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little-box-of-autism · 2 years ago

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Deliverance I [Spellman Siblings]

A gift for @dirtytransmasc that has been a long time in the making.

The first time Mansk sees her smile – a true smile, not a threatening display of fangs – is moments before she tips over the edge of the cliff, and something twists painfully inside him.

Irrational, he’s only known her for a week now, why does the idea of her death bother him so greatly?

The squad rushes to the edge, they just finished claiming all their banshees, and within moments a blur of teal, yellow, and light blue shoots up from below with a whoosh of air that sends a few of his fellow recoms stumbling back.

There’s a ring of laughter – high and free – and Mansk spots her perched on the back of the banshee now flying just above them, and relief fills his chest. Something keeps pulling him towards her, maybe it’s the way the darkness feels less suffocating in her presence or the way she looks at him, eyes knowing but not judging.

Later, when she is flying loops around him and her hand skims the top of his head, Mansk finds himself fighting the urge to reach out and touch.

“Come on! You’re so slow!”

Reyzì tugged on his arm, giving an exaggerated groan as she tried to hurry him up, pulling Mansk along as they moved towards the old Avatar Compound. Their arrival at Hell’s Gate had seemed to bring out a lighter, almost childish, side of the siblings.

There was no fear, no hesitation. Her hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled.

Mansk allowed himself to be pulled along – the corner of his lips just barely tugging upwards – a bit startled by her brazen touch. It wasn’t comfortable, it never was, in fact, Reyzì’s touch had felt like a balm. It had shocked him the first time, instinctively recoiling when her fingertips had pressed into his forearm through the material of his shirt, expecting the familiar burn and itch that usually came with physical touch, but it never came. They had been climbing up into the floating mountains and he had been reaching for a handhold when she had, without saying a word, directed his hand towards a vine rather than the jutted rock he had been aiming for.

Reyzì had stared him in the eye and retracted her hand, moving it to push on the rock Mansk had been about to grab. It had come loose, tumbling down past them to the ground.

She kept touching him, always telegraphing her movements before making contact and she never flinched. Her touch never burned; it never made him itch in a way that’d usually have him clawing at his skin. It was gentle and firm.

Mansk couldn’t say how much the Avatar Compound had changed for he only had vague recollections of the place, but he knew it had changed. As Reyzì pulled him into the building he could see the touches left behind by the siblings. Every pole, beam, or spare piece of wood had been carved into and decorated with intricate designs; no doubt done by Rävi. Little trinkets and bits of metal or tech were scattered across most surfaces, and Mansk knew they were left behind by Ro’eyk.

The bright colours – garlands made of beads, feathers and leaves, and woven drapes – hung from the ceilings and clung to beams and poles. Paintings decorated the walls; some were just splashes of colour while others depicted beautiful scenes.

Reyzì had dropped his arm, scurrying off to what looked like a radio, and Mansk found himself just standing to the side, eyes taking in the room around him with the occasional glance back to her.

Z-dog looked at him with a smile on her lips, shaking her head lightly before turning back to the little device Ro’eyk was excitedly showing her. Mansk didn’t notice, too consumed with her to even look at his fellow soldier.

“~ Oh, fair and flighty love My aerolite above The only dove I see ~”.

A tune started – happy and light – and he heard the tell-tale sound of a banjo. Reyzì stood in the middle of the room, smiling at him as she began twirling around with the music. Her movements were fluid, moving like she was one with the music and Mansk found himself watching her every movement.

“~ Could you love me more If by the sun and moon, I swore That I would never flee? ~”

The scream rattled the squad, but it shook Mansk to his core. The frustration, anguish, and anger had torn out of Reyzì’s throat in a way that sounded painful, the tears in her eyes and the heaving of her chest only made something in Mansk’s chest twist.

He wanted to do something – anything, everything – to help her but how? Mansk did not remember ever being comforted, so how was he to comfort her?

Mansk found himself just standing there, a few inches away from where Reyzì sat in the nook of some large and twisted tree roots, unsure of what to do. Mansk could follow orders, and he could take a gun and shoot at a target, but comforting someone was completely foreign to him.

So, he waited.

Waited for Reyzì to show him what she needed.

Then he feels it, a tug on his pants. At his knee is Reyzì’s hand, curling around the fabric of his pants while her gaze stays fixed on something in front of her – far in front of her – and she just gives a light tug.

The space isn’t very big, at least not for two full-grown na’vi. Mansk is about 9’4’’ and Reyzì is closer to 8’10’’, but somehow Mansk manages to squeeze in beside her. Physical contact, even through layers of fabric, that doesn’t make his skin itch or burn, is still new to Mansk but as Reyzì slumps against his side, the weight of her against him feels right.

They stay like that for what seems like hours, the odd sounds of the forest and the squad milling around the camp behind them become background noise; the only thing he focuses on is the weight of Reyzì against his side. Eventually, morning comes, Reyzì’s hand is in his, and Mansk realizes at some point they had fallen asleep.

The Colonel Quaritch was looking at them and his expression was…... soft, and he was smiling too.

Mansk watches Reyzì.

He finds himself doing that a lot; just watching Reyzì throughout the day, and he frequently finds her watching him in return. At first, he hadn’t been obvious about it, years of training made it easy to watch her without giving it away and the tinted sunglasses helped disguise just where his eyes tended to linger, but after Hell’s Gate Mansk had forgone trying to hide his gaze on her.

Reyzì didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed quite pleased with his watchful gaze on her, smiling at him whenever she’d catch him staring, and would often leave whatever she was doing to approach him.

Though Mansk hadn’t expected Reyzì to come up to him after bathing.

It was a relaxing day for the squad – a rare thing nowadays – and everyone had leapt at the idea of being able to wash off the accumulated grime from their bodies, with the exception of Ro’eyk who had to be wrestled into the river by his siblings.

Being in the military tended to desensitize one to nudity between the communal showering and the lack of privacy in an active warzone, most people had seen their squad naked one way or another, and as such the recoms hadn’t had any issue stripping down in front of each other.

It also seemed that the siblings weren’t much different and Mansk wondered if communal bathing was a na’vi thing too, or if it was unique to the siblings.

Even though Mansk was used to bathing communally, he still preferred privacy and had taken the opportunity to go further upstream, ducking behind a large rock to breathe in solitude. He made quick work of cleaning himself, even cleaned his clothes and laid them out to dry on a rock, and then took the opportunity to relax.

The water was clear – clean; Mansk can’t remember a time when he ever saw truly clean water – and it wasn’t cold either; it was chill but not unpleasant, and as he rested against a rock he enjoyed the sensation of the moving water against his skin. It only came up to his waist, sitting down as he was, and at its deepest parts it only seemed to go up to his chest.

The telltale sound of swishing water disturbed by movement had Mansk’s eyes snapping open and the only thing that kept him from reaching for his weapon – always kept in arms reach – was the familiar scent that drifted over to him.

Reyzì

“Gideon.”

His first name comes out like a sigh, content and comforting in tone, and a small saccharine smile is gracing Reyzì’s features as she says it. It’s been weeks since she started using it but every time it spills past her lips it’s like listening to a hymn.

“Rey.”

She looks beautiful, he thinks, watching as she comes to sit in front of him.

Mansk can’t help but trace over her form with his eyes, taking her in like an art piece, and he can feel how her own eyes trace over him in return.

It should bother him more, knowing that she can easily count the tally marks on his ribcage. All 496 of them.

Reyzì’s hair is still braided but lacks its usual adornments and decorations, nor is it pulled back from her face instead it falls freely over her shoulders to where they end below her breasts. There are scars he hasn’t noticed before, all are old and faded but remain as blue-silver lines across her skin.

There are three small ones, thin scratch-like lines that are only two inches long, on the curve of her hip, and four little puncture scars reminiscent of a bite on her collarbone.

He wonders where she got them, though Mansk has an idea where the bite mark came from.

Her stripes paint a captivating pattern across her skin, stretched over lean but toned muscles, and a distant part of his mind lingers over the parts where their pattern mirrors his own in some spots.

There is a delicate touch to his sternum and a tingling warm spreads from that spot. Leaning forward now, Reyzì softly traces her fingertips over the tattoo on his upper chest – a three-headed angel of death – and for a moment his breath stutters.

“It’s beautiful Gideon.”

Later, after they’ve changed back into their clothes and made camp for the night, Reyzì has laid herself against his side and she absently plays with the dog tags hanging from his neck.

“Can I have one?”

“Hmm?”

“One of the dog tags; can I have one?”

Mansk blinks down at her for a second, and watches Reyzì rub her cheek against his shoulder while still playing with the metal tags hanging from his neck.

“Mhmm, yeah.”

She rewards him with a saccharine smile, a pleasant-sounding purr coming from her chest.

Mansk spends the next day watching Reyzì, or more specifically the silver dog tag that is now attached to a braid that dangles right beside her face. If he looks close enough, Mansk can make out his name stamped on the metal.

A low, steady purr rumbles in his chest throughout the day and builds in strength every time he catches sight of Reyzì touching his dog tag in absent thought.

The near-silent sound of soft and shuffling footsteps approaching his door woke Mansk from his sleep, his body reacting before his mind and in mere seconds he was holding his pistol, aiming it directly at the door to his room.

“Gideon?”

“Rey?”

Reyzì’s amber eyes stared back at him, head peaking past the door and the sight of her was enough to soothe the prickling nerves in his mind.

The Soldier was still close to the surface, ready to take over but it seemed the sight of Reyzì relaxed him as well.

She was already slipping into the room before Mansk had even fully lowered the gun, and he watched as she softly closed the door behind her with great care before turning back to face him. Reyzì was clad in nothing more than an oversized shirt – one she had likely stolen off someone in the squad – and what looked to be a spare set of Z-dog’s gym shorts.

“I couldn’t sleep, I was hoping I could stay with you?”

Mansk’s throat bobbed for a second, unsure how to answer in the moment. Reyzì had taken to sleeping beside him whenever she wasn’t watching Spider sleep – to make sure the kid’s mask didn’t malfunction or slip off during the night – but this was the first time she had asked to join Mansk.

Reyzì never did seem comfortable staying overnight at Bridgehead and he couldn’t blame her for it for he equally despised having to return here.

“I’d….feel safer, sleeping with you.”

Mansk didn’t speak, he couldn’t, so he instead chose to nod and shift, making room for Reyzì on the bed between himself and the wall it was pressed against. He watched her silently pad over to the bed before crawling into it, tucking herself against his side as Mansk moved to lay back down, dragging the blanket over them as he did.

It was only now, as the warmth of Reyzì’s body pressed against his side, did Mansk remember he hadn’t worn a shirt to sleep. Before her, Mansk had never found skin-to-skin contact pleasant but now he found himself craving her touch and the soothing balm it brought.

The light pull on his arm was all Mansk needed to turn over, curling himself around Reyzì who tucked her head beneath his chin in the hollow of his shoulder and neck, and slotted herself into the curves of his own body like she was always meant to be there.

It was like a puzzle piece slotting into place, or two broken pieces made whole.

Sleep was never something that came easy to Mansk, it only was made worse by the memories of his time in Black Ops, but the steady rise and fall of Reyzì’s chest and the low, soft barely there purr lulled him to sleep faster than any sedative he had ever been given.

Blood was a viscous fluid; thick, heavy, and burning hot against his skin.

The scent of iron clogged his nose and the bitter taste of it was like syrup on his tongue, choking him as it dripped down his throat.

“Mif'letzet.”

Screams; bloodcurdling and shrill, piercing into his ears like ice-picks. There was no break, no stopping for breath, the screams were never ending as they grew in into a symphony of agony and pain.

“Budelis.”

He can feel it – the bones breaking beneath his hands; that glide of sharpened steel through flesh; the rattling of their chest as they screamed and begged for mercy that would not be given, could not be given.

“Şeytan.”

There’s the phantom pain of hands upon his skin; nails tearing and clawing across legs and arms as they tried to pull him down, the deathly coldness of their skin contrasting against the molten blood that covers him.

“Qātil.”

“Ma’Gideon.”

Mansk comes back to himself slowly, his body not quite his own, and underneath him is Reyzì. His hand is on her throat, not choking but still there and a bitter coldness envelopes him at the sight.

He wants to yank himself away, tear his hand from her neck and run, putting as much distance between them as he can, but the hand that grips the back of his neck holds him there like an anchor.

“You didn’t hurt me, it is alright.”

There are more whispered assurances, soft words meant to comfort him, and Mansk can’t do anything. Reyzì slides her three fingers into the space between his four – they fit perfectly – where they remain against her neck. Mansk can’t meet her eyes, but he can feel them staring at him in a way that feels like Reyzì is examining his very soul.

In slow careful movements, Reyzì gently tugs his hand away from her throat, repositioning her hand in his as she lays them against the bed. On the back of his neck, the pressure increases minutely as Reyzì guides his face to the space between her shoulder and jaw. Mansk can’t find it in himself to resist, letting himself relax into her embrace until his entire body is on top of her own and almost every part of them is touching.

There’s no itch, no burn and urge to claw at his skin where they meet but rather a feeling of soothing calm blooms from each point of contact.

Reyzì is humming a song – its tune soft and gentle – against the crown of his head as nimble fingers stroke the skin of his neck just below his queue, and fatigue is washing over Mansk like the incoming flow of a tide, strong and gentle in equal measure. There’s no fighting it, not while his face is tucked into Reyzì’s neck and his body is wrapped in her warm embrace, and as the sleep overtakes his senses Mansk feels the ghost of a kiss press against his forehead.

#reyzi te le'ey rohoza'ite #recom mansk #mansk #mansk x oc #mansk x reyzi #spellman siblings #recoms #recom squad #i spent so long writing this #there will be a part 2 eventually #pray my adhd cooperates #avatar 2 #atwow #avatar the way of water

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torevbagel · 7 months ago

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𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔

Ch. 1

Glam x fem!OC

Y'all already know what it is, I'm back on my bullshit. Fair warning This is like soooooooo boring, but I like the 'runaway start a new life' trope ♡.

Synopsis:

Two houses

Both alike in dignity- nah just kidding

Two people

Two instruments

Six strings and two sticks

Anastasia comes from a prestigious house, one of harsh discipline. Her cello is her only saving grace.

