the most important woman in your life.

“And you met me because?”

She turned around, and your face was an inch away from hers. She smiled again, she was smiling all night, but it never gets old, and that smile made you fall for her again and again; what came after was a kiss and that kiss was the most rewarding gift you received from someone.

She gave you her first kiss, and she took yours in return.

“I dreamt of clowns last night.”

***

I have been having clown nightmares and this morning I decided to turn it into a fic, and if you haven't noticed this is connected to my LOST A BET: Positions Fic. This was a prequel to when our mc is innocent still and how minju and mc met.

#izone fanfic #reader insert #kpopfanfictions

295 notes · View notes