Sebastian lives a double life, violin student by day, rock star by night.

Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?

Tw: basically the same stuff we see happen to glam, abuse, parental indifference, bad writing, blood

Music flows through the room as her nimble fingers dance across the neck of the large instrument. The bow gracefully caresses the strings, producing a graceful sound. She closes her eyes, attempting to transport herself from the room, away from the wretched man watching her with a scornful eye. All too soon, her movements cease.

“Anastasia. Are you trying to embarrass this family?”

“No father,” she refuses to meet his eye.

“You play as if you are a nobody!”.

Anastasia stays silent as her father raises his voice. She knows what will come.

“Hand! Now,” he reaches for the ruler, made of thin, slightly pliable metal. The previous wood ones had all broken, leaving nasty splinters that were a mess to clean.

“Yes father,” she keeps her voice steady, lifting the sleeve on her left hand.

The hits come fast and hard, he stops after three. Nine total for the lesson. The crimson liquid beads quickly before sliding down her arm. A sanguine trail in its wake, she refuses to look at the wound inflicted onto her.

“Go. prepare for bed,” she does not argue.

Anastasia sits on her perfectly made bed, corners tucked, pillow straight. A thin cover of pale pink separates her freshly showered body from the forgiving softness of the mattress underneath.

Everything in Anastasia's life was like her bed. Perfect, presentable, straight laced and tidy; Yet, hiding something just beneath the surface.

She glances at her injured wrist for the first time that evening.

"Well, I assume it could be worse,”

She slowly begins to do a shabby job at patching herself up, attempting to minimize the possibility of scarring. She pauses to put on a Schumann record, one of the 5 pieces of folk music begin with a slide crackle. A sign of her disregard for the fragility of the vinyl.

As the eloquent cello music trickles in one ear and out the other, she tucks the last bit of bandages away. Returning to her forgiving bed once more, she all but collapses into it. Completely exhausted from the day of rigorous training she endured.

“All I have to do is pass the entrance exam. Maybe father will be easier on me,” attempting to reason with herself, even if she does not truly believe it.

Unable to tuck herself beneath the thin sheets, sleep overtakes her quickly.

The small silver alarm clock marks 7 am with its song, full of dissonance and no resolution. A manicured hand slaps down in a rough ungraceful manner, silencing the item until the next morning. Crawling off the bed reluctantly, Anastasia readies herself for the day.

A graceful ankle length, long sleeve, off the shoulder dress. Forest green to compliment her auburn hair, to hopefully make her dull sage eyes brighter. Hair pulled into a perfect bun at the base of her neck. Delicate pearls adorn her collar and ears, a gift from her late grandmother.

She makes her way to the dining table, egg whites and asparagus on her plate, waiting for her.

“Are you ready for your exam, dear?” Ardelia Hearst doesn't even spare a glance at her daughter, continuing to gracefully sip white grape juice.

“Yes mother, I expect to be top 3 if not first,” Anastasia doesn't even attempt to garner her mothers full attention.

Richard snaps his eyes onto her.

“Why would you settle for anything less than first,” he states, his stare hardening into a glare.

She immediately pales, her mistake dawning on her.

He stands, making his way towards her when he is stopped by his wife.

“Now dear, you don't want her shaking during her performance. Punish her when she returns if you must,”

He considers her words for a moment, before returning to his seat.

“Eat. or you’ll be late,”

Her mothers kindness doesn't go unnoticed as she finishes quickly, thanking the butler and her parents before heaving her cello onto her back. With one last glance she proceeds out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So yeah there's that, and just throwing it out there I know this is super stereotypical fan fiction girlie stuff, but don't bully Stasia, please 😭 she can't take it (I also refuse to accept criticism obvi).

#glam x oc #metal family #glam metal family #glam shvagenbagen #glam Shvagenbagen x oc #metal family oc #metal family fanfic

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b0kksu · 7 months ago

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" if you think that story is crazy, you should hear the story about the time i got sent to the emergency room due to a puck that got stuck in my mouth - apparently the puck smacked something in my mouth that caused my jaw to lock, it was painful," and yet there'd be a smile as he told the relatively short story, phone's clock brought up to check the time as he was waiting for his train. in such moments, he had urged the other to stay awhile, keep him company whilst catching pokemon on his phone.

a quick swirl of his thumb and - miss! " dammit." cloud flew on the screen, the swede losing his current catch streak, what a shame!

"it works just fine now though." there'd be a small bite at the air, andrew's gaze shifting with a tilt of his head as he'd turn to gojo. "takes more than a single puck to shut me up, but i wouldn't recommend taking pucks to the mouth - now, tell me you've got a spare of that pokemon i just lost. i want it. "

“Are you serious?” long legs that cross over each other, he listens with intrigue, bottom lip held tight in between the clutch of his front teeth. What is it with life on the ice that always amounts to an unfathomable amount of pain? Well, with the exception of knee guards && copious amounts of rhinestones to replace such a thing. He should leave, that was the retort, always there but hardly tangible. It was the request that caused him to contort his features for a moment, softening, as if he couldn’t say no out of the genuine need to connect. The enigma who preferred to speak through skill alone or mutter cryptic things in brief public appearances. “How is your mouth still working after that? I’d be scared to even just smile again!” Though he is no better, one injury that counts into another, head first && head strong, unable to give less than perfection when the blade cut into crystal && he no longer felt tethered to this existence. A hunger that cannot be sated easily, passion, madness, whatever anyone called it even retirement was gnawing at his ankles.

Sprained ankles && bruised knees, a fractured wrist && broken nose, maybe he was just fulfilling a death wish like a sadist. Black rimmed glasses on the edge, pale blue eyes that flicker, he can understand the pain && the need to get back out there all too well. “I'm not afraid to admit the first time that would have happened to me? I'd flat out cry, press be damned, you're a lot braver but eating spare hockey parts sounds like a terrible diet” now he sounds like his friends, all nagging, he wears too much of his perfectionism on his shoulders && every responsibility like a crux, he’ll burn out one day.

The dimpled grin forms, mischievous as he coos, “What would ever make you think that?” oh, because Satoru always does. A geek to the very end as his platinum brow wiggles, taking out the rose gold phone with too many neon charms, plastic beads that jingle with initials, boyish underneath his devil may care exterior.

“First, say please, second you better take good care of them. Do you know how many hours I’ve put into this game? So demanding, surviving stray pucks, dare I say - you’re too cool”

#avaere #timeline; modern.#// oh the juxtaposition of the sports they are both in #// coupled with satoru just bRUH about such an injury #// this is funnier since he enjoys pokemon but if they spoke about digimon ???? he wouldn't shut up for the full night #// WHAT NERDS

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prvtocol · 10 months ago

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"< So.. San'tos? What do you think about him? >" Ira'vo teases, lobbing a smile at her friend as she begins to incorporate color into her weaving project. New bottoms for her eldest child. "" // >:)

"anonymous" | wonderful random asks ( always accepting )

Nestled in her lap, little Lula’lu tugs on the collar of her t-shirt; the RDA logo on its front is faded but remains. The soft texture of the synthetic cotton fabric is absentmindedly pinched and tugged by tiny fingers. Brianne jingles the teething necklace in front of her bright eyes, trying to deflect the infant’s grasp less one of the few shirts she owns gets all stretched out.

The two other children, Ira’na and Po’lo play nearby; carved animal figures are brought to life in small hands trekking them around the perimeter of the family marui as if going on a long expedition. Their mother, Ira’vo, is pleased to have her hands free to work on her mastered skill, this time delicately weaving an outfit for one of her children. The eldest, Po’lo, has hit another growth spurt. Brianne recalls how he was barely walking when she first met him in what is in all truth another lifetime ago before the conflict with the RDA found its way to these shores. In Ro’ok village, it remains a different world; a place to forget her waywardness and feel grounded in the body she loathes, if only briefly.

At the mention of San’tos, the hybrid's smaller yellow orbs lift bewildered; the lighthearted accusation threatens to have her fold into herself. “” She nearly scoffs trying to brush it aside as inane but her brow starts to furl in concern as she ruminates over possible past misactions. Oh dear. “< Why? Was I staring? >”

Hmm. Ira’vo hums, her big ocean-blue eyes squinting. Oh, she did catch some extra attention given to the tall, stoic warrior; an aberration from her friend’s usual cautious and too often downturned gaze. “< It is natural to stare. >” Ira’vo frowns in feigned consideration, her hands straightening a string of thread to appear busy; trying to hold back her amusement. “< San’tos is a mighty fine warrior. The best hunter of Ro’ok. Just do not tell Teylar I said that. >” A chuckle follows. “”

The smile stretched out of shared amusement does not erase the thoughts Brianne wants to deny. Ira’vo is too observant. She did tell her about the kindness San’tos spared during the rainstorm, a kindness she did not expect, and how it changed her perception of him. Maybe he does turn her gaze unlike before when she only worried about upsetting him with her presence. It's as if she wants him to look back. Curiosity gets the better of her and so slips a question accompanying her thoughts. “< If San’tos is so great why is he not mated? >”

“< Ah. Some say he is too humorless to entertain the thought, but I think it is simply a mystery of the heart. Very much like my Teylar up until he met me. >” Her chin lifts with pride for the catch she knows she made.

Brianne recalls Ira’vo telling her about how she is from another Metkayina village to the north and the two met by complete chance.

“< It is not so easy to find the right one. It can take years, and for some, it never comes. >”

Brianne’s attention drops to a wiggling Lula’lu as she teethes. The carved beads shine slick with saliva; she repositions her on her lap, letting the back of her head rest against her shoulder. “” So comes a solemn confirmation of a life spent single; married to her career. Her head shakes. “”

“< See, you are thinking about him. >” Ira’vo will not let it slide (and she prefers to be right).

Brianne sighs, there's no denying it, but the realization results in adding weight to her tone and her resolve. “< And I am going to stop before I offend him or someone else. >”

“< Ah, yes. He is very respected. A close friend of our Olo'eyktan. His reputation is strong, but it may embarrass him more so. But I am glad he spared you some kindness. I do not like it when you are treated like spoiled meat. >”

“< It does not bother me. I only come to visit you and the children, I do not belong here otherwise. Though...I am more like false meat than spoiled. >” Brianne tries to joke only to get a dismissive wave from her friend. At least her language ability is proving apt enough to try to be smart. “"

“< And I do not deserve all the help you give me. When I wanted many children, I did not expect for Eywa to bless me so quickly. >” Another chuckle follows. “< You said once when we first met, you wanted children, did you not? >”

Transferred memory is searched and a conversation is recalled during one of her short research visits years ago. A time when she accompanied Dr. Garvin and she would visit Ro'ok on the way. Ira'vo has such a sharp memory. “” She repeats what she said then but in more clearer phrasing than her language ability allowed at that time. The overpopulated Earth is dying, her career ever more demanding, the right person nonexistent, and before she knew it, she was nearing her forties and undergoing six years of cryosleep to move to a planet 4.4 light years away. Not in the cards.

“< Yes. I remember now. But, >” she leans closer, herself hopeful on behalf of her friend. “< Your body is so so young again. It is a time of peace. A time to start over. We shall see. >”

“< Oh no. This body only makes it less likely. >” Brianne disagrees. Even if her friend means well, she prefers to be honest with her. Ira'vo wants more for her in terms of acceptance than she does herself. Trying to keep it lighthearted, she quickly adds, “< You’re just going to have to have more children for me to watch. >”

The hardy laugh the suggestion garners is cut short when out of the corner of her eye, Ira’vo sees a toy pa'li traipsing through her hung necklaces, causing them to sway and one to fall to the ground. “< Ah ah! Not in the snokfyan, Po’lo! Go around! >” Ira’vo shakes her head after saying an all too common phrase with the child. “< Oh, more of all this activity? Ah. We shall see. >”

#anonymous #badtrigger #( answers ) .#c ( post-2170 ) .#dyn ( brianne & san’tos ) .#v ( avatar ) .#(( aaaaaaaaahhhh!! san'tos' ears are ringing ;; ))#ira'vo tbt #drabble

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cymrucwtch-blog · 1 year ago

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Age Appropriate

Chapter 1: Meet Cute

AN: Takes place after TFTWS. Torres initiates a meet-cute for Bucky after showing Sam he's ready to be the new Falcon to his new Captain America. Bucky gets unwanted visitors who want him to lead a rouge group (Thunderbolts). Will Bucky's lady bring stability to his life or will her "average" life mean chaos?

This story is a Work in progress. Will eventually have some violence. This chapter is pure fluff.

------------------{-------------------<3----------------------------------------------------------

Joaquin Torres stands atop the abandoned factory and looks out across the green field. A bead of sweat slides down his temple as he contemplates the deep troughs in the grass. He shouldn’t be alone. He should have called someone. But if he can just get this roll right, he will be ready to show Sam his wings. Ready to prove himself as a worthy partner. The new Falcon to the new Captain America. He’s floated the idea with Sam before but he’s not sure Sam is catching on to his hints. He takes a steading breath and jumps. Flinging his wings out to makes his move. He has no idea someone is watching.

“You don’t need a partner, Sam.” Bucky says, eyes trained on Joaquin.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Loaner. He looks good so far. Who knows, maybe I do need a partner.”

“You know what I mean. He’s trying to impress you.” Bucky sighs. “He does look good. It’s not like he doesn’t have your personality, too.”

“Damn, he almost had it. There at the end. Ouch. Let’s see if he’s ok.” Sam tells Bucky. They stride across the field toward a crumpled Torres laying defeated in the grass. Barely moving, not because he’s hurt. Just regrouping his thoughts. He’s pulled from his self-deprecating thoughts by Sam’s booming voice. “You almost had it! You ok, Torres?”

“How’d you know I’d be here?! It’s not ready for you to see yet, I can do better!” Torres panics.

“I got your clues when we last spoke. Oh, that gash is goin��a need stitches. I’ll show you where you went wrong after we get that fixed up. To the hospital first.”

“No, no, it’s not hospital worthy. I got it. I also think I have a prototype of my own Redwing that I need you to look at back at my apartment. Wil you come look at it while I get this stitched up?”

The three walk quickly out of the elevator at Torres building. The boisterous sounds of Duke Ellington are floating out of the first apartment on the left. Bucky’s brows furrow and he stops for a moment. That’s a record, not a digital recording. Torres guides them to the first apartment on the right. While Joaquin and Sam are deep in discussion about all the work Joaquin has done, Bucky stays at the doorway listening. The record changes. He has so many questions.

“Torres, who lives down the hall? The one playing the records?” he asks.

“Oh, that’s Abuelita.” He offers no more explanation. But now she’s playing Bucky’s favorite record. He never bothered to get a record player or collect records since he moves around so much. Seemed frivolous to even think about with aliens and the flag smashers keeping him busy. He didn’t’ realize he missed it until they came out of the elevator today.

“This is my favorite record…” he says almost to himself, stepping into the doorway more to stare at the door, willing it to open. Joaquin smiles. Sam’s left eyebrow raises watching his friends with curiosity.

“I need to head down there, she’s great with stitches. Go ahead man, I’m sure she will loan you the record. She’s super sweet. Knits and paints in her spare time. You’ll love Abuelita. She’s about your age too.” Torres spouts off while he grabs a rag to wet down. Determined to start treating his wound before he joins Bucky. Bucky steps tentatively out into the hall. Torres’ neighbor is over 100 years old too? Bucky looks back at Sam, and Sam starts to follow but Torres grabs his arm keeping him in the doorway as Bucky presses on. A knowing smirk and quick finger pressed to his lips to quiet Sam’s protests. Sam feels like a kid again, watching his friend go to talk to a girl. But this is a grandma who knits that lives next to Torres. Why did Torres stop him. What’s with the smile? What on earth is going on!? He was too curious to question it all. He could only watch Bucky approach the door and see what unfurled.

Bucky reaches the door and knocks. Nothing happens. He knocks again, a little louder. Abuelita apparently has bad hearing seeing as the record is so loud. Nothing happens.

“Knock like you mean it, Barnes!” coaches Torres. And so, Bucky does. Bucky’s enhanced hearing picks up a small squeak of shock from Abuelita. Oh no, he scared the poor old lady. The record halts. “There ya go, man!” Bucky wonders why Torres is so excited. It’s just a record from the little old lady down the hall and Bucky’s not going to take advantage of the loan she’s about to give him. Maybe she also knows where he can get more. And a record player. He’d ask when she finally opens the door. He can hear cautious footsteps coming to the door. The locks slide free, and the door opens. Just enough that Bucky can see the most gorgeous woman in her mid-thirties to early forties he has ever seen. It quickly dons on him that Torres meant old like Bucky looks, not like Bucky is. His gaze shifts down the hall to Torres and he sets free the biggest glare he can. Abuelita is still peaking at him in shock. Who is this stranger at your door? Torres decides it’s time to help you both and screams “Abuelita!! That’s my friend. He wants to borrow that record. And I need your help, I’ll be there in…oof.” but he never finishes the sentence. After he called you, you poked your head out the door to see him. When Sam catches a good glimpse of you, he punches Torres mid-sentence for the slight to Bucky. And you. Maybe Torres does have Sam’s personality. Sam sees Bucky’s satisfied smirk as he steps back to make room for you to see Torres. What are friends for?

“Get in here, Torres! And push that rag harder, no blood on my carpet this time.” You scold. “Any friends of Torres’ are friends of mine, come in.” Torres almost runs inside, impressed with his handy work and charade. Sam and Bucky close behind as he introduces them.

“Abuelita, this is Sam and Bu- (Bucky glares harder this time) James.” He knows you already know who they are from previous conversations together.

“Well, Sam, did you teach him how to perfect that move or am I taking care of more stitches later?” You jab at Sam, surprised to see him since Torres told you he hadn’t called him yet. More surprised to see bleeding Torres since he told you he was taking today off. And then there was James. You knew of him from the Smithsonian. And Torres had mentioned him and his infamous parachute-less jump. Torres was already in the bathroom getting the first aid kit. “Buh-James, let’s get you that record.” You smiled. Bucky wants you to do it again. And again. And aga-wait, what did you say to him? He silently followed you into your apartment and toward the record player.

“I’ll teach him later. He almost had it. This is quite the first aid kit.” Sam interrupts. Well, Bucky feels he has interrupted. He’d prefer neither of the other men be here. He feels on display. As do you. It’s over whelming.

“Well, Torres is clumsy.” It was a deflection. Thankfully they allowed it. Sam even laughed a little. Torres scoffs and then laughs as Sam helps him treat his wound, so you don’t have to.

Sam and Torres are finished but wouldn’t interrupt for the world now. They have moved out of the bathroom and are openly staring at you and Bucky while you talk. The conversation having gone on for some time and crossed many subjects before you put the record back in the sleeve and hold it out to Bucky. “There. All set. Keep it as long as you like. It’s a favorite of mine too. Do you have a player?”

“Uh, no. I mean, I used to, but I don’t have one right now. I, uh, where do you even buy records these days? This is amazing.” He was cute when he rambled.

“There’s a specialty shop down the street. Owner had a record player the other day, it may still be there today.” You hinted.

“Maybe. Maybe you could show me the place after coffee tomorrow?” He asked. Sam and Torres smile. They are finished but wouldn’t interrupt for the world now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Great. It’s a date.”

#bucky/reader #bucky x reader #joaquin torres #sam wilson #james bucky barnes #fluff

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cdroloisms · 2 years ago

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I promised twt a threadfic bc like man for a writer I’ve really just been posting NOTHING and I figured I’d put it here too - I planned on making it cover more of the scrapped lore but it just ended up being c!Dream and c!Sam having an awkward conversation in a box for an excessive amount of time again whoops.

tw: fictional abuse, torture, starvation references, c!Sam is an unreliable narrator and c!Dream is trying to convince him of things, which always makes for a fun combo ! i love them your honor

“Prove,” Dream says, barely over a whisper, “that you’re different.”

Sam scoffs. His trident scrapes over obsidian. A chip shatters, jumps over the ground, sharp and brittle. Sam watches as it settles into the dimpled surface of the floor. No mining fatigue - the obsidian feels so much more fragile, here.

A chattering crash of chains; the iron-clad tip of Sam’s boot digs into a furrow in the ground; he turns, furrowed brows. Dream’s knees bleed, where they are pressed into the obsidian. It is still newly hewn. Sharp-edged.

“I have nothing I need to prove to you.” Clipped words. He doesn’t reach for his mask - or worse, the jagged line of the scar that slips underneath it, the metal reconstructing his eye socket, the redstone whirring set into his skull. (Red, red, burying deeper-)

Sam turns, and betrays nothing. The butt of his trident does not touch the ground.

“Sam,” Dream calls (and he calls, and he calls, because Dream does not speak without expecting an answer-) “Sam, he’ll kill me, you know he will-“

“You killed me.” A clack, teeth clicking together, jaw snapping shut. Sam’s hand reaches up towards the edge of his mask with a mind of its own and he pushes it down when he realizes it’s in line with his shoulders. He doesn’t turn around.

“That- that’s true,” Dream murmurs, and Sam wants to tell him to stop sounding like that. Like he’s conceding - Dream doesn’t surrender. Never when it really matters - his eye, the metal one, swivels and hums. “To- to be fair, it was only- one life.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Sam snaps - his grip tightens on the trident and he swears that static jumps up its handle, even though this isn’t even the one with Channeling.

(Dream’s voice, and he’s left a live wire - rising heat, sparks flashing. His stomach flips in nausea and nerves and hunger.)

“And this isn’t for me,” Sam mutters, three paces right. The cell is built wrong - it’s too wide. He keeps stopping a block and a half short of the wall. “You shouldn’t be free, Dream.”

“…well,” a pause - Sam imagines Dream’s bottom lip caught between his teeth- “That’s- a bit of a- a matter of perspective,” a beat, fingers tapping against his thigh, “right?”

“Do not try this again, Dream,” Sam says, still refusing to look behind him to the pale face behind the glass. He can imagine his expression well enough without sparing more of his time and attention to Dream’s manipulations. “The only perspective you care about is your own.”

…okay,” Dream’s voice is slow, weighing every word. Metal against metal, another lapse in sound - Sam corrects his mental image. Dream can’t fidget with his hands when they're tied behind his back. None of the crying obsidian is in the right place; a drop lands to his left, shattering against the edge of a block, torn apart on its knife’s edge. Purple splatters, beads against the side of his boot. “Okay- fine. I- this isn’t about the prison.”

Sam scoffs. Everything is about the prison. He turns to examine the floor, the missing netherite barrier.

“Sam,” Dream’s voice pitches higher. More desperate. “Sam, you know he’ll kill me.”

“I know,” Sam replies, tone unwavering. The silence returns. Sam tries to imagine his face - twisted in anger, maybe, at being so casually rebuffed - or have his eyes widened in that meaningless mockery of terror? Or perhaps he has his eyebrows furrowed in that searching glare towards the floor - examining the obsidian for cracks. Examining Sam for weakness, for a foothold, for that pin to push and pry at ‘til it all gives way and he’s granted the keys of the kingdom.

There is no such pin, Sam is sure. Dream has run out of options, this time - at Sam’s mercy. Justice upheld. No more words, no more lies - just silence, in all its solid comfort. Under his mask, he feels the corners of his lips twitch, the way the scar splitting his face in two moves with the motion.

Dream’s voice is low. “You can’t get the revive book if I’m dead.”

“So give it over, and I’ll keep you alive.” Sam raises his eyebrow, one last gambit. He’s not expecting much - it’s almost rote, at this point. He asks, and Dream denies him. Dream calls, and he never enters the cell. There is nothing they share that does not demand surrender.

“No- then you’ll kill me!”

“I already told you that I wouldn’t.”

“You-” Dream cuts himself off. “Quackity is going to kill me.”

“Give me the book,” Sam repeats, “and I won’t let Quackity kill you.”

“Stop lying to me.” Dream’s voice wavers. Redstone hums next to Sam’s ear, a staticky low buzz. He looks up, watches the torches flicker on the wall. The light is softer than the overwhelming heat and light of the lava curtain. The flames dance and flicker.

“I don’t lie,” Sam says, closing his eyes. The air in this cell is cool - cold, even. A little damp. “I’m not like you, Dream.”

“...you’re not,” Dream echoes, and his voice sets Sam’s teeth on edge. “You’re not. You’re not like me and- and you’re not like him.”

Sam’s jaw twitches. The chains rattle; Dream’s breathing rattles with them.

“I lied- to you. I betrayed you, I manipulated you,” Dream breathes, like some twisted confession, the things that Sam knows but hates hearing Dream say anyway. The things Dream will admit despite this, or maybe because of this, the things he will only tell Sam. He finally turns around, one slow step after another, until he has traced a half-circle back to the center of the cell and is facing directly across from where Dream is chained on his knees behind the glass. Dream’s gaze flicks upwards. “I killed you.”

Dream’s hand, around the pickaxe’s handle. Quackity somewhere above them both, finding the same pickaxe, blood and gore on the prison’s floor. Sam doesn’t quite flinch, but there’s an ache to his jaw, his temple.

“You know what Quackity will do.” Stripped of his armor, his mask, it’s easier to see the way that the muscles over the back of his neck and shoulders screw tight, the anxious flicks of his eyes - the floor, the ceiling, Sam. The floor, again. It’s nothing like the prison, where skin stretched thin over bone left little to the imagination, where he’d walked into the room with Dream cracked open, laid bare, more times than he cared to count. “You- you know, Sam. You know-”

Sam clears his throat, and the sound echoes. Dream’s mouth shuts.

“...you- you’re not the same, as us.” Dream looks up and meets his eyes. The light in them isn’t a constant thing, like it was in the prison - it flickers and grows and dims, twin spires of flames from the torches fixed on the wall behind him. He wets his lips; his voice hardens. “Prove that you’re not the same as us.”

Sam glares. Dream’s eyes narrow, searching.

“Prove that you’re different, prove you’re nothing- nothing like the two of us. You know what I’ve done, fine. You know what Quackity can do. Has done. Look at this place, Sam, look at- this isn’t- you’re not-“

“This is justice.” Sam gestures at the walls of the cell, and Dream flinches, swallows.

“No- no,” Dream shakes his head. “This is murder. This is- you know what Quackity is like. You think this will be quick?”

“If you stayed in the prison, then you wouldn’t be here.”

“Fine. Fine- but he’ll torture me. And then he’ll kill me. He’ll kill me, Sam, you know he will.”

Sam breathes out, slow and harsh through his nose. He opens his mouth to speak and doesn’t say a word.

“Prove that you’re different,” Dream’s Adam’s apple bobs, neck straining to look up at Sam - he doesn’t remember stepping this close. He’s too aware of every movement, every blink, his hands twitching at his sides. “And let me go.”

#my writing !!#lord i just post NOTHING nowadays im so sorry #this is very short too SKSKSK

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get-shiggy-with-it · 2 years ago

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Help girl, I am once again romanticizing the mundane,,,,,

Tomura Shigaraki doesn’t like coffee.

Doesn’t like a lot of things, really.

Doesn’t like showers that are too hot, doesn’t like the little seam at the toes of socks, doesn’t like nail polish that isn’t chipped a bit, doesn’t like runny eggs or toast that’s too burnt, doesn’t like society as a concept or people that talk too much without really saying anything or people at all or hair that doesn’t cover his eyes or face cream with too much fragrance—

Yeah. Doesn’t like a lot of things. To the point that it’s much easier to list all the things he does like.

Video games, especially the puzzle kind—the ones Spinner hates to watch him play when he already knows the answer but Tomura won’t let him spoil it. Or curry, with big chunks of potato, but only the kind Kurogiri used to make with the carrots cut into stars. The smell of cigarette smoke and the color blue.

Sometimes coffee.

More so, he finds the process of making the cup more pleasing than anything else.

Hands glinting and sticky banging the portafilter on the edge of the counter and scooping in just the right amount of grounds. So practiced you don’t even weigh it and it always tastes the same to him. The flexing muscles in your arm as you press down on the puck and load it into the machine without looking.

Like it's second nature. Not worrying about if you’ll miss or spill or skip a step.

He tells himself mostly they’re here for the free wi-fi and because this is the only shop that stays open past eight. Because the bar is gone and it’s getting to that point in the summer where the nights are too cold for body heat and stolen clothing to be enough.

The heat from espresso makers and gaggles of students and salarymen who constantly stream in and out is enough, though.

He can see little beads of sweat forming on your brow when the line starts running out the door and watches as they drip down your cheeks like you’re crying with that toothy smile plastered on your face.

You pull the perfect double shot and dump it into the cup while the man at the register rattles off his order. There’s already condensation on the plastic rim as you twirl it with your wrist and check the name written in sharpie.

He knows what it says.

Iced with extra vanilla syrup.

He hopes he’ll like it, that it won’t taste much like coffee.

He only sometimes likes coffee.

“For Tomura,” you call out and slide the cup across the counter, already pouring eyeballed amounts of syrups into another cup and tapping something on the register.

He slips down from the table Dabi and Toga had saved and goes to grab his drink. It’s too bitter still when he takes a sip from the paper straw that dissolves on his tongue almost instantly. Too acidic behind the sweetener and the milk. He finishes it anyway.

Tomura Shigaraki doesn’t like coffee.

But he does like this.

He likes the standing in line and everyone is too busy to even spare him a second glance as they wait to put in their order. He likes the way you bite the cap off the marker when he tells you what he wants and the methodical manner with which you do everything. So immersed you’re almost not present at all. He likes muscle memory, the idea that you can be so dedicated to something your body can physically never forget the motions. He likes his name shouted over the din that swallows it up again like it belongs there.

He likes to watch your hands slide the drink down the bar and hold the cup where he knows you’ve touched it.

He likes the ritual.

Likes to think that he’s normal here, in this transient place where people come and go and no one pays much mind to anyone else.

He thinks that if things had gone differently, he might be just another face, impatient before his shift, waiting for his order—the same one every time. He thinks he’d come here every morning and maybe you’d start remembering his name, what he drinks, so that he wouldn’t even need to talk to you.

You’d just know.

He’d be ingrained in your fingers, writing his name, grinding his coffee and making it identical each time. Because your body wouldn’t let you forget him.

He finishes the drink and slips the cup into his pocket.

And he’ll order it again tomorrow.

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you

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plush-rabbit · 4 years ago

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Aphrodisiac Induced Reader + The Brothers

A/N: The brothers!! I hope yall enjoy!! Aphrodisiac induced is always a fun thing to play with. The brothers,, my beloved

You really should have known better than to take food that was offered by Beel. You know that he has the right intentions in mind- that him sharing food is a miracle of itself and rejecting him would have his brows furrowed and lips pursed into a pout- but he’s also gluttony. He can eat whatever he wants and as much as he wants without so much of a stomach ache. You, on the other hand, cannot. You should have seen this coming when the cupcake you bite into filled your mouth with such an indescribable sweetness that it made your teeth ache, the flavor otherworldly and leaving you hungry for me, taking greedy bites out of the cutely decorated pastry. There was a sharp pang in your stomach, your body on fire and sex dripping with every nudge that your body made.

You couldn’t be alone right now- or maybe you should have been left alone, maybe that would have saved you from humiliation of your dripping arousal that was leaking past your slit. You’re quick to rise, standing on shaky legs, curled over as your cheeks burn, sweat beading against your skin, only worsening the sensitive state that you are in. It’s fast-acting, making your breaths come out in heated gasps, and everything just feels a bit too much, just too good for it to be normal. An aphrodisiac- a strong one that is making you impossibly aroused. You suck in a sharp breath and go to the person who you know will treat you right.

Lucifer:

Lucifer is a gentleman- most of the time at least. But during your time of need he is perfect to go to. He’ll allow you- or more like insist- that you stay in his office until the aphrodisiac’s effects have passed. You’ll lay on the couch, face buried into a throw pillow while the other one is between your legs. Shame has long been gone since you’ve entered his domain, his eyes never really leaving your shaky frame. When you moan his name, he stiffens, the pen in his hand is held tighter but he still rises, walking towards you in concern. He’ll sit beside you, let his hand curve over your forehead, feeling the heat go through his glove.

He clears his throat, pulling his hand away, and there’s this heavy look on your face, the pillow squeezed tight between your legs, the pillow under your head has faint imprints of your teeth. He’ll avoid touching you, pulling his hand away from you and walking briskly to his desk chair. He can hear your steps across the floor, the way you gasp his name and seem to rub your thighs together for any sort of friction. He won’t spare you a glance, eyes focused on the paperwork in front of him. Underneath the desk, his leg jolts as you snake your arms around his shoulders, your lips wet as they touch his neck.

There isn’t enough time in the day and night for him to focus on his work and on your growing needs that are starting to mark everything in his office. Black ink scratches along the pape, the letters growing shaky as you snake your way onto him. He’s actually startled when you situate yourself on his lap, your sex pressed against his erection. He’s surprised by your sudden confidence but writes it off due to the effects of the aphrodisiac. You’re above him, arms snaked once more on his shoulders and you play with the hair that rests on the nape of his neck.

The feeling of shame is not foreign to the Avatar of Pride but even then, letting you know that he is indeed aroused given the situation does bring a bit of heat to his body. His hands find their way to hold onto your hips, trying to ignore the way that you have begun to grind against his. But there is work to do and despite the growing need to pleasure both you and himself, he displaces you, ignoring the way that you call his name and can’t seem to stop touching him.

The only way to gain his attention that you desperately long for is to push him away, the wheels locking against an edge of the floor and you bend yourself over the desk. Lucifer wants to throw you out so you can be another’s problem but you pull your bottom layer off, your fingers searching inside your leaking hole and pride starts to fuel him. You touch yourself in front of him, beg for him to touch you- of course you would. Slender hands come to touch your body, and you’re already leaking onto the floor, thick, sweet arousal staining the very room that he allowed you to enter. His cock is against you, rimming around your entrance, hearing your cries and please for him to simply fuck you but you did cause him to become distracted from very important work and he is going to punish you for that.

Mammon:

Of course you’d go to him. He is your first after all, why wouldn’t you go to The Great Mammon? But wow, he was over his head when you came knocking at his door. Always eager to see and spend time with you, he allows you to enter without seeing the state you’re in. You stagger into his room, holding his hand and stumbling into him and it’s only then that he can smell the sweet, lingering aroma in the air. He wants to believe you’re just trying a new perfume and now it's made you sick, but it’s worse than that when the hand you’re holding moves to your chest. He can feel your rapid heartbeat, the way your body is in flames that can rival hellfire itself, the pained cry of his name as you try to pinch your legs together in the awkward embrace.

Frozen for a moment, Mammon completely blanks on what to do. He can feel your pain, the aching need in your entire body that makes you feel as if you’re going to combust into flames. He doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. But then you cry his name- sobbing it out in broken syllabus and you cry that it hurts and you think you might die and you're in his arms. Your hold on him tightens and he thinks he can leave you to be- let you wait out the excruciating pain in his room until the feeling fades and just thank him with attention or material objects later. He fails to consider that he is weak to you and when you look at him with teary eyes, he falters.

He stutters in his explanation, talking about how he can maybe go out and get you a toy or something- and he promises to be quick, he is the fastest after all. But then the thought lingers and he imagines your sex stretched with some toy that he chose, and his body jerks. Your vision is growing blurrier by the second and the hold on his hand tightens until your knuckles pale. You pull on him, thanking whatever God is watching down on you, that the door to the prized car he keeps in is open. Even he’s unable to know what is going on until you push him inside, crawling onto the back seat, calling his name and begging for him to join you.

In such a closed space, the Avatar of Greed is trying desperately to avoid touching you. He stays seated in the front seat, fingers drumming along the steering wheel. He cares for the car deeply- one of the few things that gives him freedom that is indescribable and yet, here you are. Your sex is leaking, your cries echoing across the closed space and what is music to his ears in his dreams is now a horrible reminder that you are seated behind him, victim to an aphrodisiac. He needs an excuse to touch you, needs to just feel you for a moment and when you threaten to stain the flawless leather seats with your slick, it’s enough for him to crawl to the back seat.

He never realized how crowded it was, how his elbows and knees tend to knock into things. He doesn’t notice how you’ve kicked your shorts off, how your underwear has become dark in color to your dripping sex. You kiss him, and Mammon is weak to you. His hands are on you, the scent overpowering and he promises to keep the touching to a minimum to only touch what you’ll let him touch and kiss where you want him to. But you’re huffing, grabbing onto him and trying to meet his crotch. The windows grow foggy, the car begins to creak but neither of you pay it any mind. It’s cramped and you’re too close but not close enough, you ache to be closer to him, to have him pressed against you until all you can remember is the way that his chest feels against your skin, the warmth of him, and the way his kisses are so tender and feverish all at once.

Leviathan:

Leviathan refuses to make eye contact with you. He won’t even address you. He sits on his desk chair, playing a game that doesn’t need half of the attention he usually gives. You rest inside his bathtub, curled over he presumes, whining and mumbling something that sounds like his name but he can't be so sure nor does he expect you to mumble his name in your current state. But as much as he wants to drown you out, he can’t. You’re too whiny, crying and begging for a solution, peeling your shirt off because it’s too hot. He reasons that’s because of the aphrodisiac because his room is always kept to a cool temperature. So now, he has you topless in his bathtub and the only proof is your shirt that was tossed where he sits and the reflection above, portraying a teasing, blurry image of your torso.

It’s possibly the worst situation for the poor, introverted demon. He finally has you all to himself and you’re in such a needy state and the plot is so close to a top tier hentai of his- Help! My Friend Took a Drug and Now They Won’t Stop Grinding on Me But I Also Don’t Want Them To Stop. But You came to him, you trusted that he would watch over you and whether it was because he kept his room so guarded or because you trust him, he really doesn’t know which. It’s just too muddled for him to believe that you would actively choose him. So, he does what he does best- he immerses himself in a game. The cutest game that he could think of- one that even if he grew and remained hard would make him feel more like a degenerate than he already does. He puts his headphones on and as if everything is trying to punish him, the loading screen takes forever.

The soundtrack plays loud, booming in his headset and effectively drowning you out. But he knows you’re still crying for him- that you're still in the same room with him. The perverted otuka glances up where he can see your reflection and he catches a glimpse of your hands cupping the swell of your chest and his face burns. Had you caught him peeking before? Was this a way for you to play with yourself without actively touching yourself? He can feel his growing arousal, translucent pre-ejaculate spilling past his slit and staining his boxers. It’s humiliating and he hates that the idea of you touching yourself in his room is more than enough for him to get in the mood.

He’s ignoring you- the only way that he can hopefully soften without actually creaming his pants. He avoids your reflection, ignores how your hands grip the curve of the tub until your knuckles pale, how you swing a leg over and it meets the hard layer of the bath, and for a moment, you still. He’s ignoring your decision to remove yourself from the place he rests and staggering to him. When he feels your hands on his thighs, he startles and the game minimizes into a small box. Unaware of what to do in this situation, he freezes, letting his body tense as you crawl onto his lap, your eyes heavy with lust and body feeling so warm above him that he’s unable to breathe.

His breathing is ragged, his hands stopping on the curve of your bum, as he’s unable to look anywhere else but your face. You’re flushed, gripping onto him, your tongue out as you pant and you’re so desperate for his attention that you lean close. His hands raise in an attempt to push you off but as if it were a cliché moment, his hands curve over your chest and you whimper his name at the simple touch. The third born should have been careful, he shouldn’t have let you grind against him and he surely shouldn’t have let himself becomes distracted by a kiss and yet, here he is, undressing himself as you greedily slide yourself onto his cock, your face scrunching up as every scale is pushed further into your aching hole. Leviathan is holding you close, the computer screen dimming as your can fill him spill inside of you.

Satan:

Eager to learn, he knows the effects of what an aphrodisiac can do to a being. So when you come knocking at Satan’s door, begging for refuge, leaning against him and gripping at his shirt, he pats your hand, and welcomes you inside. He allows you to rest on his bed, letting you bury yourself under his blankets. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for either of you- you’re inhaling his scent during a time of desperate need, and soon when the effects wear off, he’ll be left in a bed that is drenched in your scent. That, however, is a problem for another day.

In order to keep his mind and hands busy, he’ll finally organize his room. He’s able to ignore your whining, the way that you shiver under the covers and bury yourself into his pillow, how you spread your legs so they are uncovered by the blanket; he ignores the sweet scent of your arousal that fills the room and his lungs. He holds his breath, taking few, deep breaths every now and then to avoid inhaling too much of you. You’re whining, talking through the pillow about how it hurts and you just need something- and doesn’t he have a spell he can use to just rid you of at least a tiny bit of it.

It’s the growing arousal of himself and your constant whining that edges him closer to annoyance. He holds books tight in his hand, orders them by author and published years, height and volumes, but it isn’t enough to drown you out. He regrets letting you enter his room but in the same second, he regrets having the thought. He’s happy that you came to him, trusted him enough to see you in a disheveled state. He doesn’t want to scare you off or make you feel unwanted, so he edges closer to you, tugging on the bottom of his shirt as if he were a nervous boy instead of a grown demon. The bed creaks under his weight and your hand latches onto his thigh. He jerks his leg, your hand only squeezing tighter and when he makes eye contact, your eyes are filled with tears, glistening and catching on your lashes like fresh dew.

You’re aroused, deeply and sweetly. It's a nervous thing to be attracted to someone like you, a demon that has been round and born with blood and wrath etched deep into soul and yet here he is, nervous to even touch your trembling hand. He knows the effects of something as strong as an aphrodisiac and for a demon made one, there is no real spell for it. He lets you lay on his lap, your mouth close to his sex, eyes lidded and holding tight to his hand. His control is fading, his growing need pushing past logical thought. He offers himself, and you rise quickly, already straddling his lap, your chest pressed against his, asking if it is okay. A cold shiver runs through his spine and he nods, offering that he’ll take care of you.

The trembling, nervous demon fades just as quick as it came when your lips are on his. You kiss him, need so transparent that he’s teasing, pulling away, letting your back meet the bed. His smile is sharp, leaning to kiss your pursed lips, grabbing your leg and pulling it upwards, mumbling praise under his breath when you hook your leg around his waist. Satan is heavy when above you, and maybe it’s the aphrodisiac that still lingers on your tongue, but he is unwilling to move away from you, kissing you and hooking his fingers in your mouth when you moan. You’re needy and he wants to hear you beg for him, calling his name. He cups your face with spit coated fingers, asking you to be good for him and mew for him.

Asmodeus:

As the Avatar of Lust, Asmodeus immediately knew something was off in the house when he felt lust in the air. It’s sweet. Intoxicating and bitter all at once. It’s like the sweetest honey known to mankind and he knows the feeling well enough to open his door before you have the thought to knock. He welcomes you into his room, letting you rest on the bed, a small part of him on the inside crinkling when you ruffle the sheets. But, of course, he knows this isn’t you- you would never be so careless. It’s all because of the aphrodisiac making your movements more frantic.

He knows the cure to end it- sex, plain and simple. Masturbation might help but he fears your hand will become sore. Always eager to have somebody in bed with him- out of his own sin and own need for company- he offers you two choices. You can borrow a toy- new, still in the box and all- or he could take care of you. Perhaps he shouldn’t have offered the second option, he knew how excited you were to simply enter a room with another living being but he couldn’t help himself. You look absolutely adorable with your flustered face.

A kiss from the living Avatar of Lust is better than any pleasure that you’ve ever received. And he knows it. You moan under him, your body shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your head, clawing at the shirt on his back. He smiles into the kiss. So eager to be taken care of that a simple kiss was enough to make you climax, your arousal dripping onto your underwear, so heavy in the air, that he pulls away as he feels your breaths start to shorten due to lack of air. But even as he pulls away, you still reach to pepper him with kisses, your breathing reggae against his face, gasping for breath with every parting kiss.

Your hands are on him, eager to pull him into another kiss. You want him and it’s evident from the way that you don’t push away when he removes his clothing. But, he stops for a moment, watching your gaze on him, wide and dazed and you stare at him as if he was something more than just a demon, you give him your worship and you pull him into another kiss. He stiffens, pulling away and asking if this is what you want, touching your bare skin only to flinch away as if it burned him. And when your lips are on him, your smile returns for a moment, telling him that you came to him because you knew he would tend to you in any way, and he melts.

His lips return to yours, kissing you eagerly, wanting nothing more than to just keep his lips on you. And as last time, you shudder beneath him, another orgasm washing through your body, your release spilling pass your slit. Limps entangle with each other and you cry the name Asmodeus, moaning it as if it were the only thing on your mind, sobbing under him and telling him how good it feels. You pet his head and let him bury his face into our chest, peppering kisses until he reaches your neck. His eyes close, an unexpected climax teases at him, as you pull him closer to your aching body. Every sigh from you in a gentle gust of wind, every cry a song that not even choir from the Celestial Realm can rival. He pushes deep inside of you, letting you feel every curve and texture from his cock as it molds your leaking hole into his shape.

Beelzebub:

Beelzebub feels incredibly guilty when you come to him, his shirt knotted in your hands as you explain what you ate. He blames himself, going to hold you only to flinch when you hiss and pull yourself closer to him. It’s an aphrodisiac, he should have known that you’ll be more sensitive to touch during this time. He apologizes as he leads you to his bed, shaking his head and holding your hand. He’s gluttony- he should have been able to smell the scent of an aphrodisiac.

Of course, he’ll let you hide in his room until the effects wear off. He won’t make a single peep but it’s difficult for him. His clothes are sticking to him, his body is in an odd sticky situation where sex clings to him clothes and skin. He knows the effects of the aphrodisiac but he feels guilty for giving it to you so when you cling to him, begging for him to not let go of you, he sighs and stays beside you. He’s stiff, unwilling to move and can only let out a shaky breath, when you press yourself closer to him, hooking a leg over his and curling it over. He can feel your sex- hot and pulsing and he leaves ripped bedsheets as his hand curls into the comforter.

He’s rubbing your back, letting his fingers drum against your spine as he hears your panted breaths. He knows he should stop, that he should at least go and take a shower so he can at least smell good but you hold a tight grip on him. You’re feverish, burning against him and he can tell you want more, your lips open up and kiss along the side of his ribcage but he can’t move.

It’s getting too much- even for him. He doesn’t want to take advantage of this needy state that you’re in but as he rises with a feeble explanation that he’s going to take a shower, you pull him down. He’s above you, your eyes watery and cheating rising and falling with heavy breaths. He can’t kiss you but you’re leaning closer, your lips brushing against his and he can smell the aphrodisiac that still rests like heaven on your tongue. You don’t blame him for the accident slip, you’re just begging for him to take care of you, letting your hand rest over the swell of his breast and he’s growing weaker by the second.

When your lips are on his, your tongue slipping past your lips, Beelzebub can taste the aphrodisiac and he’s melting. His tongue has made its home on your mouth, curving over your pink muscle and feeling the way you shudder beneath him. His name is muted by the kiss, your hands clawing at his clothing and he’s sweaty and aroused, watching you as you strip yourself of your clothes. The lovely pastry that still lingers isn’t enough for him to go into a full rut, but it’s enough for him to bend your legs to your chest, your hole pulsing as his cock aligns to it. The way that you call his name is enough for him to push himself fully into you.

Belphegor:

Belphegor is asleep under the covers, pillow tucked under his head and he does not awaken to your scent growing closer and closer, heavier and sweeter than usual. He doesn’t awaken when the doorknob wiggles, a frantic turning but he does awaken when you slam the door. He is startled awake, his eyes wide for a second before narrowing, teeth flashing as he lets out a low growl. He stops when he notices it's you, yawning and telling you to get into bed with him. It’s only until you’re beside him, greedily taking the invitation, that he realizes the state you’re in.

He has to prod you until you tell him what’s happened, watching as you bury your face into a pillow, whining out pathetically as you tell him what happened. He laughs, it’s sharp and teasing. Of course, you took an aphrodisiac by accident. It could only happen to you. He tries to be sympathetic with you. He knows you must be in a great deal of pain, but then again you came to him and that makes him stay awake for a bit longer, turning over on his side and watching you struggle to not touch yourself despite the aroma of your arousal that is thick in the room.

Sloth offers to put you under a deep sleep- he can’t promise that you’ll be still- but he can promise that you’ll wake up without the effects of the aphrodisiac. When you refuse, he merely shrugs, turning over with a pout. He’s disappointed but he can’t do much. He does tell you that he is tired, so he’ll be sleeping but you’re allowed to spend the rest of your heightened arousal in the attic with him. The power of an aphrodisiac- one made a devil no less- is strong, and giving it you in even worse. He can sense the neediness in you, the way you watch him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted the eagerness to get into bed with him.

As promised, he slips off into a sleep, leaving you alone. But your body is on his, legs parted with his single leg. He isn’t asleep long enough for him to be in an actual slumber before he feels the bed move ever so slightly. It’s constant and your whining, mumbling apologies and he opens his eyes to find you humping his leg. It’s pathetic and hot all at once, watching you get off on his leg alone, so desperate for release that you’ve succumbed to humping him. His smile is tight, turning over and letting his tail curl around you, the static in the air only causing you to arch your back when his demon form pops out. It pricks against your wrists, the fur unkempt as he rises above you.

You wanted his attention and now you’ve gotten it. You’ve woken him up from nap, it’s normal and expected for him to be grouchy but thank goodness that the smell from your leaking sex is more arousing that anything else he’s encountered. You’re on your knees on the mattress, his hips meeting yours and letting out a loud grunt when he finishes. He’s tired and over it but his cock still stands upright and you’re still needy and awake, your sex leaking with his arousal. Belphegor will lay on his back, offer himself in his sleep to you until you’re content. The last coherent thought he has is sighing at how warm and squishy you feel against him.

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clouds-rambles · 4 years ago

Note

Hi there! Can i request xiao, childe,zhongli where reader gets injured bad one time that they go into like a comatose or something? And at the end they wake up, thank you!! 🤗

Hi bestie! And ask and ye shall sufficiently be fed. I kept rambling on these so I hope you don’t mind <3

Pairings; (Separate) Xiao, Childe, Zhongli x reader

Warning(s); hurt/comfort, cursing, slight wound description

Keep reading under the cut!

Xiao

You didn’t actually plan to take on the Oceanid but you were in the area and you knew a friend needed a cleansing heart or two so why not?

The why not is the fact that the dumb water birds were ripping the shit out of you

Sufficiently happy that the Oceanid has given you a lesson enough, they disappear, leaving you pretty much in a heaped, shivering, bloody pile.

The yaksha hears his name being spoken with such a level of hurt, Xiao is moving before you’re able to mutter his name a second time

Despite his quick speeds and quicker panic, he hears your voice slowly lose breath. And as much as he doesn’t want to he has started preparing himself for the worst.

Maybe it’s his fault for loving a fleeting mortal?

When he reaches you, you’re unconscious. But breathing. Laboured, likely due to some broken ribs, but breathing none the less. A less panicked and worried Xiao would chastise him for holding onto something that could disappear.

Xiao isn’t going to let you die, not on his hands.

He takes your limp body back to the Wangshu Inn and within the hour there’s 3 doctors all bandaging your body and making sure your stable

Comatose isn’t a word that Xiao has much experience with. But to him it manifests into the worst weeks of his life

Where he isn’t sat beside you, he’s pacing in your room. And when he isn’t doing that he’s throwing himself so deep in slaying demons and once the supply of demons ran dry he started clearing out random hilichurl camps

He knows that things are starting to get better when you start muttering random things in your sleep, and reacting to whatever books Xiao reads to you

Nobody at the Inn says anything outwardly about how unusually soft Xiao is, but everyone’s notices. If you were awake Xiao could imagine you teasing him about it and giving him a kiss

Four weeks almost to the day you wake up. Xiao is sat in his normal place beside you, book in his hand reading to you

“I like that book, its my favourite” you tell the yaksha who hasn’t noticed your waking. Your voice struggles to make words, like when you talk first thing in the morning.

Xiao jumps a little at your voice, he was so engrossed in the book and barely noticed your gaze.

Grinning is an understatement, Xiao smiles so wide and out of character that you almost jest about Xiao being a doppelganger

But the moment he hugs you, careful of your bindings, the jest fizzles away

“I almost lost you” he tells you his face sufficiently buried in your neck to try and hide the growing tears that he’s been pushing back through the weeks

“You can’t get rid of me that easily cutie” you reassure the yaksha as you embrace him as tight as your bandaged body can

Childe

The two of you love to expend your energy with random friendly fights be it wrestling around the house or finding the highest plains and having a great all out battle. You both find its a great way to release stress too

“I was thinking about eating out for dinner” you tell Childe as you parry his arrow

“That sounds like an idea. Loser pays” Childe responds with a grin

The fight is great, and dare you say it you’re winning

Until, by no joke, the biggest gust of wind pushes you off of the cliff and sends you flying

It would be funny if you couldn’t feel your bones breaking as you fall

Childe dives off the cliff the as soon as he can attempting to catch you

He does. But he’s a little too late to catch you conscious. You feel like a limp bag of potatoes. Your heartbeat being the only thing that’s currently grounding him and keeping him from committing various crimes

He doesn’t have the time to overthink until you’re safe and laying in your shared room

The three days that you’re unconscious Childe spends almost every waking moment sat on a chair beside your bed, laying on the bed beside you and actively avoiding as much work as he physically can. Even to the point a fatui agent comes to the house and lectures him about how he mustn’t keep avoiding his obligations.

He leaves for half a day on the third day and sits beside you the moment he gets back. He’s lazily telling you about his boring half day of work after he finishes he drops his head onto the bead

“I guess I’ll have to buy dinner though” you tell Childe your hand petting his hair

You’ve never seen Childe sit up so fast and bury his head into your chest where you continue to pet his hair

“Though you might have to go and get it, my bones hurt” you jest

“You fell off a fucking cliff [name] I’m sure your bones do more than hurt” he smiles kissing your nose

You smile at the man and embrace him again “I’m sure you caught me though”

“Without hesitation” he grins, Childes worry's and the days before overthinking flutter away for the time being

Zhongli

Being the adventurer spirit that you are going to the reaches of Liyue and you’ve made it your personal goal of exploring every crevice of the country

On your way back to the Harbour after a month and a half being away. Though on the final stretch of your journey a mitachurl decided that you were a personal punching bag and threw you across the road

Though in much pain from the fall you some how managed to make it back home and into the arms of your spouse

“I’ve got a present fo-” you pass out mid sentence, obviously your adrenaline from the mitachurl had finally ran out

Zhongli takes your sudden excess of deadweight and quickly lays you down onto your shared bed and checks you for any wounds

He quickly finds a large bruise from the mitachurl earlier. Zhongli changes you into some comfortable clothing while you’re already half undressed under his concerned gaze

Despite his quick thinking and generally unfazed expression the archon feels a unsettling pit at the bottom of his stomach

Baizhu is inside the house within the half hour and within the hour he has a diagnosis. A coma with no end date.

Being acquainted with comas but thanks to his previous lifetimes Zhongli has never been so close to someone with such an ailment

Another month and a half Zhongli finds himself away from his spouse. Although trying to keep his schedule as consistent as possible his morning walks are changed to sitting at the bedside and dinner time was often spent sat to the table that was in the bedroom, but now moved closer to your bedside

Although very used to being alone for extended periods of time thanks for your love of exploration, he has never felt so far away from you despite you being so close to him

When you awoke it was actually close to midnight. Your brain takes a few moments to catch up with the world. You take into account that you’re in bed, and notably, your spouse was not

You feel the distinct pain of the hit you had taken, although you note that it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it did when you came home

You sit on the edge of your bed and stand, a little wobbly at first, and you move about your home looking for your absent spouse

That’s until you find him asleep in the spare bedroom. Why is he there? You don’t remember having an explosive argument or kicking out of bed.

You enter the room and touch your spouses arm and you call his name. He wakes with a start almost surprised

“You’re awake” he informs you which causes you to chuckle at him

“You’re going to have to catch me up my love” you stroke his hair after he sits up in bed and urges you to sit atop his lap

“In the morning my dear, just for a moment let me be in your presence”

“Anything for you my love” you smile at him before pausing “Though I would love something to eat”

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #xiao #childe x reader #genshin impact childe #childe #zhongli x reader #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli #headcanons #hurt/comfort

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shurisneakers · 3 years ago

Text

harmless (xiii)

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

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

Word count: 6.2k

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

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

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

Saturday started normally enough.

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

He still thinks it was worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

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

“Why you’re here.”

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

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have to.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

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

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

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

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

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

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

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

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

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

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

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

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

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

The camera cuts to black.

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

“About ten minutes ago.”

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

[email protected] just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

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

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

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

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

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

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

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And they listened?"

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

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

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

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

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

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

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

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

“Slow and painful,” he settles.

A small smirk makes its way onto your face.

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

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

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

“Yay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I will, you bore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two.”

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

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

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

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

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

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

Busted.

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

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

“You literally put it in the title.”

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

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

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

His nose twitches.

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

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

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

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

“No,” he says stiffly.

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

There was no winning this.

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

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

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

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

“Doesn’t count.”

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

“Bye, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

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

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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ellitx · 4 years ago

Text

Frailty | Kazuha x Reader

No matter how many times you've run away from your practices, Kazuha is always able to find you.

art belongs to rivaiiwah

word count: 1.8k

Here you are with the cherry blossoms sprouting from the branches, looking to the casual eye as flowers until they bloom. Who pays attention to their chaotic stems that twist in the joy of new life until they wear colors that soothe the viewer’s perception.

Then there they are in the air that becomes more welcoming each day, a community of colors, a feast for butterflies and bees.

A new beginning.

A little pink petal was plucked off from the group, letting it float alone in the air as it landed on your hand. Your eyes peered over the frond and lifted it up to the sunlight to observe the bright colors of it.

“[Name]-sama, there you are.”

You whipped your head and smiled at the caller when he approached you. “Kazuha? What brings you here?” You questioned as you fixed your hold on the parasol. His brows scrunched up and let out a sigh as he fixed the sleeve of his outfit.

“Ayaka-sama, was looking for you.”

“Ane? Why’s that?” You questioned.

He sighed once again and pinched your cheeks a bit harshly. “You need to practice your purification rituals. Your siblings are looking for you again and now they’re worried about you.”

“Ah— Kazuha, that hurts…!” You grasped his hand to release his hold on your face, but to no avail, he won’t budge. Seconds later, he finally and slowly let go and spared your cheeks from reddening to which you rubbed it to alleviate the sharp pain.

His gaze went to the blooming flower of cherry blossoms and watched how the wind fluttered the petals. Ruby gems have softened at the sight of the newly sprung tree before focusing on the young princess of Kamisato.

Your name uttered from his lips making you arch a brow at him in puzzlement. His lips parted slightly and waited for a moment before asking. “I’m just wondering why are you here. There are sakura trees at your residence, though.” He stated as he scratched his cheek with his index finger.

Your throat hummed and looked at the sky in wonder. “Ah that… I think you already know the answer to that.” He knew for sure he saw your eyes glinted in mischief when you looked at him.

That smirk plastered on your face didn’t go unnoticed by him. He was quiet for a minute making you giggle and stifle it with your hand. Kazuha groaned in flicked your head much to your surprise.

“Ouch!”

“I’m taking you back to the Kamisato residence whether you like it or not.”

“Kazuha!! No please—“

—

“Oh my, it seems like he already found her.” The young mistress giggled and watched both of you entered through the main gate with the swordsman pushing you inside. You were writhing and shaking your arm, doing your best to escape from him.

At the sight of your face, your brother’s smile widened, and quickly wore his geta and engulfed you in a bear hug. “[Name], where have you been?! I was worried sick when I saw you weren’t inside your room!” He screeched and cried hysterically before glaring at Kazuha.

It sent a shiver down his spine before averting his gaze away from Ayato and squared his shoulders. “Hmph, I could’ve found her on my own, but the archon must have graced you to guide my little sister back home.” Your brother grumbled as he patted your head in an assuring manner. You heaved a sigh and mouthed a sorry to your friend which he just waved it off.

Ayaka reached to where the three of you are and deeply bowed to Kazuha in thanks. “Thank you and sorry for bothering you to look for [Name]. We’ll be sure to compensate you greatly.” She remarked and motioned for him to come inside.

“It’s fine, Ayaka-sama. I was just happy and relieved to know she didn’t stray too far from here.” He peeked at you from the corner of his eyes before looking back at your older sister.

“You can drop the formalities. And also, aniki, you’re suffocating [Name].” She respired and pulled you away from Ayato’s loving hugs making you sigh in relief and thank her.

He pouted and huffed before crossing his arms and narrowly eyed you. His nature quickly changed in a blink and you know for sure you’re in a trouble just the way he lightly frowned at you.

“[Name].” Your body shivered and avoided looking at him as you cowered behind Kazuha. “Y-yes…?” You muttered softly and tightly gripped on his clothes.

“Why did you skipped practicing?” You gulped down your fear and sheepishly smiled at Ayato, trying to think of an excuse.

“Well, it’s spring! You know how much I love sakura flowers and watch them bloom before me, aniki!” A peal of tense laughter slipped from your mouth and nudged Kazuha asking for help. Your [eye color] eyes were pleadingly gazed upon his for help as you shook his arm lightly to get him to understand your gestures.

Sighing for an umpteenth time on this day. He faced Ayato sternly making him pause when he saw Kazuha’s face got darker. A bead of sweat rolled down his temples yet never faltering his stare onto him.

“Ayato-sama, just lock the door if she ever escapes again.” Kazuha’s eyes returned back to their usual light and grabbed you by your shoulders, placing you in front. His fingers pointed at you and then grinned slyly at you.

Your eyes widened but before you could open your mouth to speak out, his words made you stopped in your tracks and your face paled while your lips were parted a bit. “If she does run away again, don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll make sure she does her practices frequently.”

The cunning smile glued on his pretty face made you scared. From the other’s perspective he seemed like an innocent and nice teen, but for you, oh you know that smile very well. He didn’t want to indulge in your escapades and he’s going to pay you back with his own mischievousness.

—

“Sein!”

You threw a talisman onto the dummy as your index and middle finger were stick together and the rest were closed. “Sein?” Kazuha’s brow raised in bewilderment at your chant and stared at the dummy. He was expecting something would happen but sadly there was none.

It only stood still, remaining unchanging. “[Name], it’s read as sho-shi-tsu.” Ayaka said as she removed the piece of paper on the figurine. “And isn’t sein something you would hear in Mondstadt?”

Your lips formed a grin as your optics shined brightly in excitement. “Sein sounds way cooler than shoshitsu!” A strong impact was thrown on your head making you cry in pain and place your hand on it protectively.

“[Name]-sama, please take this seriously.” Kazuha exhaled through his nose and stretched your cheeks making you whine even more at the increasing pain. Ayaka laughed lightly at the sight of you two as she took the brush from your hands.

“I guess we can practice next time, is that alright with you? I still have to practice my sword fight with Tohama.” Ayaka awaited your response while she kept the materials back to their rightful place.

You merely giggled and shoved her playfully. “It’s fine~ Have a nice date with him!” Her face flushed and her silver eyes widened in surprise as she continuously stuttered.

“I-it’s not a date!”

“Right, right.” You pushed her out of the room and gave her a hug before closing the door gently. You leaned your body against it and heaved a sigh at the exhausting purification practices.

It really tired your mind and body so much. Even though you joke around sometimes to loosen up that stiff body of yours, you know you still need to work hard on it because of your duty as a shrine maiden.

Purifications are much needed and required in the Kamisato house. Ayaka has already mastered everything from arts to music and even poetry, and yet here you are, not even having the slightest talent like her to accomplish such things.

Ayaka is the embodiment of perfection and nobleness, there's no doubt about that. Her form is even more elegant than yours and how she handles tea ceremonies more delicately unlike you who somehow still spills the tea from nervousness no matter how much you've practiced mastering it.

It really tired you out how they expect so many things for you.

Being noble is really hard.

The anemo-user noticed your destitute appearance and slowly approached you.

“[Name]-sama?”

You snapped out from your deep thoughts and shakily looked at him. “O-oh, Kazuha. I forgot you were still here…” You coughed and fixed your outfit, giving him a curious glance and asked.

“Is something the matter?”

“I should be the one asking you that. It seems like something’s troubling you.”

His brows furrowed in worry and took a closer look at your well-being. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad I don’t have to practice anymore, it really tired me out. Ugh…” You grumbled and rested your hand on your stomach when you felt it rumbled.

“Do you want to eat outside?” Your ears perked up and nodded eagerly like a child. For a second, you thought you saw him smile before it quickly disappeared. He offered his hand to you which you gladly accepted as he lead you to the exit of the room.

“Kazuha’s treating me~” You sang joyfully, thinking of the foods from the stalls. Or maybe he’ll treat you to eat at a restaurant? Just thinking of it made your stomach growled even more from hungriness and excitement, imagining that freshly cooked takoyakis or even those crispy golden-brown tempuras.

Even with all the smiles and laugh you give off, he can’t help but be bothered that you’re hiding something. You always shake off whenever he asks if you’re fine or if you needed anything.

He wished that you could rely on him and trust him, to tell him all the troubles that have been piling up inside you. He has known you for a long time now, and yet why can’t you open up to him some more?

If maybe, just maybe— one day he’ll be able to finally tell you how he feels. He’ll even go as far as looking for you if you escaped once more. He hopes you’ll notice the signs he’s been giving that he’s there for you and you don’t have to bottle it up.

He wants to tell you that it’s alright to cry and feel vulnerable. He’ll love everything about you, even your own imperfections.

Just the way you accepted and love everything about himself.

did i just write for an unreleased genshin chara? yes, yes i did, and im ready to simp for him

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin impact kazuha #kazuha genshin impact #kazuha #genshin x reader #elliwrites

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angstama · 3 years ago

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apple tree | chifuyu.m

pairing: chifuyu matsuno x reader

genre: angst, slow-burn, unrequited love, pining, fluff, chifuyu doesn’t love you that way :(

warnings: as usual, heartbreak coming ahead <3

✧. in which you look back on the times that chifuyu had been the highlight and heartbreaker in your youth.

you were five when you first met chifuyu matsuno under the big apple tree one summer day.

head deep into bending the fragile weeds into a flower crown when a blonde haired boy with the prettiest ocean blue eyes approached you. “what are you doing?” he asked curiously, licking his already melting chocolate ice cream while looking at the imperfectly balanced flower that you had spent hours on crafting in your hands. “making a flower crown.” you answered simply, not even sparing the blonde haired boy a glance as you were too focused in tweaking the branches.

“woah that’s awesome!” he beamed in excitement, plopping down next to you instantly and leaning in closer to take a look at it. “yeah i know right!” you smiled in triumph, finally looking up to see whoever was showing interest in your little hobby and behold, there sat chifuyu in a rainbow striped t-shirt with his legs crossed and eyes gleaming with interest.

in all honesty, your flower crowns were horribly ugly, but in chifuyu’s eyes it was uniquely you. perhaps it was maybe because he hadn’t seen anyone making an actual flower crown before or perhaps maybe he was just feeling sorry for the girl who always sat alone under the big apple tree that never bloomed a single fruit all year round. whichever it was, you wished that it was the first. “teach me how to make one please!” he grabs your wrist, causing your cheeks to burn under the scorching hot sun and heart rate quickening though you were clueless as to why it happened being only at the age of five, so you decided that it was okay to have him around.

strangely ever since then, you were never seen alone under the apple tree in the park again.

you were nine when you first understood the concept of crushes, with the help of your best friend, chifuyu matsuno of course.

“it’s when you want to share the biggest chicken drumlet with them dummy!” chifuyu explained, voice muffled from stuffing his face with fried chicken one after another. you weren’t sure how the two of you derived at the current topic, though you remember the last you checked, chifuyu was rambling on and on about the new girl in your class. “so, you’d share this with whoever you have a crush on?” you asked as you pointed towards the biggest drumstick that chifuyu had saved for the last, as always.

he nodded impatiently, grabbing the very same drumstick and ready to devour it but only to come to a halt when the two of you locked eyes. “want some?” he offered, waving the fried chicken in front of you. “wh-what?” your words fumbled, taken aback by chifuyu’s sudden offer right after the whole sharing of the biggest chicken drumlet explanation he had just made. “you kept staring at it. do you want it?” he asked, with innocence laced in his voice, oblivious to the shade of red slowly making an appearance on your cheeks. you huffed, “am not!”. chifuyu only lets out a snort, “yeah sure,” he chuckles boyishly, leaning down to rest on your shoulders, causing your body to stiffen upon the sudden contact. that afternoon, for almost an entire hour you were forced to sit as straight as you could, afraid that something was going to erupt in your tummy again as you could feel the bubbling sensation that threatened to explode.

you were thirteen when you finally realised that you, y/n l/n, wants to share the biggest drumstick with chifuyu matsuno.

it was christmas eve and chifuyu had invited you over to his place for a dinner, claiming that his mother had threatened to throw his precious romance mangas away if he didn't invite you.

you arrived at the matsuno’s household ten minutes earlier than stated with a tray of roasted potatoes held in your hands and beads of sweat running down your forehead despite the freezing cold temperature outside. for the eight years of friendship you had with chifuyu, you’ve never felt this nervous seeing him and his family. it’s the cold, you naively thought, when the door swung opened, revealing your best friend dressed in a maroon striped sweater with suspenders. his eyes widened, not expecting to really see you when he was just opening to check in an attempt to ease his mother’s sixth sense. “y/n? why didn’t you knock?” he gasped, gently tugging the tray on your hands into his as he looked at you in surprise. “well, i was gonna but you opened the door before i could!” you scoffed a white lie, wanting nothing but to cover up the fact that you had been standing outside because you couldn’t get your heart to calm down.

“chifuyu why don’t you give y/n the gift you got for her now?” mrs matsuno chimed, elegance evident in her posture and movement when she lightly dabbed a napkin across her lips which made you wonder how is it possible that she's the mother of chifuyu when chifuyu shared not a single bit of her grace when it comes to eating. chifuyu pauses briefly, “give me a sec,” he nods before stuffing the roasted potato that was previously halfway into his mouth and standing up to jog over to his room. “he cleaned the house for two months for it.” mr matsuno chuckled as chifuyu jogs out again, this time with a paper bag held in his hand.

“you better wear it everyday.” he sent you a playful wink, handing you the brown paper bag. you carefully unwrapped the ribbon that bounded the paper bag and pulling out an overly oversized hoodie enough to fit you through a lifetime. you noticed that it was same hoodie that chifuyu often wears except that yours was in the shade of emerald green, the colour that chifuyu had taken the effort to remember that you had once claimed as your colour when the two of you had a heated discussion on what colour represents yourselves.

“wow! now we have a friendship hoodie!” you beamed in excitement, pulling the oversized hoodie over your sweater. “how do i look?” you asked, posing a few turns at chifuyu as he took a good look at you. “pretty.” he held a thumb up before stuffing another spoonful of pasta down.

your lowered your gaze upon hearing the sudden compliment your best friend gave, opting to look at the last piece of roasted chicken that mrs matsuno had offered you earlier just now before chifuyu could lay his hands on it. your lips pursed, not entirely confident to do it but eventually picking up the piece of meat and placing it on chifuyu’s already dirtied plate from all the sauces he had mixed with his food. “thank you,” you mumbled, looking anywhere else but chifuyu’s burning gaze on you.

the butterflies were taking flight soon and you on the other hand had no idea how to contain it.

you were sixteen when chifuyu first broke your heart on the first day of the spring season, openly declaring in front of you and takemichi that he’ll be confessing to the pretty girl sitting in front of him during lunch time.

her name is haru.

“no way! you’re kidding!” takemichi gaped, leaning in closer to chifuyu as the close proximity between the two of them wasn’t enough for him to hear chifuyu clearly. chifuyu crossed his arms, confidence evident in his posture, “of course not! i’ve already decided, there’s no going back!”

“be sure not to scare her away!” you stuck your tongue out to which chifuyu rolled his eyes in response. “eh? you’re just jealous that no one’s confessing to you!”, wiggling his head in a playful manner as he brought an ‘L’ sign up to his forehead to further anguish you. you raised a middle finger, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation for you weren’t sure if you were able to contain the effect of your heart dropping six feet down.

you knew chifuyu succeeded when he came running to you after school with the brightest smile you adored, a faint tint of blush coated on his cheeks. “guess i’m gonna see you lesser huh lover boy?” you chuckled softly, shoving your textbooks into your canvas bag as he swung himself onto your desk with a smug grin. “you’d wish huh don’t you? but no, you’ll still see me as often when i’m off from boyfriend duties,” he sang happily. perhaps maybe because it was chifuyu’s own words, you believed wholeheartedly that you were okay with being just his best friend and being supportive of his relationship. so you watched chifuyu’s love for haru bloomed into something more than just the typical puppy love you often watch on romcoms.

in just a blink of an eye, two years had passed and the next thing you knew you were spending your birthday without your best friend for the second time in a row. “this sucks,” you grumbled, throwing your phone aside when the time struck midnight, announcing a new day had just arrived. chifuyu’s words were just empty affirmations when you realised that you barely ever saw your best friend. you weren't sure if the two of you were even best friends anymore. it felt more like he’s just a friend that you talk to occasionally now. you see, chifuyu is a loyal friend and that’s a widely known fact and that’s what made it even more heartbreaking for you because chifuyu always does just enough to keep your friendship alive and you had no reason to hate him for that.

you rubbed your temples tiredly, wanting nothing more than to run your aching head into the wall when a packet of your favourite watermelon mints was thrown onto your desk. “rough night?”atsumu, your beloved table-mate asked smugly. “you don’t say,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes at the obvious as you impatiently tore the packet open. “he didn’t wish ya happy birthday did he?” the freshly bleached haired boy questioned. atsumu got his answer when you didn't sat in silence, opting to look out the window to distract yourself from the threatening tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. and god do love to test you when the scene of chifuyu leaning in to kiss haru on the lips ever so gently unfolds at your sight. oh how you wished that it was you who he’s kissing right now.

chifuyu always does just enough to keep your friendship alive.

it was already late into the night when you heard a knock outside your balcony. your breath hitched when you saw that it was chifuyu who had disturbed your little movie marathon alone after the events that had happened lately. “hey,” he breathed, a soft smile wearing on his lips to which you returned it with an awkward one, inviting him into your messy room. “oh we’re in our friendship hoodie!” he chuckles nervously. your eyes travelled on him, realising that indeed he’s wearing the same hoodie that you were currently wearing right now. “it’s late chi, what’s going on?” you sighed, tone coming off harsher than you intended to. chifuyu nods slowly, face soon replaced with an apologetic look. “i’m sorry for missing your birthday, i feel horrible really,” he begun. “ i know i haven’t been around lately, so i want to make it up to you.”

your brows furrowed at chifuyu’s apology, you knew he was being so sincere so why did you feel even much more upset hearing it? “that’s it? you could’ve just done this in school tomorrow chifuyu.”you sighed, trying your hardest to mask the pettiness within you with a tired voice. “ i know i know, but i couldn’t sleep knowing that i left my best friend alone on her 18th birthday.” he looked at you hesitantly as you quietly pulled your duvet over your lap. “how about let’s go hiking and watch the sunrise this weekend? just the two of us. i know you’ve been wanting to do that.”

you wished you weren’t in love with chifuyu so that you wouldn’t give in so easily. you wished you were petty enough to make a scene and just be angry at him but you couldn't so here you are right now, hiking up the trail with your hand in chifuyu’s as you helped him up the slope. “your stamina really sucks,” you retorted to which chifuyu huffed in response. “it’s not that my stamina sucks, it’s that this trail is literally ninety-eight percent high slopes,” he pouts.

“well you could've chose not to show up.”

“no! i want to do this with you. what are you talking about?”

you only smiled at his little defence. “whatever,” you mumbled as you quickly dropped your grip on his and walking ahead of him in an attempt to hide your blush. “hey! wait for me!”

it was near autumn when one day chifuyu appeared in the wee hours of the night with tears streaming down his cheeks when he fell into your arms and hugged you tightly. you found out that haru was moving away to the states with her family and had broken up with chifuyu, refusing to try out long distance relationship.

so like any other best friend, you let chifuyu cry into your shoulders as you sat in silence that night, heart breaking at the torn state chifuyu was in. he truly loved her.

you were twenty when chifuyu held your hands and asked you to be his.

“chifuyu matsuno! where the hell are my batteries?” your voice echoed through your shared apartment, causing poor chifuyu to jump and drop the eggs he was previously holding in his hands on to the floor. it’s been almost two years since haru and chifuyu had broken up and you had spent a great deal of time trying to mend his broken heart though you knew that it would never be fully healed. she was his first love after all.

the two of you had moved in to a small apartment close to your university as planned since young, officially becoming roommates. “fuck!my eggs!” chifuyu cried out loud as he frantically lets go of the spatula in his hands to grab a kitchen tower and clean up the pool of egg yolk and egg white on the marble floor. you groaned in annoyance when chifuyu doesn’t answer your question, slamming the tools drawer shut and making your way towards the kitchen.

“i swear chi-” you paused when you saw chifuyu kneeling on the floor with his pink kitten design apron tied against his body, a pout clearly evident on his lips. “what ever happened?” your head tilted slightly, annoyance slowly decimating. “you screamed like a mad woman. that’s what happened.” he retorted. you rolled your eyes, grabbing another kitchen towel and joining chifuyu on the ground. “well if you didn’t misplace my batteries, i wouldn't be screaming.”

“if you looked close enough, it’s literally on your study desk.”

“it’s not!”

“it is!”

“it’s not!” you huffed, getting up and stomping over to your room to prove a point but your eyes widened, horrified by the pure sight of your batteries accompanies by a fresh pack with a sticky note attached on top of it. ‘you’re welcome <3′, it wrote. you slowly walked out of your room with your head hung low, doing the walk of shame. “say it,” chifuyu taunts as he skilfully tossed the omelette onto the plate and placing it in front of you. you scrunched your nose, lips pursing and taking a deep breath. “i’m sorry,” you mumbled quietly, fingers fumbling at the ends of your shirt. “ah-ah i can't hear you,” you hear him sing, a little too happy. obvious that he’s enjoying this. you sighed in defeat, clearing your throat loud enough. “i’m sorry,” you said it loudly this time.

chifuyu lets out a laugh in satisfaction, throwing his head back while you on the other hand could only pout at his triumph. but that didn’t mean that your heart didn't swell up at the expression of happiness he has on his face right now. digging in at the breakfast that chifuyu had made for you which had now became a routine, you couldn't help but to feel small under chifuyu’s intense stare on you. “are you not gonna eat?” you raised your brow, eyeing the untouched omelette on his plate. chifuyu rests his chin on his palm, looking at you with a look of as if he had something to tell you.

“i will.” he hummed before reaching out to grab your hands. your body stiffened, dumfounded at what’s currently happening. “you know, for the last two years, life was a little less painful thanks to you.” chifuyu confessed earnestly, “ i guess what i’m trying to say is that, you’re my end game y/n l/n. i don’t think i would've came this far if it wasn’t for you so i’m going to ask you this once,” he paused, intertwining his fingers in yours as he gazes into your eyes deeply,

“will you be my girlfriend?”

your relationship with chifuyu wasn’t a perfect one but the two of you always made it work somehow. which is why here you are sitting against your bed frame with luggages packed by the side wondering what exactly had gone wrong along the way?

and you realised that you were never meant to be chifuyu’s end game. you were never meant to be his forever.

“you think that i don’t fucking know that you were always looking at her instagram when you think i’m not around?” you screamed, body shaking from the exhaustion that’s taking a toll on you both physically and emotionally. “i don’t see how it’s wrong wanting to see how my friend is doing?” chifuyu snaps.

you scoffed, crossing your arms as you looked away. “yeah. as if you don’t still say her name in your sleep. as if you don’t fucking mess up our favourite food, as if you didn’t tell takemichi that you wished i was haru!” this was the last straw for you. you were too exhausted to try anymore. haru was irreplaceable and you were just a temporary band aid for chifuyu.

it was as if you had hit jack pot when your lover went silent. “i’ve loved you for so long chifuyu. but loving you hurts too much. i’m so tired of this.” you finally allowed yourself to break down, letting yourself go loose on the emotions you’ve suppressed for years as chifuyu could only watch in remorse for tearing you apart till this state.

you finally understood why the apple tree never bloomed any apples.

you were twenty seven when you decided to leave chifuyu matsuno. fifteen years of friendship and seven years of being each other’s significant other. you finally walked away, planting one last final kiss on chifuyu’s lips and shutting the door on your ex-lover’s sleeping figure.

#chifuyu matsuno #chifuyu x y/n #chifuyu imagines #chifuyu x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo manji gang #angst #fanfic #mikeysano #manjiro sano #reader #tokyo revengers takemichi #takemichi

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bnhabadass · 4 years ago

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Pairing: Shinsou x Reader Genre: Angst with happy ending, NSFW Word Count: 4,049 Synopsis: Shinsou is sick and tired of seeing you go out on all these disappointing Tinder hookups, especially when you always seem to ask him to satisfy you afterwards. But there must be a reason why you keep going on these dates, right? A/N: This is my piece for the bnharem roommates collab. I always forget how much I love writing Shinsou’s character but this definitely brought my spark with him back. Make sure to check out everyone else’s collab pieces on the masterlist!

Another night of tinder swipes. Another night of late night walks through desolate and windy streets. Another night of sleepy dinner and listening to the same old boring stories that every date has to offer. Another night of disappointing sex as he can’t seem to find the hole and his finger nails are sharper than they need to be. Another night of two pump chumps who ask, “does that feel good baby?” and another night of lying through your teeth as you fake moans and count the seconds before you’re allowed to leave.

It’s just like any other Saturday night where your toes are crushed in the tips of your heels and you shiver as you walk back to your apartment, keys clutched between your fingers just in case someone tries to pull something and you need to think quickly. You have your routine ingrained in you, like second nature.

The walk back home is cold and clammy. You can’t shake the feeling of the little hairs on your arms and legs springing up like a cat in shock as the wind pushes right past you. The only thing you could think of to keep yourself from toppling over from exhaustion was the heat that would be coming from your room back home, the fuzzy blanket you’d lie under, and the man awaiting your return to greet you with surprises like no other.

When you did open the front door, heat wafted towards you and your achy muscles began to relax.

“Rough night?” The voice from inside cooed.

“‘Oh baby do you like that?’” you mocked. “‘Does that hurt so good?’”

The person sitting on the sofa with a book covering their face laughed. “Please tell me he did not say that.”

You kicked off your heels and rolled out your ankles. “Shinsou, I swear to god, you have to meet some of these people. This one guy was ridiculous. As I was sucking him off he told me I reminded him of his mother.”

The purple haired young man gagged. “And you still sucked his dick?”

“That’s the best part,” you laughed. “He finished right after he said that.”

Shinsou grimaced. “Why do you keep going on these dates when everyone you end up sleeping with sucks.”

You collapsed on the couch next to him. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because a certain someone always ends up taking care of me after.” Laying your head in his lap, you smiled up at him.

Shinsou gave you a lazy smirk back. “So that’s it, huh? I actually know how to use my tongue so you’re purposefully coming home unsatisfied.”

“I wouldn’t say purposefully,” you said with a mock offended tone to your words. “If there ever is a man out there who did know how to please me then I can guarantee I wouldn’t be coming home every night I have a date.”

He propped his cheek up against the palm of his hand. “But that hasn’t happened yet, has it.”

You loved this, the flirty and dangerous aroma in the air. It was intoxicating and you craved every bit of it.

“So what are we going to do about it?”

You leaned up and kissed him, and then that kiss led to another. Soon you had gotten up and moved into Shinsou’s bedroom. Your tights had been stripped down and your dress was pulled up over your ass.

Getting onto his elbows and knees, Shinsou readied himself to lick his first stripe along your folds and make you melt beneath him.

The week went by, like usual, and your relationship with Shinsou remained the same, just like usual. You’d each come home from work, him tired from training and patrols and you exhausted with paperwork and having to deal with bothersome coworkers taking up all your spare time.

Nothing happens during the week. The two of you laugh and joke around like best friends, like neither of you have seen each other naked, and you’re sure you’re happy this way. That’s what Shinsou keeps telling himself anyway.

You never seem to notice the way his eyes linger on you for a split second too long or the way he glares at your phone over your shoulder as you swipe left or right on dating apps. You’d think that if he was jealous he would try to distance himself, to back away from the trouble you might get in and the disappointment you’d find after each hookup. But no, Shinsou cares too much about you to let you go out on your own without knowing who, where and how you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.

“Hey Shin,” you call from the couch on Thursday night. You’re lying down with your feet propped up against the arm rest. Shinsou has to move them out of the way before plopping down himself.

“What’s up.” His large palm rubbed up and down your legs as they rested on his lap.

“I think I matched with someone who won’t be horrible in bed.” You showed him your phone, and as he scrolled through his profile you could feel the itchy heat of embarrassment rising to your face.

Shinsou’s heart seemed to stop. His eyes widened when he read the words “pornstar” and “Onlyfans'' in the dude’s bio. Handing your phone back to you, he kept his eyes trained on the floor. “That’s great. He seems like he knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah.” You took the phone back and resumed looking through his photos. “He messaged me earlier and we have a lot in common too.”

Shinsou nodded. Why did he feel so weird? He knew that not every guy you matched with would be a disappointment. He had been telling that to himself for months now, but watching the nervous smile that crept up your face as you received a new message from this guy made Shinsou want to scream. “I’m gonna go for a run,” he said, lifting up your legs to stand up from the couch.

“Really? It’s dark out. Are you sure you want to go running?” You didn’t look up from your phone.

“Yeah I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, stay safe. Oh! Did you still want to watch a movie tonight?”

Shinsou froze. “Um, maybe not tonight. I’m not sure. I’ll see if I’ve cooled down a bit after my run.”

You looked up from the screen, slightly deterred. “Oh, okay. Have a good run.” You weren’t exactly sure what he meant by that. He hadn’t seemed to be bothered by anything earlier, so why was he acting weird now? You were sure you hadn’t said anything to make him upset and when he told you about his day, he didn’t seem bothered by anything that happened at work.

Rolling over on your side, you continued texting this new guy, a new sense of nervousness clouding your vision.

It’s Saturday night and you’re putting on your makeup. Your hands which have never been shaky before have fucked applying your eyeliner three times now. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous. You’ve met up with guys every weekend for months now. Could it be that this guy is different because he knows what he’s doing? Yeah, that must be it. You’re worried that you won’t be good enough for him, right?

Still, that didn’t seem like that was it. You were so excited talking to him at first. He made you laugh and you wanted to meet up with him so bad, to see his charm in person. But then you showed his profile to Shinsou and things started to feel different, like somehow they were falling apart.

You haven’t spoken to your roommate much in the last couple days. His usual pokes and prods at the men you tend to meet up with were replaced with silence. You haven’t joked around like usual or spent time together unwinding after work, and you were worried. It hadn’t been this distant between you since one of your female friends told you about a guy she knew who was looking for a roommate and the two of you met for the first time.

Since then, you haven't gotten anything but closer. You began your weekly rituals of getting takeout and watching movies and getting drunk after particularly rough days at work. Living with Shinsou was the happiest you have been in a long time. So why did that change?

Stepping out of your bedroom, makeup incomplete and dress unbuttoned, you peered into the living room where Shinsou was working.

He sat shirtless on the couch, legs propped up on the automen with his laptop balanced on his legs. His wild purple hair, which had gotten longer since the two of you met, was loosely tied back with a hair tie. His gray sweatpants were untied and you were sure that if he were to stand up they would ride low on his hips.

As you stared at his profile, you couldn’t help but admire how his chiseled face, adorning a pair of reading glasses, looked so serene as he stared at the work ahead of him. He looked calm, calmer than you’ve seen him in a while, and that made his face more youthful. Shinsou stretched out his arms and you could hear his corded back crack before he went back to typing away.

You ran back into your room and slammed the door. Your face was hot and flushed. Beads of sweat permeated on your temples. How could such a simple act of stretching make you feel so hot and bothered and worked up and oh no. How is it that you were so blind? You were in love with your roommate.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

You paced back and forth, rubbing all of the makeup off of your eyes in the process. You stared at your blackened fingers and rubbed them on your dress, not caring that it would dirty. Thinking back to all the moments you cuddled as “friends” and all the times you would lay together after a disappointing date, you were able to pinpoint each exact moment where your feelings grew.

You sat on your bed and watched as your hands shook. You couldn’t go on this date now. You don’t care about the guy, no matter how good at sex he might claim to be. The entire time, you’d just be wishing you were on a date with Shinsou. Granted, every date you’ve been on, a little part of you has wished it was with Shinsou. Every week you couldn’t wait until it was over so you could be enveloped yet again in his flirty aroma that was so, so addictive.

So that was it, you wouldn’t go on the date and things would go back to normal between the two of you. But would they really? What would you say if he asked why you cancelled? All you wanted were things to go back to the way they were. You wanted to bask in the flirty air and feel Shinsou hold you close and caress every curve of your body with so much love and tenderness.

You stood up and looked at your blotchy face in the mirror. Surrounding your eyes was a mix of black and shimmery gold swarming together. You wiped them off along with the rest of your makeup. You won’t be going out tonight so there’s no point of dolling up.

What am I going to do?

You slid off your dress and slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms and threw on a tank top. The least you could be is comfortable in such a stressful situation.

I can’t act the way I used to, knowing how I feel now.

You may have been an idiot for this, but you decided to face your situation head on. Without doing so, who knows how you wouldn’t go crazy living under the same roof as the man you’re in love with.

You stepped into the living room. Shinsou was still typing away and looking over reports, so you cleared your throat to get his attention.

“Hey, you about to go out?” When you didn’t respond, he looked up and his face fell. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you dressed?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye. As soon as you heard him speak and the amount of concern in his voice, you just wanted to cry. The sting of acidic tears and mucus welling in the back of your throat made you want to throw up.

“Did something happen?” He took off his reading glasses and scooched over, letting you take a seat beside him.

But you didn’t move, just kept staring at your cold feet against the hardwood floor.

“(Y/n), talk to me.”

You looked up at him and tears began rolling down your face. You felt so pathetic, that you would be crying over love of all things. Love was supposed to be magical, right? Not embarrassing and tear-ridden. “Can you,” you started, but you needed to take a step back when you heard your achy throat cracking as you spoke. “Can you give me a reason not to go?”

Shinsou adjusted himself. He was clearly trying to make out what you were saying. “What? If you don’t want to go then don’t. No one’s forcing you to go on this date.”

You couldn’t help crumble at what he said. If only he knew what you really looked forward to after each date and what you were really thinking about when you were out with these other guys.

Shinsou stood up as you crumbled to the ground and squatted down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. You sunk into his chest and sobbed against him. It felt so unfair that with his arms around you, you felt whole, like you were two pieces of a puzzle.

“Why do you need a reason not to go on this date? Is he pressuring you or something?”

You shook your head against his chest. “I don’t want to go on a date with him.” On one hand, you thought your subtle hints would get through Shinsou’s thick skull, but it seemed as though they were a paper plane trying to penetrate a brick wall.

“So find some other guy.”

Why was he being so dismissive? You didn’t want just some other guy, you wanted Shinsou.

“Look, you’ve found plenty of other dates in the past, just because you don’t want to go out with one guy doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.” He kept rubbing circles in your back. “Why don’t you call up a past hookup or something?”

You pushed away from him. “How could you say that,” you whispered. “I don’t want to go on a date with one of them.” Your voice began to raise. You had never raised your voice at Shinsou before. “I want to go out with you, you idiot.”

There was a moment where all you could hear were the little noises throughout the apartment like the ticking of the clock in the kitchen or a fly buzzing close by. Then, you slapped a hand over your mouth. You didn’t mean to say that outloud. You didn’t mean to raise your voice or push away from him. But you did blurt it out, and Shinsou looked at you with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

The hair on his arms and the back of his neck raised up like static. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he should look at you with shock or look away in embarrassment. He was completely and utterly confused.

“Shit,” you whined from behind your hand. “Forget it.” You rubbed the tears under your eyes away and went to stand up. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Wait.” Shinsou grabbed your hand before you could fully stand up. You had never realized how small your hands were compared to his until now. “You can’t just say that and then walk away.”

He was right. You sat back down on the ground, his hand still grabbing onto yours, playing with your fingers. “Okay,” you mouthed, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get any sound out if you tried.

“Why do you go on all of these dates?”

You thought about it for a moment. You were never really sure why you bothered hooking up with so many people, but sitting on the ground with him, you had a pretty good idea. “Because we’re roommates.”

“So?”

You kept your eyes on your fingers intertwined with Shinsous. “Because realizing you’re in love with your roommate is shitty, so the least I could do is hope that after an unsatisfying night of sex, you’d be willing to provide.”

He stopped playing with your fingers and instead, squeezed your hand. “And I hated seeing you with these different men so much that any chance you gave me I ate up.”

You blinked once, twice in confusion before meeting Shinsou’s eyes. “You...”

“Mhm,” he nodded.

The heavy weight of tears on your chest finally lifted. You could finally breathe freely. There was silence among you before the two of you burst out laughing. You rested your head on his shoulder as your chests heaved up and down. When you took your head away to look him in the eyes, he leaned in and kissed you. You didn’t hesitate to kiss back and wrap your arms around his neck.

Shinsou dragged your body closer to him, so you were straddling his lap, and weaved his arms around your figure. He was a good kisser, which you already knew, but you had never taken the time to feel his passion until now. Shinsou made sure to tease you with a darting tongue and hands which traveled down your figure and stopped at the base of your hips.

You weaved your hands through his soft hair and pulled his hair tie out. His fluffy purple locks were so fun and tempting to tug on. Kissing him with this amount of love and emotion enthralled you, and you felt a little disappointed when he pulled away.

“Would you like to move this to my bedroom?”

And you bit your bottom lip before nodding, a smile creeping its way up along your face. You stood up and followed him into his bedroom eagerly.

After Shinsou closed the door behind you, he turned around and snaked his hands up your back. You giggled at the contact and let him pull the shirt over your head. You weren’t wearing a bra, so Shinsou immediately leaned over to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked it until it puckered and let it go with a loud pop.

“You know,” he said, backing you against his bed. “I’ve never been able to say until now how truly beautiful you are.”

“Shinsou,” you sighed, taking a hold of his purple locks. You collapsed onto the bed and let him kiss his way down your front side. His kisses were rough but full of love, and you know they would leave bruises behind.

He slid your pajama bottoms and underwear down your thighs until they pooled on the floor at your ankles. “Everything you do is gorgeous, even the way you’re sprawled out under me, under my command just waiting for me to touch you.”

You could feel your pussy clench at his words and your thighs shook in waiting.

He kissed the top of your pussy and trailed kisses around your thighs. You watched as he hiked your legs over his well muscled shoulders while keeping eye contact. His long tongue darted out and he licked one long stripe between your folds and suckled on your little sweet bud.

You arched your back and let out a choked moan. Out of all the nights you’ve slept together, this was the first time you really saw him for all the love he gave you.

Shinsou kept his face right in front of your dripping hole just for a moment and let his hot breath tickle your needy clit. He chuckled at your squirming form and teased you even further with kitten licks and hands that reached up to squeeze your breasts as he dove in to lap up your juices.

Your hands grasped at his, keeping them firmly clenched onto your chest as he delved in deeper and deeper into your wonderful taste. You could feel your orgasm quickly building up. Your toes curled and knees jerked up, hips bucking your clit further up into Shinsou’s mouth. You let out a loud moan and sigh of relief and surprise when you could feel your juices spraying onto Shinsou’s face and watched as they dripped down his chin.

You had never squirted before. You could feel a calm wash over you as you settled down. Shinsou wiped his hand down his chin. “That was fucking sexy.”

He kissed your lower lips one last time before standing up and allowing you to scooch further up on the bed. You were exhausted but it didn’t matter. Watching Shinsou strip down and seeing his cock spring to life only made you want more of him.

He crawled over you and kissed your lips. He tasted like a mix of your juices and honey, probably from that tea you saw him drinking not too long ago. Whatever it was, it was addictive. “Are you ready?” he asked as he positioned the head of his cock in line with your opening.

You nodded, heaving up and down and running your hand along the side of his face. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Shinsou was thicker than most of the people you had slept with, and you always felt the stretch of him penetrating you every time he pushed himself in.

Knowing that it probably hurt a little, the stretch of it all, he paused every so often and kissed your face, allowing you to warm up before he bottomed out inside of you. You were just so tight and welcoming, it took all his strength not to pound into you immediately, to take it nice and slow as he rubbed against your clit with his thumb.

Your face was hot. It was odd to you that it had never felt this way before, that until now you had never been this nervous to feel his cock pulsing inside of you and to feel his mouth nip at your clit and nipples. You had closed your eyes and focused on your breathing.

Shinsou reached over to tickle the palm of your hand. As you looked up at him, he cupped your face and smiled down at you before he started to thrust his hips.

You squirmed and writhed around as he bucked deeper in and out of the hole that seemed to suck him in further and further.

He felt it was so unfair because he never seemed to last as long as he wanted to when he was with you. The way your aching pussy clenched around him so tight was euphoric. He wanted to let his dick bask in your warm, gushing cavern forever.

“You’re beautiful,” you heard him whisper as he sped up, his orgasm fast approaching. “You’re perfect.”

And again, you squirmed around as that cord built up inside of you and snapped, leaving you gushing around Shinsou’s cock and heaving up and down underneath him.

Shinsou didn’t last much longer. He came almost immediately after you did, feeling your walls clench around him oh so tight. He rolled over next to you and laid his head in the crook of your neck. His hair tickled your nose as you nuzzled into him.

“We should clean up.”

“After snuggles,” he yawned.

You laughed. He’d never been this clingy until now. He had never praised you so much until now. “What does this mean?”

“Hm?”

“For us?”

Shinsou rolled over to look at you. “It means you’re gonna sleep in this bed with me tonight, and tomorrow morning I’m waking up early to make my girlfriend a pancake breakfast. Okay, kitten?”

You had to keep yourself from squealing at the nickname. Instead, you closed your eyes with a goofy smile on your face. “Okay.”

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